Vicious Promise by M. James

Luca

Ihadn’t thought that there could be anything I wanted to do less than go to one of the formal parties that the Rossi family throws from time to time, like the Don’s anniversary party or Catalina’s engagement.

But now I’ve found a new one to dread.

My own wedding rehearsal.

I’ve managed to avoid Sofia entirely since the afternoon I found myself jerking off standing in her closet, clutching her dress like a deranged, lovesick boy. That was the wake-up call that let me know I needed to put some serious space between the two of us, and I proceeded to do exactly that.

There’s just one problem left.

I haven’t fucked anyone in a week.

That same night, I went out to my favorite whiskey bar and took my usual spot near the window, waiting to find the perfect woman to take home and use to fuck every single thought of Sofia out of my head.

I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

And for the first time since I was old enough to go out to a bar, hell, since before I was legally supposed to be drinking in bars—it’s amazing what being rich allows you to do at eighteen—I went home alone.

I, Luca Romano, legendary Manhattan playboy, went home alone.

And jerked off again, in the shower, thinking about the hot water and my expensive soap dripping off of Sofia Ferretti’s luscious tits.

Okay, fine, I’d told myself, waking up the next morning. I’d just found the rare night—the only night—in which there hadn’t been a single woman out who was my type. Never mind that my type is between eighteen and thirty and breathing—I just hadn’t found anyone to pique my interest.

Nothing wrong with that. Everyone has an off night.

But I didn’t bring anyone home that next night, either.

This morning makes almost a week running that I’ve pleasured myself every single day, multiple times most days, unable to find a woman that makes me want to turn on my trademark charm and sweep her into my bed. Instead I’ve come home and fantasized about all of the filthy, dirty, insanely pleasurable things that I want to do to Sofia and her prized innocence. How I want to rip it away from her like that stupidly short black dress, and make her beg for me until she’s breathless with it. How I want to teach her how it feels to have every inch of her body touched and kissed and stroked, how it feels to come over and over again until I lose all control and cover her in my cum, marking her as mine once and for all--

And just like that, I’m rock-hard in the back of the car, a mile away from the church where I’m getting married.

At this rate, it’s going to be impossible for me not to wind up erect during the ceremony just from the sight of her.

I can’t understand it. A week ago, I would have laughed until I pissed myself at the idea that there could be a woman anywhere, in the entire world, that could make me celibate. That could keep me from fucking anyone and everyone that I please. And yet, since I carried Sofia out of that hotel room, I haven’t seen a single woman that can make me forget about her.

Not a single one that makes me want anyone else.

I want Sofia. I want her in every single way that a man can want a woman, and apparently I want her so desperately that I can’t get a hard-on for anyone else. Part of the reason I haven’t brought anyone home is on account of the fact that I couldn’t bear the humiliation if I couldn’t get it up for another woman.

I should want to fuck someone else. I should want to take another woman to bed and fuck her so soundly that Sofia would hear the moans all the way down the hall, and realize the utter foolishness of holding out on me. I should bend another woman over in front of Sofia’s goddamn door and let her hear the sound of me slamming balls deep into literally anyone that isn’t her.

But I haven’t, and at this point, I’m starting to think that I won’t.

So what the fuck are you going to do? Stay celibate forever?Sofia and I are at a stand-off, and once I banish her to her own apartment, I can’t imagine the situation is going to improve. Maybe having her out of sight will successfully get her out of my mind—but I’m not sure that I can bet on that anymore.

I’m not sure of anything. And I could strangle her for shattering my peace of mind so thoroughly.

I’m going to see her in less than twenty minutes, and I couldn’t be less ready.

There’s only a few people at the rehearsal—Don Rossi and his wife Giulia, Franco and Caterina, and of course Father Donahue. The rehearsal dinner will be a different matter altogether, with several of the higher-ranking members of the family there.

I walk down the aisle towards the altar, feeling as if my tie is choking me. I want out of here more than I want to breathe—I want to flee this church, get on the first plane to Amsterdam, and lose myself in the filthiest fucking sex imaginable. Maybe crossing an ocean would mean enough space between Sofia and I that I could stop thinking about her.

Probably not.

What the fuck does she want?I think as I stand at the altar with Franco next to me, Don Rossi and his wife sitting in the first pew, and Caterina striding down the aisle to go meet Sofia and bring her in. Does she want love? Fidelity? Is this just a way of punishing me for forcing her into this?

Surely she doesn’t want me to be a real husband to her—faithful, loving, all of that bullshit. Even if I were capable of it, I don’t know what reason she would have for wanting that. In her eyes, I’m just the man she’s being forced to marry. Not the man who rescued her, the man who saved her from being sold or worse—just her jailer. Her unwanted husband.

But I’ve felt, in those moments that we were alone together, that a part of her wants me physically. I felt it in the brief moment that she gave into my kiss, in the way she reacts every time we fight, in the way I see her skin flush and her chest heave. She’s fighting desire, too.

So why not just give in?

I’ve got to stop thinking about it, or I’m never going to get through tonight.

The doors open, and the music starts. Canon in D, the traditional wedding music, and I stand up a little straighter. “Here comes the bride,” Franco says with a laugh, nudging me playfully. “Shame you won’t be the first, but damn if you weren’t lucky enough to get a hot piece of ass.”

I feel myself tense, and for the first time, I find myself wanting to punch my best friend. A good right hook to the jaw ought to teach him not to talk about my fiancée that way, I think, gritting my teeth.

But we’ve been talking that way about women all our lives. For fuck’s sake, he gave me the gritty details of the blowjob Caterina gave him in the back of the limo after he put the ring on her finger, right down to how he was sure she’d done it before, because she took it all the way down her throat, and knew to swallow. I should have just elbowed him back, and made a comment about what, exactly, I plan to do to that ass tomorrow night.

