Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Then we shall call it off and continue to build alliances against one another. Why not? I like a little fucking chaos.”
He swallows thickly, his eyelids tightening, and I watch him hold back all the things he wants to say to me. All of which he knows I wouldn't tolerate.
“Honey, let’s not square off. We’re here to celebrate the joining of states. Please, let’s not spoil dinner.” His wife, Isabelle—a wise woman, clearly—steps in and pats his chest softly. With one more look of pure disdain, he turns and gestures for us to go inside.
“Future Mrs. Valiente, lead the way,” I tell Emelia. When she continues to just eye me fiercely with so much focus and interest, I drop my chin and raise my brows.
“Oh yes, sorry. This way,” she stammers, staggering a bit as she moves into place. She wears a white sundress, and it hugs her body nicely as her hips sway while she walks.
I’m not disappointed with the extra prize I get with this deal. I’m a red-blooded male. I am feral and like to fuck that way. She will break and mold for me. My own personal toy. One I can fuck whenever and however I want.
Emelia’s hips—they’re perfect and thick enough to grab, control, and help throw her around like a rag doll. Rough touches, heady fucking, with screams of pure ecstasy is how I like it.
The trick will be coming to terms with having a wife. Being tied down isn’t for men like me. Yet, I don't think I will ever truly be tied down, even when I’m married. I could still have women on the side. Emelia is an arrangement, a way to bear an heir.
We both know the rules. She doesn’t seem like a stupid woman who would think there will only ever be her for as long as my cock is still functioning. However, if she enjoys the way we fuck, I wouldn’t complain having that body under me at all times of the fucking day.
As we walk, she peers at me over her shoulder, her brown orbs admiring me. And although I have no lack in confidence, I still appreciate it.
Stepping into the dining room, I see the table set with a feast meant for dozens of men. It is a typical Italian meal, with many types of pasta, wine, cheese, and cannoli.
“This spot is meant for you,” Emelia speaks, and her voice is a raspy one. It’s feminine but has this spice to it that makes her sound sensual. It will be fucking intoxicating coming from her lips when we’re in the throes of passion.
“I expect you to sit next to me,” I tell her as she moves more toward where her family sits across the table. She drops her head in submission and nods.
“Head up, Emelia. I won’t have a wife who acts small amongst others.”
Her head snaps up, and she glares at me.
There she is.
I know she’s a firecracker waiting to be lit, to skyrocket into a spiral. To fly free from her confines and let whoever is in her way feel years of pent-up wrath.
She steps up to the seat next to me, and with attitude behind her movements, she sits and scoots in, loudly dragging the chair with her to emphasize her annoyance.
“Emelia. Enough!” her father hollers, and my fiancée’s back seizes, her hands going to her lap and her head dropping once more.
Interesting.
This will be interesting.
Because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle this dinner until his mouth is full, as he chokes on the barrel of my fucking gun.
CHAPTER TWO
EMELIA
I hate my father. Hate that he makes me cower and docile around others. Wanting for years to have a voice, freedom, and a place where I don’t need to fight for respect and lose it so easily was a futile dream. I stand no chance.
But Nico, he makes me so angry, confused yet intrigued. It’s a hot and cold type of behavior I can’t decipher. One second, he is telling my father I am someone he needs to respect, then he’s bossing me around. Basically, I’m to be respected by others but still treated like property by my husband-to-be. History repeats itself, and this is the most abhorrent part of it all.
We pray—the young women in this life—that we will be able to break free, but we’re just passed on to another power-hungry man with no regard for us as humans. We are made to kneel at their feet, used to fuck like we are nothing but holes and have their children. All while we play the perfect submissive wife, turning blind eyes to so many different things, including their indiscretions with their mistresses.
I won’t lie when I say it felt good and truly amazing to watch my father cower in front of another man. To feel just a small dose of what I do when he talks down to me. Nico is a good bit older than me at thirty-two, and he has experienced a lot of men infected with power trips, I’m sure. Himself included. Does he ever get annoyed by his own arrogance?