Page 22 of Isle of Seduction
I let out a breath of relief when I circle my fingers tightly and press two digits inside my wet and aching pussy, my nipples peeking through the thin cami I wear to bed. I slide the fabric down with one of my hands, keeping the other in between my thighs, and pull the nipple taut until pains flares under my skin, mixing with the arousal in the best way.
I lick my fingers to bring the cooling sensation that never fails to send me into orgasm to the peaked tips.
I’m panting and moaning, but I don’t care. I throw my head back, plunging my fingers deeper inside me to stroke my G-spot and pressing the heel of my palm on my clit.
My traitorous brain conjures Andrea, sitting on the club chair, a smug smirk on his lips because he knows damn well who got me all hot and bothered like that. I come in seconds imagining him watching me without my permission to touch himself, his name on my lips.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Falling for my husband, a made man who seems to have stalker-ish tendencies, is not a good idea.
Getting up on unsteady legs, I wash my hands then come back to bed. I’m not sated by any means, but it will have to do.
No matter how much we tend to gravitate towards each other, driven by necessity, close proximity and nothing more, Andrea is an ambitious man with a big ego. I know the type. He’ll lie and manipulate to get me where he wants. I haven’t fought my way for the right to exist with my entire family to do the same with him. I haven’t refused to become serious with anyone, to protect myself, to do it with someone like him, someone dangerous. He could take my entire soul and run with it.
NINE
IT’S JUST A CONTRACT
Two weeks of PR meetings and fake dates and it’s finally time to get introduced as Andrea’s wife. My skin buzzes with effervescent energy at the prospect of doing what I do best. Gathering secrets, working a crowd, gaining favours. The objective isn’t the Moretti business this time, but I’ll take this assignment as seriously as if it were. Because that’s all this is, an assignment. A contract between two prominent mafia families, as it’s been done for generations upon generations.
Andrea and I are expected to be at the poshest hotel in the city centre for his fundraiser at seven pm but I can’t seem to decide what to wear. Do I want heads to turn or do I want to remain inconspicuous?
I look inside my closet that’s finally filled not only with the clothes I bought with Andrea’s money, but mine too. It’s overflowing with colourful fabrics and a mountain of shoes, but every time I look into it, my nerves settle. Even if I married someone I barely know, I don’t have to be someone different. I can be me. That’s a relief I don’t know what to do with. Should I be grateful Andrea is half decent, allowing me to be my own person, or is it something normal husbands do?
The dress code is black tie and my eyes can’t stray away from my favourite velvet night-blue dress. The fabric is soft under my hands and the bustier, finished with Swarovski crystals along the straight neckline, will sparkle under the lights like I’m wearing a river of diamonds.
I’m already the talk of the town, better to capitalise on it and give the people the show they came out to see.
Putting away the inevitable, I enter the bathroom and do a light makeup on the eyes with burgundy red lips, pining my hair up save for a few strands here and there.
When I walk back into the bedroom, I put on the dress and watch myself in the mirror. I can’t deny the high split, almost up to my left hip and also highlighted by crystals, is giving the extra edge to the gown that leaves my best attributes on display.
Silver heels are the last touch to my perfect outfit.
Turning heads, it is.
A knock sounds on the door and I open it, taking in the man on the other side of the threshold. Andrea’s dressed in a burgundy suit that fits his body like a glove and highlights the sharp angles of his face. He’s forgone the dress shirt, the cashmere black turtleneck sweater he wears instead giving him an air of authority and elegance fitted to his station. His hair is up in a bun, beard combed and looking soft, and his eyes are taking me in, inch by inch.
When our eyes meet, I can’t see the hazel usually there, it’s all darkness and nefarious intent.
Goosebumps erupt all over my skin as I absorb the intensity of his perusal.
I break the tension to distract myself from my increased heartbeat and heated skin.
“Something for me?” I ask, motioning to the red box in his hand.
He seems struck and shakes his head in an imperceptible movement before answering.
“You didn’t get yourself jewellery on your last shopping spree, sweetheart. I wasn’t about to let you walk to a fundraiser, unadorned.” A small smile tugs at his kissable lips and I avert my gaze, before reminding myself that I don’t bow down to anyone and meeting his eyes straight on. The challenge written in his honey irises has me rolling my eyes.
I almost forgot his favourite past-time is to rile me up with ridiculous innuendos.
Andrea takes the necklace out of his box. The thick dark ruby on the gold choker sparkles under the light and compliments my dress and lipstick perfectly, as if he knew exactly what I’d wear. It looks like a drop of blood, resting gently at the hollow of my throat, a subtle imagery of murder and mayhem. I could throw caution to the wind for this piece only.
His fingers gently graze the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulders as he clasps the necklace closed, eliciting a shiver that builds at the bottom of my spine and travels up at the speed of light. His lips caress the top of my shoulder in a barely there presence, the hair rising at the back of my nape.
I take a fortifying breath and turn to give him a curt nod. “Thank you.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “One more thing,” he says and fishes something from his pocket. “We should wear this.”