Broken Promise by M. James
Sofia
I’m in the kitchen, peeling a tangerine from the fruit bowl that’s always mysteriously full—the pantry and the refrigerator are always full of food too, despite the fact that neither Luca nor I ever cook—when I hear the front door open and shut with a hard slam.
My stomach knots. I’ve been nauseated all day, my head aching and stomach churning from the hangover that resulted after my binge drinking yesterday, but this is something different. I’m almost certain Luca is home, and the feeling that sweeps over me is strange and unfamiliar. It feels like fear mixed with excitement. While I can certainly understand the fear, I can’t come to terms with why his arrival sends a thrill through me as well, making me feel almost jittery.
It’s almost as if I’m anticipating the fight we might have, the way he’ll loom over me with anger, the taut, thick air between us as the tension builds. I never thought I would be someone who would get off on that sort of thing, but something about the way Luca and I clash makes me want more of it, no matter how much I tell myself I don’t.
“Sofia? Sofia!”
I hear him call my name from the living room, loud and commanding, and I walk out of the kitchen tentatively, my heart thudding in my chest. I don’t know what sort of mood he’s in, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.
The lights in the living room are low, the room dim and lit mainly by the nighttime glow of the city coming in through the massive window. Luca is standing there, silhouetted by it, his suit jacket gone and his shirtsleeves rolled up. When he turns at the sound of my footsteps, I can see that he’s already discarded his tie as well, the first two buttons of his shirt open. It reminds me of how he’d looked just before he left, when he told me the new terms of my living situation, and a shiver runs over my skin.
“You didn’t come home last night.” There’s a slight quaver in my voice, and I hate it. “Where were you?”
“Does it matter?” His voice is tight and cold, and it sends another shiver through me.
“I don’t know.” I chew on my lower lip. “I just—I thought you’d be home.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the peace.” Luca’s tone is deceptively calm, and I know by now that there must be something else beneath it. “Can’t a husband worry about his wife’s well-being?”
“You’re not that kind of husband,” I retort. “And you know it.”
“No. I suppose I’m not.” Luca hits the lights, bringing them up a fraction. “Were you a good girl while I was gone, Sofia?”
My heart stutters in my chest. Does he know? I haven’t been a “good girl” in many ways—I didn’t read a word of what was left on the iPad for me, I got blind drunk, I…
I can’t even think about what I did in the movie room, or I’ll blush, and then Luca will know for certain that I’ve done something I shouldn’t.
And why shouldn’t I have?I think defiantly. After all, it’s my body. But it’s not what I did that I feel guilty about. It’s what I thought about while I was doing it. Who I thought about.
He takes a step towards me, and the way he moves makes me think of a prowling panther, something stalking me in the half-light of the room. “What about your lessons? Did you read what Carmen sent over?”
“I—”
“What’s the name of the underboss for Miami?”
“Um—”
“Leo Esposito.” Luca stops, still several inches away. “What about his wife?”
“I—”
“Bianca Esposito. They have three children.” He recites it from memory, his green gaze fixed on mine. I can see something there—not desire, not quite anger. Something else, some restless emotion. “What about the underboss for Philadelphia?”
“Luca—”
“Angelo Rossi. He’s young and unmarried.” Luca takes two more steps towards me, and I can see the muscles working in his jaw. “Did you even look at the documents, Sofia?”
“I—no,” I admit, my mouth going dry at the expression on his face. “I didn’t.”
“And why not?” There’s that deceptive calmness as if he truly doesn’t care. But I know he does. I know there’s a storm brewing; I just don’t know when it will hit.
There’s nothing I can say. I didn’t want to, and that’s the only honest answer I can give. But I know that’s the worst possible thing I could say to Luca. “I didn’t know the password.”
“It was left for you. On a note stuck to the iPad. Carmen told me.”
“It must have fallen off.”