Instead, I want to punch him for even mentioning that he’s looked at Sofia.

As the music fills the room, Caterina comes through the doors, walking slowly down the aisle just as she will tomorrow. I glance sideways at Franco, and see that his eyes are locked on his own fiancée, his face so full of lust that I’m surprised he hasn’t managed to fuck her already. “I can’t wait to plow that virgin field,” he says longingly under his breath, his eyes greedily undressing her as she walks towards us. “The Don’s daughter. My god, Luca, you’re a good fucking friend.”

“You earned it,” I tell him quietly. And I mean it. He’s earned everything he’s gotten and more over the years, standing steadfastly by my side through everything we’ve done. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.

But right now, watching him eye-fuck his future bride, knowing that he’s going to get to take her to bed on their wedding night, I’ve never been so jealous.

How the fuck did I get myself into this?

Not for the first time, I wish that I’d told Sofia that her conditions could go straight to hell. But I agreed to them, promised to honor that agreement, and I can’t go back on it now.

No matter how desperately I wish I could. At this point, I’d almost take having her even if it meant she laid there like a cold fish. Hell, maybe that would be better. It might cure me of my insane desire for her if she turned out to be awful in bed.

“There she is,” Franco hisses, and I look towards the doors, feeling a sudden tightness in my chest that’s wholly unfamiliar to me.

Sofia walks through the doors, and that feeling only intensifies. She looks beautiful, wearing a light pink lace dress with a ribbon belt and half-sleeves. It clings to her curves without being too sexy for the cathedral, and I feel my mouth go dry as I look at her long legs in the high heels that she’s wearing—undoubtedly ones that she purchased on my dime during her little shopping spree.

All I want in the world, in that moment, is to have those legs wrapped around me. I’d spend any amount of money, I think fervently, as I watch her walk towards me, struggling mightily to keep my desire under control and not embarrass myself in the middle of church. I’d buy her anything. Promise her anything. Just to get inside of her once.

The worst part of it is that I can’t figure out how on Earth this one inexperienced, virgin girl has managed to undo me so completely. She probably doesn’t even know what to do. I’d have to teach her everything. But I don’t even care. Ever since I pinned her up against that door, the thought of being the first man to make Sofia Ferretti whimper and moan and beg, the first man inside of her, has reduced me to this.

A man who is completely hung up on one woman. The kind of man I swore I’d never be.

The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can start to forget about her.

The problem is, I’m not sure I want to anymore.

Sofia stops at the foot of the steps leading up to the altar. “Is anyone giving you away?” Father Donahue asks, and I’m temporarily distracted from my inappropriate, lustful musings by the look on Sofia’s face.

It actually cools my desire, briefly. The grief that fills her eyes is sharp and immediate, plain to anyone who is actually looking. She looks years younger in that moment, as if she’s been transported back to the day that she was a twelve-year-old girl who just lost her father, as it hits her all over again that he’ll never walk her down the aisle.

If he were here to walk her down the aisle, she wouldn’t be marrying me. And we’d all be better off for it.

“I can give her away tomorrow,” Don Rossi speaks up, leaning forward.

“No.” Sofia’s voice rings out, surprisingly strong. I feel Franco tense next to me, and we both look towards the Don, wondering how he’ll take the rejection—especially considering his feelings about Sofia. I can see his face redden slightly, and I feel my pulse speed up. In that moment, I realize that I’m prepared to defend her against his anger—yet another reaction I don’t understand.

“Thank you,” Sofia continues politely, her face completely neutral. “But my father, it seems, already gave me away once. So I’ll walk myself down the aisle tomorrow.” Her gaze flicks to me, and I see a hint of steel in it.

My little fiancée has found her backbone.

It shouldn’t turn me on. But like everything else about her, it unfortunately does.

“Whatever you prefer.” Don Rossi leans back in the pew, his expression still irritated, but he seems willing to let her insolence go. I let out the breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and glance over at Father Donahue, who looks slightly uncomfortable.

“Very well,” he says, gesturing to Sofia. “Step up here then, and take Luca’s hands. Luca, on the day, her veil will stay down until it’s time for you to kiss her after the vows.”

I half expect her to argue. But instead she reaches out, settling her hands in mine, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. Her hands are small and soft and warm, fitting perfectly in my broad palms, and I have to fight the urge to pull her towards me, gather her into my arms, and kiss her as thoroughly as I know how.

Tomorrow, she’ll be my wife. I should be able to kiss her whenever I want.

Instead, tomorrow will be the next, and only time.

I only half hear the vows that Father Donahue tells us we’ll be repeating. I can’t take my eyes off of Sofia’s face. She’s wearing very little makeup, enough that I can see the rosy flush of her skin peeking out through it, the few soft freckles on her cheeks. My eyes flick down to her full lips, and all I can think about is the fact that I’ll get to kiss her again tomorrow. For the first time since the night I had her up against the door, I’ll have her lips against mine.

“You’d better not bite me tomorrow,” I murmur under my breath, looking at her as Father Donahue finishes telling us our vows.

Sofia smiles brightly for his sake, but I can see the challenge in her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says sweetly, squeezing my hands. “My groom? On my wedding day? I would never.”

Father Donahue pauses, looking at us suspiciously. “This is where you’ll kiss your bride, Luca—tomorrow,” he adds pointedly.

Sofia’s smile is still plastered onto her face. As Father Donahue continues speaking, she looks up into my eyes and speaks through clenched teeth, her gaze fixed on mine. “Make it a good one tomorrow,” she says, her voice low and full of all the resentment that I know she must feel for me, down to her core.

“Because after that kiss,” she continues sweetly, her gaze still wide-eyed and holding mine. “You’ll never touch me again.”