“So I can undress you.” He motions at the gown. “You can’t undo those buttons yourself.”
Shit. There must be fifty small buttons running along my spine. I shake my head, my pulse suddenly pounding in my temples.
“Turn around, Tatiana.”
When I only lift my chin in obstinance, he steps right up to me, putting us toe to toe, and bunches the skirt in his fingers. He works through layers of petticoats, scrunching roses and silk in his fists until he bares my legs.
Roughly, he cups a hand between my thighs. “Is this how you want it?” He walks me backward until my ass hits the island counter. “You want me to fuck you in your wedding dress?”
I’m unable to form words. I can only stare at him, this beautiful monster who sets my body on fire, scared of what he’ll find if he insists that I undress, and scared that he’s already found the truth in the arousal that soaks my underwear.
“Strip for me, Tatiana.” He just holds his hand there without moving it, the heat of his palm seeping into my skin and burning me up inside.
When I don’t reply, he pulls his hand from between my legs. Just as I’m about to utter a sigh of relief, he flips me around and bends me over the counter. He works that long skirt over my hips, drowning me in a mountain of white fabric.
“Is this how you want it?” He parts my thighs with his knee. “Right here, for anyone to see?”
I glance at the big windows. Memories of that first time rush into my mind, of me being spread out against that glass and him going down on me. It seemed so hot then. Now it seems vulnerable and too exposed. I can’t give him that much of myself again.
“Answer me, Tatiana. Do you want to take off your dress and let your husband make love to you between rose petals on the bed like a wife deserves to be treated, or do you want to be fucked on the counter, bent over like a slut?”
I can’t speak. There’s no right answer. I don’t want to be fucked like his wife or his slut. But my silence leaves the decision to him. So he makes it. He does what he always does by taking the lead instead of following the action.
“Very well,” is the only warning I get before he snaps the elastic of the white lace underwear and tears it off me. “This is your last chance, wife. Do you need a glass of champagne to help you relax?”
I don’t speak because I don’t want a repeat of that time he made so sweet for me. If this is supposed to be another night that will mark our lives forever, I don’t want to hold any good memories from it.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He caresses my naked globes with his palms, spreading me open. “My dirty slut it will be.” His touch vanishes, leaving me cold. “You better hold on.” The clank of his belt sounds and then a swoosh as I imagine him pulling it through the loops of his waistband. “And don’t you dare let go until I’ve had my fill of your cunt.”
He’s making a point by treating me like a slut, reminding me that I do have a choice, that all I have to do is give in.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Not just because of the scars on my back but also because I have to protect my heart. I can’t allow him to break it and walk all over me again, which is exactly what will happen if I give in to his sweetness. The bottom line remains that he doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to win, but this is a war I won’t lose again.
A rustling of clothes sounds behind me. I turn my head to get a visual on what he’s doing, but the layers of white fabric obscures my view. The puffy skirt acts as a barrier between us, leaving me only with my sense of sound to guess his actions.
The scratchy sound of his zipper gives me a good idea of what will come next. I must be the slut he claims me to be, because when the smooth, broad head of his cock nudges my opening, anticipation runs through me like an electric shock. I turn even wetter, stretching my arms over my head and holding on to the edge of the counter on the other side as he told me to do because Dante never makes idle threats. And a part of me wants that. I want the pain that comes before the pleasure. I love how it burns away the guilt and leaves me raw and helpless, a different person I don’t know. Just for a while, it lets my mind separate from my body, allowing me to escape from myself.
He teases me like that for a while, doing nothing but spreading me open between his hands and rubbing his cock up and down my slit, each time ending on my clit. He does that until I’m delirious with need, until I don’t even know my own name any longer.
“Dante, please.”
He enters me with a single thrust, digging his fingers into my ass cheeks and keeping me open while he pumps into me with a lazy pace.
“Dante.”
“Does my slut want more? Is this what she likes?” He brings his hand down hard on my left globe, making me yelp. “Yes, look at that, how it makes your cunt even wetter. You want more of that, don’t you?”
Pulling out, he leaves me empty.
I bite my lip to stifle a protest.
The swish that cuts through the air registers too late. Pain explodes on my backside, flames leaping into my skin. There’s no time to panic, no time to connect the present to the past. The pain comes too fast, searing my flesh and keeping me grounded in the moment.
My thighs clench as the burn fizzles out. In its place, need flares. I barely have time to prepare myself before the second lash lands between my legs. It’s much gentler, more like a caress than a punishment, and without meaning to, I widen my stance.