Luca takes another step, closing more of the space between us, and my pulse flutters nervously in my throat. I could back up—I should back up, but I can’t seem to make my feet move. I feel as if I’m frozen in place. “That’s the first lie tonight.” He holds up a finger. “You didn’t read them. So what did you do while I was gone?”
“I—I went up to the pool—”
“And what did you do while you were up there?”
“I just got some sun, swam a little—” I try to swallow, but my throat feels parched. Luca seems strung tight, restless, and I know there’s more bothering him than just whatever misbehaviors he’s uncovered from me. My rebellions, though, might just be what pushes him over the edge.
Just the thought sends a shudder down my spine, my skin tingling to my fingertips. To my horror, I can feel that newly familiar sensation coiling in my belly, snaking its way down to my groin, and I don’t understand it. This is turning me on, this game that we seem to play every time we’re together, this mixture of fear and apprehension and lust that he seems to arouse in me.
Who is he turning me into?
“So you didn’t get drunk on the rooftop? You didn’t keep drinking all the way until you went to bed?”
“I—I don’t really drink—”
“Except when you’re left alone in a penthouse with unlimited alcohol, apparently.” Luca takes a step back. “That’s two lies.” He looks down at me, his expression impassive, and some of the heat between us dissipates as he retreats. “Go upstairs, Sofia.”
“But—” I look at him, confused. “Where do you want me to go?”
“You know exactly where I want you to go.” His voice sounds almost angry now. “Don’t fight with me, Sofia, or I swear by all that’s holy you’ll regret it. Go upstairs.”
I don’t know what insane urge prompts me to do it—I must have a death wish. Or I’m secretly a masochist. It’s the only explanation for why I, looking at Luca’s stony face and cold gaze, would cross my arms over my chest and look up at him with a stubbornly lifted chin as I retort:
“I don’t want to go up to your room.”
“Sofia.” Luca’s voice holds an edge that sends another of those shivers down my spine. “You can go up on your own, and I’ll join you in a moment. Or I can carry you, and I promise you will not like the mood I’m in or what happens next if you choose that path. You might not like it either way. But it’s your choice.”
I’m tempted to continue to defy him. But my foggy mind clears just long enough to remember what today was, what he’s probably endured today, how exhausted he must be—and I feel the tiniest flicker of sympathy for him even through all my frustration, anger, and fear.
It’s enough to make me concede. “Fine.” I snap. “I’ll go up.”
“Wise choice.” Luca turns away from me, crossing towards the bar. “Put on something nice. One of those little nightgowns from your closet, maybe.”
My stomach clenches all over again. “You said you didn’t want to have sex with me.”
“I didn’t say anything about that.” There’s the clink of ice into a glass. “Go upstairs, Sofia. I need a moment alone.”
Something in his voice tells me not to push it further. I turn on my heel, fleeing towards the staircase and the momentary safety of his bedroom.
But it won’t be safe for long. I didn’t bring the lingerie from my closet into Luca’s room—why would I? He’d made a point of sounding as if he didn’t want anything to do with me sexually, and I don’t want him—I don’t, I really don’t—so there’s no reason. I’d planned to wear the most unattractive thing possible to bed for as long as I was forced to share one with him—the biggest t-shirts I could find, the frumpiest granny panties I could manage.
Unfortunately, I don’t actually own anything like that. My usual nightwear at my old apartment was a tank top and my usual cotton boyshorts, or a slightly oversized t-shirt. Nothing that screamed unsexy. In fact, I’d venture to guess that many men would probably find what I usually wear to bed cute, if not erotic.
But I don’t want Luca to think I’m cute. Or erotic. I want—
I don’t know what I want.
I’m still mulling it over when the bedroom door opens, and he walks in, a half-finished glass of whiskey in his hand. “You disobeyed me,” he says coldly, his gaze sweeping over my still-clothed body.
“I thought it was a suggestion,” I retort defiantly. “You said to put on something nice. I happen to think this is nice.”
