Merciless Union by Faith Summers
21
Aria
It’s just gone midnight.
As if I’m destined to enter some magical dimension where things change on the edge of a new day, I hear that music again.
It’s the piano this time.
Lucca is playing it, playing our song—Clair De Lune—as if he’s trying to lure that secret part of my heart that can be summoned to life with music.
He wants me to go to him. It’s the only reason he’d be playing that particular piece. The other songs he plays seem to be for the ghosts.
I learned about the cameras in the room a few weeks back, so I know Lucca is aware that I’m awake.
And he wants me. No, not to sit down like we did weeks ago and play the piano.
There’s an air of seduction I can feel from all the way up here that tells me he wants to make good on the terms and conditions of my freedom.
All too quickly, I’m reminded of his words again.
In a nutshell—be his wife, and we continue fucking, or it’s not happening, which also translates to be his whore, or I won’t get what I want.
The thought automatically makes me want to defy him.
But even without the enticement of my freedom, the man knows exactly which buttons to press to make me act in a way I never anticipate.
When I hear this song, I don’t think about freedom or anything I want.
It makes me think of him.
Only him.
The song awakens something primal inside me that weakens my willpower to resist him. Hearing it has a commanding power over my mind that wants me to see him.
Everything comes alive in me when I hear that piece. However, when the music comes from him, something happens to my soul.
Dr. Belmont played beautifully, as expected from a professional musician. Lucca, on the other hand, plays with something else you never expect to find in a man like him—heart.
All day the music rang through my mind as I busied myself with trying to remember how to play the violin. I took things back to basics and even got out some of my How-To guides Sienna dug up from when I was a child.
Determination to harness whatever that spark was guiding me to do was never stronger than it was today. It’s also exactly why I’m up so late.
As well as that part of me that still worries for my husband. It forbade me from going to sleep, not knowing where he was. Or if he was safe.
This would have been night two of not seeing him and not knowing if he was dead in a ditch somewhere.
This is different from when Marylin was around and could comfort me or assure me that he’d be home soon. Even when I didn’t know I needed assurance or cared for him enough to want it. She seemed to see straight through me.
Lucca continues playing, and I hate myself when memories of the ruthless way he took me the other night come back to haunt me. I remember how wild we were. My nipples peak and arousal stirs low in my belly, making my pussy clench with need.
That was just nights ago we were together, and I allowed him to own me.
We had sex outside under the moonlight, then took the wildness into the bedroom where we sealed in whatever insanity came to claim us.
I can sit here and defy him all I want, knowing I’m going to lose either way.
Either I’ll try hard to fight off those feelings that make me want him and lose. Or he’ll come up here and fuck me. This is his house, after all, his bedroom.
At least if I go to him, I’ll know what to expect.
It’s just sex, I tell myself.
I can pretend it’s nothing even though it felt like we stopped having mere sex weeks ago and what we do is something else.
It doesn’t matter what it feels like; this is the price of freedom.
I rise from the window bay and pack away my violin. Then I pull on my dressing gown and make my way downstairs. There I find him.
He’s wearing a white tank top, and his hair hangs over his face as he stares down at the keyboard.
It’s only when he lifts his head to acknowledge me that I see the left side of his face is bruised, and there’s a nasty gash over his eye. It looks like he was hit with a baseball bat and punched with a truck.
No matter how mad I am with him or conflicted, anyone would say something about the state of his face because he looks like he should be in the hospital.
“What happened to you?” I gasp. I rush over to him only to find there’s a patch of blood seeping through the fabric on the edge of his waist.
“You should see the other guy, Printsessa.” He continues playing as if he just has a scratch.
“That tells me nothing. This is the fourth time you’ve been in a state. One of those times saw you in hospital, and the time before that, a doctor had to be called to the house. Can’t you be—" He cuts me off by reaching for me and pressing his lips to mine for a kiss to rival all kisses.
The effect is so potent a blast of energy pulses through me like lightning, and I have to pull away.
With my heart racing and my pulse galloping, I stare back at him and wonder what the hell I’m actually doing here.
