Broken Bride

“I know what men like Angelo are like. I know what he wants from me. It’s just about money for him. If it wasn’t, I’d be in his bed. He said I was too young, but I’m not…”

“Angelo said that you were too young?” Mark seems surprised. “I didn’t expect him to do the right thing.”

“You think rejecting me is the right thing?”

“Tilly…”

I am surrounded by hot guys. I am married to one of them, and they’re all treating me like I’m made of glass.

I’m tired of hinting. It is time I got what I want. What I have waited my entire life to have. Living inside my father’s prison meant never feeling a man’s touch. It meant touching myself furtively in the night, craving a lover I was never able to do more than imagine.

I might die in this house of secrets. I might wither away, untouched and unwanted by three men who are obsessed with one another in ways that far exceed any normal romantic connection. But that won’t happen without a fight.

I want in.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want the heat of a male body pressed against mine. I want to feel wanted. I want everything I was made to want, and more. I don’t care if it’s wrong, or immoral. If my husband doesn’t want me…

I touch his chest and let my hand drift down his starched shirt.

“Take me, Mark. Make me yours.”

“Tilly…”

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking over my head. I don’t have time to turn around before Angelo grabs me by the hair and the scruff of my neck at the same time. I am pulled out of Mark’s bed like a naughty kitten.

“You’re in heat, aren’t you, girl.”

“Ow! Angelo!

“You are mine,” he growls, giving me a small shake as he pulls me back against him. “Mine to fuck.”

“Then fuck me, asshole.”

I’ve never spoken a sentence like that in my life. I can’t believe I actually managed to form those words. I’ve shocked myself. But I haven’t shocked Angelo.

“You’re going to regret that, Tilly. Mark. Get out of here. We’re going to use this bed.”

My heart is pounding. I am terrified, but I am also more alive than I have ever been. I want Angelo to ravage me. I want to know what it feels like to be taken by a man.

When Mark has left the room, Angelo tosses me on the bed and rips my clothes from my body. I listen to the seams tear, fabric giving way for this Sicilian monster who has finally been goaded into claiming me.

“Losing your nerve already, Tilly?” His voice reverberates through my flesh in a low growl.

I look into his eyes. I don’t see love. I see lust. Lust for control. Lust for power. Lust for me?

I don’t know what he wants, but I know I want him. He is the ultimate authority, a law unto himself.

Lying naked beneath him, with his Sicilian gaze running the length of my body, taking in every inch of me. I’ve never been seen this way before, completely without covering, and without shame.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, letting his fingertips run over my stomach toward the blonde curling hair which covers the mound between my thighs. “You would never recover from what I would do to you.”

I say nothing. This moment has a momentum of its own. There is something between us, a biological animal energy.

“I did not intend to consummate this marriage, Tilly,” he says. “I didn’t count on what a hungry little thing you were.”

“Then why marry me?”

“Because you needed marrying.”

His hand slides between my thighs and his fingers cup my pussy. They are powerful and long, thick and hard, and they play with my lower lips with an artful touch which surprises me for a man who is used to men.

I feel the tip of his index finger slipping between my inner lips, and finding the hot, wet little hole which has been hidden from all men.

He watches me closely and carefully, my face flushing as he pushes that finger inside me, penetrating me with care. I resist the impulse to draw my legs up together. I let him explore me, until his finger finds my hymen hiding up inside my tight channel.

“You’re a virgin still,” he sighs, drawing his hand away, leaving me with the memory of his touch.

“Yes…”

He leans down over me and presses a kiss to my lips. It begins chastely, but deepens slowly, my lips parting to allow his tongue to conquer me. He tastes like power. I feel myself melting, every muscle in my body relaxing and then tensing again in strategic locations.

I was made for him. I know it when his lips touch mine, when our breaths mingle. I know that we are vastly different, barely the same species. But I know too, that I feel an intense belonging, a oneness with this older man who wields his cruel power in the most inexplicable of ways.