There’s a warning glint in Luca’s eye as he looks at me appraisingly, tossing back the rest of the whiskey. Without another word, he stalks towards me, coming up short with hardly a hand’s space between us as he looks down. “I don’t think it’s very nice at all.”
I don’t even have a chance to breathe, much less respond, before he reaches down and grabs the neckline of my shirt. It’s a white, sleeveless button-down, and when Luca yanks downwards, the buttons go flying as the shirt rips open. I hear a few clattering against the walls as they fly across the room, and Luca looks down at my cleavage in the thin, demi-cup bra beneath it.
He’s breathing more heavily now, and if I looked down, I imagine I’d see that he’s hard already. The thought sends another dart of electricity over my skin, the memory of him on our wedding night coming back too vividly—the muscled ripple of his abs, the thick hard column of his erection. I try to breathe, but I can’t because Luca’s eyes are fixed on mine, and there’s something so dark in them that I can’t begin to imagine what will happen next.
I have a feeling I’m about to find out, though.
“Tell me,” Luca says, his voice deeper than usual, almost a growl. “What else did you do while I was gone?”
A flush starts to spread over my skin. He knows. He must know, somehow—I try to imagine myself coming clean, telling him what I’d done. I try to form the words to tell my husband that I played with myself, out in the open, where anyone who walked in could have seen, where someone watching on cameras might have seen. I imagine Luca asking me what I was thinking about, questioning me further, and I can’t even picture myself beginning to explain that. It was already so far beyond the realm of anything I’d ever done, and to actually admit it out loud—
I can’t.
“Nothing,” I whisper in a small voice, and I see Luca’s eyes glint darkly.
“Lie number three,” he murmurs.
He reaches out, his fingers running down my chest and between my breasts, and I suck in my breath sharply at his touch. It’s the most gentle he’s ever been, his fingertips skating over my skin and trailing over the upper curve of my breast, and I’m so distracted by it that I don’t even notice him undoing his belt.
Until, with one swift motion, he wraps that free arm around my waist and heaves me back onto the bed.
Before I can move, Luca is on the bed, hovering over me as he grabs my wrists and yanks them above my head. The memory of that first night in the apartment comes back to me in a rush—him pinning my hands over my head against the door, kissing me for the first time, his mouth hot and urgent against mine—
There’s the pressure of something against my wrists, something pulling tight, and I realize with a mixed rush of arousal and fear that Luca has tied my hands together with the belt. His headboard is leather, so he can’t tie me to it—but I still can’t do much, even if I brought my hands back over my head. And Luca is too close to me for that, his knees on either side of my hips as he maneuvers me into place, his face hovering over mine.
For a moment, with a feeling of queasy terror in the pit of my stomach, I remember the hotel room I’d woken up in. But I’d been bound to that bed, tied up with something like a zip-tie, not a leather belt. Not my husband’s leather belt, and even as conflicted as I am about Luca, I can’t deny that this is different.
My body certainly isn’t.
I hate him. I’m sure of it. I could list off so many reasons why. The forced marriage, taking my virginity, all the ways he’s gone back on his word, the homework he gave me today, the way he seemingly wants to push me aside until it’s convenient for him to deal with me. The way he treats me like an annoyance, a burden—except in moments like these.
When I see my husband let go of his carefully honed control, these moments should be the most terrifying. And in some ways, they are.
But I’m also completely, undeniably turned on. I can feel it, how hot and wet and needy I am, my pussy aching—and just the thought of that word makes me flush all over again.
“I know what you did, Sofia.” Luca’s voice slides over me like silk, surrounding me like thick smoke, dark and seductive. “I saw the security tape. Don’t you think I watched it before I let you know I was home? Don’t you think I wanted to know what my wife was up to while I was gone?”
He reaches for the button of my jeans, and I try to squirm away from him. My shirt is still hanging open, my breasts covered by my bra, and Luca frowns as he looks at my cleavage.
