Bound by Love novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Marriage Bed

Back in Cleveland, Osvaldo welcomes her with a smile, and Alessia takes the lead in the dark; the next morning she is sick.

The Corsini house in Shaker Heights was full of men by the time we walked in.

They stood in the hall and the dining room, in dark suits, and they stopped talking when I crossed the threshold.

Every one of them knew what I had done.

News like that travels faster than a car.

Adriano kept his hand at the small of my back and walked me straight through them.

"My wife is tired," he said to the room.

"She will sit at my right hand tonight, and anyone who has a problem with that can say it to me."

Nobody said a word.

A man at the end of the hall caught my eye.

He was silver-haired and kind-faced, with reading glasses on a cord around his neck and a gray cardigan under his jacket.

Osvaldo Corsini, Adriano's uncle and his underboss, opened his arms.

"Cara," he said. "You've had a terrible night."

He kissed both my cheeks, and his hands were warm and dry.

"I'm so sorry about your sister's wrist," he said.

"Word travels," I said.

"It always does."

His smile never changed, and I couldn't read it.

Dinner was a long table, a cold roast and twenty men who didn't look at me.

I sat at Adriano's right hand and ate every bite.

It was the only thing I could do to keep my hands from shaking.

"Seventy-two hours," a captain said finally, from halfway down the table.

"Draghi will come, and Cleveland will bleed for one girl's pride."

I put down my fork.

"One girl's wrist," I said.

The table went quiet.

"My sister's fiance broke her wrist in front of a hundred guests, and my father watched."

"I'm sorry if that's inconvenient for your war."

A few of them looked at their plates.

One or two looked at Adriano.

Adriano leaned back and said nothing at all.

I realized, with a cold feeling, that his silence was the verdict.

He wasn't going to defend me in front of his men.

He wasn't going to attack me either.

"The Draghis will want a hostage," Osvaldo said mildly.

"The girl would be the natural choice, Adriano. She's the cause, after all."

"My wife stays here," Adriano said.

His voice was very even.

"We'll discuss it in the morning."

"Of course." Osvaldo lifted his glass to me.

"Though a man in your position must think of the future, nephew."

"Another wife, eventually, who can give the family what it needs."

The table murmured.

I felt Adriano go still beside me.

"Another wife," he said, "is not on the table."

"I only meant," Osvaldo said, "that the family has waited a long time for an heir."

"Enough."

It was one word, and it ended the dinner.

Chairs scraped.

Adriano stood and held out his hand without looking at me.

I took it, and we left together, and I could feel every eye on my back.

Our bedroom was on the second floor, at the end of the hall.

It had a huge bed, a fireplace, and a window seat that looked out over the dark lawn.

He closed the door and turned the key.

Then he stood with his back to me, hands on the dresser, shoulders rigid.

"You defended my sister at my table," I said.

"I defended nothing."

"You said I stay."

"You're my wife." He turned. "I don't hand my wife to anyone. That isn't a favor, Alessia, it's a fact."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

"Because if I look at you," he said, "I'll forget I'm furious."

I crossed the room and stood in front of him.

I took his tie in both hands, the black silk one, and pulled the knot loose.

"Then forget," I said.

"I can't be gentle tonight."

"I didn't ask you to be."

I slid the tie from his collar and wound it around my fist.

He watched my hands, and his breathing changed.

I pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sat.

"Alessia," he said, a warning.

"You always take," I said. "Tonight, I'm taking."

I stepped between his knees and unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, slowly.

His chest was hard and warm, scarred on the left side where the bomb had burned him.

I put my lips against the old scar, and he shuddered.

"Hands on the bed," I said.

He looked at me with those green eyes, and for one second I thought he would refuse.

Then he laid both hands flat on the mattress.

I wound the tie around his wrists, loosely, and he let me.

"If you want out of it," I said, "you can pull free."

"I know." His voice was rough. "Go on."

I stripped off what was left of my dress and my underwear, and I climbed over him.

He watched me the whole time.

I unbuckled his belt, freed him, and took his cock in my hand.

He was hot and heavy and already leaking at the tip.

I rubbed my thumb over it and kissed down his stomach, slowly, hungry for the taste of him.

He groaned and let his head fall back.

I took him into my mouth as deep as I could, and his hips lifted off the bed.

"Fuck," he said. "Alessia."

I worked him with my tongue and my lips and my fist, slow and then faster, until the muscles in his thighs jumped.

When he was breathing in ragged pulls, I let him go with a wet sound.

"Now," I said, and climbed into his lap.

I lined him up and sank down, an inch at a time, taking all of him.

He was so thick I gasped.

I rocked once, twice, adjusting, and the pleasure ran up my spine.

"Look at you," he said hoarsely. "Riding me like you own me."

"I do," I said, and rolled my hips.

He thrust up to meet me, and the tie strained against his wrists.

I braced my hands on his chest and found a rhythm, hard and fast, slapping my body down onto his.

My breasts bounced.

He watched them, and then his eyes dragged back to my face.

"Come on me," he said. "I want to feel you do it."

"Not yet."

I slowed and clenched around him, and he swore.

I did it again, and again, teasing him, until he was begging.

"Please," Adriano said, the Don of Cleveland, tied by his own silk. "Please, Alessia."

That undid me.

I sped up, ground down on his cock, and rubbed my clit against his pelvis until the whole world narrowed to that one point.

I came with a cry, spasming around him.

He tore free of the tie and flipped me onto my back in one move.

He pinned my wrists above my head and drove into me, all the way, hard.

"My turn," he said.

He fucked me through the end of my orgasm and into another, until I was sobbing his name.

Then he groaned and emptied himself inside me.

He collapsed beside me, panting.

I laughed, breathless, and he pulled me against him.

He kissed my forehead, and for the first time that night he was gentle.

"Whatever your father does," he said, "you're staying."

I slept better than I had in a week.

The next morning I woke before dawn with my stomach rolling.

I made it to the bathroom just in time and knelt over the toilet, heaving.

When it was over, I sat back on the cold tile and looked at the wall calendar through the open door.

I counted the days twice.

Then I counted them a third time, with my hand over my mouth.

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