The corners of his lips curve into a sexy smile that somehow looks more alluring with his injuries. Bruises and cuts are supposed to look bad. He, however, makes them look as sexy as the rest of him.
He stands, towering over me, and I find myself rooted to the floor with my legs quivering from the sheer impact of him.
When he reaches out to touch my face, all the things I’m fighting not to feel come rushing back to haunt me.
He leans in close and stops inches away from my lips, the scent of him tantalizing my body with raw desire and everything I’m fighting so hard to forbid.
“Can’t I be more careful?” he fills in, and that smile becomes as ruthless as he is.
I’m not even sure now if that was what I was going to say. It could have been.
“Can’t you?”
He chuckles a deep male rumble, then a shadow of seriousness washes over his face, and he stares at me like he’s trying to look inside my soul.
“I could be more careful, Aria Dyshekov,” he states like he’s once again reminding me who I am. “But my wife was stolen from me, and when I found her, she had bruises all over her face. That was enough to warrant death. Then I find out the fuckers responsible for taking her did all kinds of shit to her. So, when I find a bastard ex-marine who can help me but won’t talk and thinks he should fight me instead, I fight dirty to the death. Except I don’t die, this is what I look like instead.”
I press my lips together as we stare at each other, and I process his words.
He’s doing that for me. He’s talking about it without reference to the revenge he wants to exact.
“Me,” I mutter and shake my head. “Don’t get hurt for me. There are people who died because of the evil of my father.”
“They’re dead, and the devil still wants my wife. Whether she wants to be my wife or not, she’s still mine and mine to protect. As long as I draw breath, he’s not having her.”
The strength in his words are so powerful they deliver a punch to my gut.
I pull in a measured breath to steady my mind. The determination with which he speaks emanates from him, and I don’t have to look that deep to see what he feels for me.
However, in true Lucca style, he manages to school his emotions the way he does with everything else. They are there one moment and gone so quickly the next, you question what you saw. This time, though, I have his words to confirm what I saw, so I know I wasn’t seeing things.
I know I’m not seeing things now either as his gaze drops to my breasts, and he shifts back to that dark, foreboding man he is.
The same one who told me we wouldn’t stop fucking or anything else we’re already doing while I was in his care.
When his gaze flicks back to mine, the same desire writhing through my body clouds his eyes. Seeing such a thing in a man like him makes my brain flip flop.
Instead of kissing me again like I think he will, he moves to my ear, and his warm breath tickles my skin.
Again, I think he might kiss me, but instead, he runs his nose over my skin and inhales me.
When he touches my face again and cups my sex through the fabric of my negligee so he can stroke over my pussy-lips, I know I never stood a chance of resisting him.
“I want this,” he tells me, lifting the hem of the negligee and sliding his fingers under the edge of my panties. He pushes right into my pussy and starts a slow pump. “Your pussy is wet for me already, Printsessa.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“If telling yourself that helps you, I don’t mind one way or the other. Facts are facts, and your wet cunt tells me you want me. See, look at how wet your pussy is.” He pulls his fingers out and shows me the glistening juice coating his skin.
Arousal claws through me when he licks his fingers, and that sexy trademark half-smile comes back to his lips.
“Spread your legs so I can taste you.” He pushes me against
the wall and spreads my legs so he can bury his face between my thighs.
As his tongue thrashes over my clit, I lose my damn mind. His tongue stroking over me is so amazing it sends me into the arms of pleasure where I’m held. He starts sucking and feasting, pumping in and out of me with his tongue.
I grab onto his powerful shoulders to keep myself from falling over, and then I take the powerful thrusts he gives me and try to hold in my moans. If I can hold on to that small part of me, it will be the start of some resistance.
It’s like an addict being weaned off a drug. Going cold turkey right away might be self-destructive
“Stop forcing yourself to hate it. You don’t,” he states, but I can’t think to answer with a lie that should tell him I’m not forcing anything. He’d know I was lying. “Let me hear your moans, Printsessa.”