“This won’t do,” he says, pressing a finger between my breasts. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Sofia. A slut. Spreading your legs where anyone might have seen, touching yourself, making yourself come. My guards watch those tapes if they think something might have happened that I need to be told about. Sometimes they even watch the cameras. Is that why you did it?”
He reaches into the drawer next to the bed, and I hear the sound of something being pulled out, though I don’t dare turn my head to look. My blood chills as I look up at him in the dim light of the bedroom as his hand moves into view, and I see a knife—the same knife, probably, that cut my thigh on our wedding night.
“Were you hoping my guards were watching? Were you hoping one of them was jerking off, seeing your pussy on display? Was that your way of getting back at me?”
“No!” The horror in my tone is real, and for a minute, I forget everything except convincing him that’s absolutely not the case. “No, Luca, I never even thought—”
“You didn’t think anyone was watching?” The knife lowers, and I squirm under him, all of my arousal fleeing in cold horror. He can’t possibly be this angry, not after everything he’s done to save me, no, he can’t—
The knife presses above my breast, and I realize dimly that Luca is cutting through my bra straps. Dizzily, it becomes clear to me that he never intended to hurt me at all—my hands are bound; this is just his way of stripping me naked…as dramatically as possible. I can almost feel the blood rushing back to my skin, turning it pink and then red as he cuts away the rest of my bra and then my shirt, tossing the scraps aside to the floor. I’m so relieved that for a moment, I don’t even think about the fact that I’m naked—until Luca tosses the knife back in the drawer. I take in the sight of him kneeling over me, pinning my hips down to the bed, his eyes greedily running over my bare breasts.
I reflexively move to cover myself, my wrists jerking at the belt holding them together before I remember that I’m bound. Something about it sends a fresh quiver through me, and I try to squeeze my thighs together without Luca noticing, that ache returning.
“Oh, you don’t like this?” My husband smiles cruelly down at me, his lips curving in a cold grin. “But I thought you liked being exposed, after what I saw on that tape. I watched it twice, just to be sure I hadn’t missed anything. I saw the way you exposed yourself, running your fingers up and down. I saw how wet you were.” His eyes never leave mine for a second as he slides downwards, his hands going back to the waist of my jeans.
“No, Luca, please—”
He yanks the zipper down, grabbing both my jeans and the edge of my cotton panties before dragging them down my hips. I squeeze my thighs together for a different reason now, not wanting him to see me like this, completely naked and tied up on his bed.
Except—my body is saying something completely different. There’s a look in Luca’s eyes that I’ve seen before—the night before our wedding when he bent me over the couch. A hungry, feral look, something primal in his gaze that tells me that no matter what I say, he’s made up his mind what he’s going to do next, and nothing is going to stop him. And that makes me wet.
So wet, in fact, that I’m afraid he’ll be able to see the evidence of it on my inner thighs before he even touches me—if he plans to touch me at all.
For all I know, he just plans to strip me naked and taunt me.
“Three lies,” he says as he tosses the rest of my clothing to the floor to join the shreds of my bra and shirt. “Three chances, Sofia, to come clean to me about what you did while I was gone. Three strikes.” He reaches up, his hand just below my breasts, and he runs his palm down my flat, quivering stomach, stopping just above my pussy.
“Whose pussy is this, Sofia?”
“What?” I squeak. The question is so far beyond anything I’ve ever imagined being asked that for a second, I think he must be joking. He must be making fun of me.
His eyes meet mine, and I realize that he’s not joking. He’s deadly serious.
I swallow hard, licking my dry lips. “I—I don’t—”
“You don’t know?” Luca grabs my knees, pulling my legs apart as he kneels between them. “I should have guessed, after that little show you put on. It’s time for a lesson, then.”
“No!” I squeal, trying to squirm away from him. “You said you wouldn’t have sex with me again, you said—”
“I know what I said!” Luca’s voice booms over me, cold and commanding. “I’m not going to fuck you, Sofia. You haven’t earned my cock in that disobedient little pussy of yours. I fucked you on our wedding night because I thought I had no other choice. But after the way you’ve behaved, I don’t see why I should ever fuck you again.”
