Cruel Vows

I allow Massimo to grab me by the waist and pull me against him.

“Welcome to the famiglia, princess,” he murmurs and then his lips descend over mine in a passionate kiss.

I keep them firmly closed, but his tongue probes at them to open. Surely he can’t want to kiss like that in front of these people?

And then they break through and his tongue tangles with my own, stoking a hot and heavy need between my thighs despite everything.

Once we part, I’m breathless and panting.

“I can’t wait for tonight,” he says, a sadistic look in his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll just drag you behind the altar and fuck you there, Mrs. Morrone.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter.

He smirks and slides a hand onto the small of my back, turning me around and leading me back down the aisle as the audience shout and cheer in Italian.

As we walk through the doors and out onto the front steps of the church, people throw confetti over us. You’d think this was a joyful occasion and yet all I feel is despair.

He may have put his ring on my finger, but if he thinks that makes me his, then he’ll have to think again.

I’ve been through hell all my life and a little spoiled Italian bastard will not break me, no matter how much he wants to.

My attempt to drive him crazy with rage this past couple of weeks has backfired spectacularly, as all it does is make him want me more.

It means I need to switch tactics and try another angle. Once I’m through with Massimo, he’ll wish he never married me.