He adds another thick finger into my pussy and starts a slow—oh so slow—tortuous pump. The slow pushing in and out of my passage fans the flames he already ignited within me.
The infernal intensity sends spikes of fire shooting through my belly when he runs one more finger over my asshole and starts caressing the skin there.
With his fingers in both my pussy and the tight rosette of my asshole, my body comes alive from the ravenous pleasure he’s giving me. The aftershock then sends me over the edge.
The devil chooses that moment to increase the speed of his pumps, and I have no choice but to cry out like a woman who’s lost her mind.
The pleasure is so powerful the only thing I want him to do is fuck me. The thought of him doing just that makes me come all over his fingers. I crumble in defeat and come from the potent pleasure all at the same time, my body arching into his touch to get more of what he’s giving me.
“Good, don’t you ever dare rob me of hearing you scream like that,” he sneers.
“You bastard,” I moan.
“Yes, I told you that was the first thing you’d learn about me. Now take what I give you and enjoy it.”
By the time he returns his tongue to my pussy I’m spent from the battle I just lost.
He drinks me, leaving nothing. When he finishes, he stands, and I can barely keep myself up because my damn head is spinning so much, I can’t steady my thoughts.
“Take your clothes off for me, Aria,” he beckons.
I knew this was coming. What I never factored in was feeling like this.
Like it’s not that fucking hard to do as I’m told. This doesn’t feel like I’m doing what I’m told to get something out of it, and I don’t feel like a wife who wants to leave her husband. I feel like a woman who wants to be fucked.
That’s the dangerous part.
Lucca lifts an impatient brow, and I steady my mind enough to take off my dressing gown. Since all I’m wearing underneath is a silk negligee and my panties, there isn’t much to take off, much to his satisfaction.
His perfect face breaks out into an even smile at my willingness to follow his command.
“Good girl.” He reaches forward and fondles my breasts, taking my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers so he can squeeze and play with me at the same time. My body responds to his touch, and my nipples harden instantly. The wetness gathering in my core is also another tell of my treacherous body betraying me all over again. “Now, get on your knees and suck my dick.”
My cheeks heat with fire as he undoes his belt buckle and unzips his pants.
When his cock springs free, I drop to my knees and run my hand over his straining cock that grows more erect in my hands. The sight of his length and the feel of his hardness makes my mouth water.
I bow my head and take his length into my mouth, licking over the head first then over the silky skin. When he moans, I start sucking him hard.
His fingers lace through the strands of my hair until he grabs a fist full and starts fucking my face. Hard thrusts tunnel into my mouth that hurt, but I don’t stop. I take him deeper until he’s deep throating me, and tears run down the side of my face.
I know he can’t continue like that when I caress his balls, and they tighten in response. I’ve had him like this so many times that I know his body by now.
When his cock becomes rock hard, he pulls out. One heavy hand reaches for my arm, and he yanks me to stand and face the wall.
This position always feels insanely good, but his hands on me feel better.
I just manage a breath before he slams into my body. His cock is so thick and big he fills me up completely. Another orgasm gathers, brewing like a storm. When he starts moving inside me, my heart starts pounding.
He fucks me hard and into the wall, each thrust leaving me with that defeated knowledge that I never stood a chance.
I don’t as long as I want him and want this.
I can fight all I want, but I’ll never be able to resist this man.
So, what do I do?
Fuck—
Like he can hear my thoughts, he starts fucking me harder, so hard stars speckle my vision, and a white wall of pleasure blinds me.
I come again, and moments later, he does too.
The blast of cum in my pussy claims me all over again. The warmth spreads through my body, conquering every cell in my being, and I rest against the wall, breathing hard as I allow myself to become lost in the moment.
The flutters of his fingers on my back pull me from it. Then he dips his head to mine again, pressing his bearded cheek to mine.
“I want you outside now.”
“Outside?”
“Yes, wife, I want you riding my cock in the hot tub.”
I glance around at him just in time to see the arrogant smirk on his face that suggests he means to have me all night.
Again.
