We’re almost the last to leave the party, dancing until it was stupidly late, Dom’s hands at my waist, spinning me around then back in for a kiss. I’m utterly seduced by this man playing my husband.
But the second we’re alone, he carefully puts distance between us, and the teasing tone disappears from his voice. He stops flirting with me, and touching me, and instead asks simple questions about whether I’ve enjoyed myself and which of the other wives I like best. I hardly know the answer to the last part, since I spent nearly all evening with him.
He walks me upstairs to my bedroom door, and pauses. “You remember there’s a lock.”
It’s not quite a question, or a command.
“Yeah.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he came to my room last night, but I swallow it down.
“Good night, Taggie.”
Then he’s gone. No kiss goodnight. No sign of affection.
I really, really thought he liked me. When he kissed me earlier it was the most magical, special moment of my life. I was stupid enough to think that maybe what he said about falling in love at first sight was a little bit true. I thought he found me attractive and interesting.
But it was just a show.
I stare around at the beautiful room, with all the things I wanted, and feel hollow. They’re lovely, but unlike spending time with Dom and him touching my waist, and murmuring that I’m his good girl, they don’t make me feel warm and happy.
I feel so stupid.
I’m not tired, merely sad. Pathetic and unloved. I could stay up and read, but I don’t. There’s no way I can fall asleep, though. Apart from anything else, I don’t want to wake up again from a dream that Dom is in my room, unable to tell the difference between what I long for and the bleak reality that he’s not attracted to me.
Why would he be?
All the evidence I gave myself for Dom’s interest seems flimsy now I’ve discovered how easily he can turn off that loving-husband act.
And yeah, I thought I’d seen him before, but he’s not the only tall, dark-haired man with tattoos and black suits in London. I must have been mistaken, just like I was dreaming last night.
I crawl under the bed covers, cold and alone.
I don’t sleep, thoughts circling. The covers are around my shoulders, high and snuggled in, protective against the chill of Dom not wanting me.
It’s the sound of the door handle that I hear first. Then nothing.
“Taggie.” My name is an almost silent breath. “Mia bambola…” There’s a cascade of low words in Italian that I can barely take in, never mind understand.
I can’t believe it. That’s my fake husband’s voice.
Remaining motionless, I listen intently. There are soft sounds of fabric shifting, but I can’t identify them, and my heart is beating so loudly I can’t think.
Could I risk…?
I open my eye closest to the pillow a tiny sliver.
And yes.
My heart bursts.
It’s Dom. Here. In my bedroom.
He’s standing next to my bed, looking over me. He’s bare to the waist, and his chest is covered with tattoos, the black ink snaking over his body. It makes him even more beautiful, and a bit scary.
“What is it about you, bambola? You’re such a good girl, but you make me a bad, bad man. I crave you. See how hard you make me?”
He rubs over the huge bulge in his trousers, and yes, I do see.
“I’ve done a lot of evil things, Taggie. I’m not a good person. I’ve killed many, many people.”
That statement rockets electricity down my spine in an unexpected way. Am I excited that he’s a murderer?
“But I don’t take advantage of innocent girls under my protection…” He groans. “I’ve never wanted to have a girl so much that I even considered something so sick as to…” He trails off. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, and so young. It’s wrong for me to be doing this, but the alternative…”
There’s the sound of a metal zipper, and I dare to peek my eyes open to see as he pushes down his black underwear and reveals his cock.
I bite back a gasp. Even fuzzy from the darkness and my mostly-closed eyes, my eyelashes obscuring him, he’s huge. The head is red and angry, and veins pop out, snaking down the length. There’s no way I could get my hand around it. It’s beautiful, and intimidating.
I totally get the big deal now.
“At least if I’m doing this while you’re sleeping, I’m not touching you when you’re awake. I’m not telling you how I can’t live without you.”
He strokes his fingers roughly over the swollen tip, and huffs out a breath.
“Cute kisses in public, and I wank my obsession off in the dark.” His voice is barely above a whisper. He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to himself. “Do I just need to get this out of my system?”
He grips his cock hard with that black-tattooed hand of his, and makes a gruff noise like a wounded animal.
Between my legs is getting hot and squirmy as he strokes himself with firm, rhythmic movements. My mouth is watering, and I don’t even know why. Do I want to eat him? My jaw suddenly longs to open and have that massive length pushed inside.
“I need you so much, Taggie.” His voice is low and intense. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this. It’s a hunger I can’t sate. I need you.”
Heat flares through me, sparkling at my core. As subtly as I can, I press my thighs together under the covers, and yes, yes. It shoots a thread of pleasure into me, but not enough.
The intensity of being the object of his desire is heady. I might only be the girl he watches while he pleasures himself, but the sounds he’s making, and his words, tell me this is not a casual thing for him.
“I want to finish deep inside you. I want to spray right up into your womb.”
Ohh… I didn’t know. But yes. I’d love to be filled up with Dom in every way.
“I can’t have you in truth, Taggie. You’re too young and innocent. I’d be corrupting you. Dragging you into a sordid mafia world you don’t deserve.”
His hand is moving fast now, and the tip of his cock is getting bigger, and redder.
“My good girl. I’d get you pregnant if I could. Make sure everyone knew I’d fucked you and made you mine.” He groans, and it takes all my strength to lie still.
There’s no way I’m interrupting this.
I know the moment he comes. The rounded, blunt, end of his cock swells further and in the split second before he puts his hand over it, I see white liquid shoot out.
The shock of it is intense, and I’m as wrecked as he is.
I’m also, as I lie there, observing him clean up and pull his trousers over that huge cock, undeniably aroused.
Watching Dom wank while hearing him talk about me was the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I feel special, and seen.
Even when he leaves, with a gentle, “Buonanotte, bambola,” I remain awake, my skin feeling a size too small. The impulse to roll over and put my hands between my legs to feel what I know will be a flood is almost unbearable.
One thing is for sure. That was not a dream.