I stare up at him, my mind a confused tangle of emotions. That’s exactly what I’m supposed to want to hear. I should be glad to hear him say that. So why is my immediate reaction to feel hurt at his rejection? To be upset that he’s not going to fuck me?
No one has ever confused, infuriated, upset, or turned me on as much as Luca does. And I’m fucking married to the man. I’m his wife, legally bound to him forever unless he agrees to let me go.
It’s a nightmare.
His hand rests on my lower abdomen, right above where I can feel myself aching, craving touch. Craving pleasure. Craving the kind of orgasm I gave myself last night, the orgasm I know I’m now about to pay for in spades.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” he murmurs, and I hear that dark, smoky sound in his voice again, the rasp that seems to pierce me right to my core. His hand slides downwards until he’s cupping me between my legs, his palm pressed against me and the heel of his hand resting on the mound of my pussy. “And it’s not going to stop until you’ve paid for all the lies you’ve told me, Sofia. Until you tell me that you understand.”
“What—” I gasp as I feel his middle finger thrust inside of me suddenly. I twist wildly on the bed, and Luca surges forward, grabbing my wrists with his other hand as he looms over me, my pussy still clutched in his palm.
“You’re going to be still, Sofia, and take your lesson. Or do I need to find some way to tie you down completely? Strap your wrists down to the bed, spread your legs open and tie your ankles so that you can’t move?” He smiles darkly down at me. “I think I might like that. You, spread-eagled on my bed while you take your punishment.”
I swallow hard, my mouth as dry as my aching core is wet. “No,” I whisper, feeling as if I can’t breathe. “No, I’ll be still.”
“Good.” Luca leans back, a satisfied smile on his face, his finger still buried inside of me. And then, as he looks down at my naked, trembling body, he starts to move it.
It’s torture. He doesn’t touch my clit, which is practically throbbing at this point, pulsing with the desperate need for any kind of friction. He doesn’t add another finger, which would give me the fullness I so desperately crave, that feeling I was introduced to on our wedding night when he thrust inside of me for the first time. He just kneels between my legs, slowly moving that one finger in and out of my soaking wet channel as it flutters and clenches around him desperately, wanting more that he refuses to give.
It slowly dawns on me that this is what he means by punishment. He’s not going to spank me, or beat me, or hurt me in any way. He’s just going to tease me for as long as he wants, and I would bet any amount of his money that he’s not going to let me come. He’ll do this for as long as it amuses him, and then he’ll leave me wet and needy, craving something I shouldn’t want and won’t be able to have.
Luca smiles down at me. “I see that it’s starting to dawn on you. You’re a smart girl, Sofia. Which makes me wonder why you would do such a stupid thing? If you weren’t showing off for my guards, then why? What could possibly have made you so aroused that you would do something so shameless?”
He thrusts a second finger into me, and I gasp, a whimper escaping my lips as I feel my pussy clamping down on his fingers, trying to pull him deeper inside of me despite myself. I can’t stop myself from looking down, and the sight of his hand pressed between my legs sends another quiver of pleasure through me, threatening to push me closer to the edge. I wriggle despite myself, grinding against his palm. I see the ridge of his cock pressing against his trousers, thick and hard and as desperate to be set free as I am for more friction, more touch, more anything.
What would he do if I begged him to fuck me?The thought occurs to me as the flush of heat spreads through me, my arousal rising by degrees as Luca keeps slowly fingering me. Would he pull out his cock and thrust it into me, giving me some relief? Would he fuck me until we both came? Or would he just laugh at me and refuse, continuing to tease me until I go crazy?
The latter. Definitely that. My begging would only please him more, give him even more satisfaction from this sick game that he’s playing, and I clamp my lips tightly shut, glaring up at him. I won’t beg. I won’t even moan. Two can play this game.
Except—as the minutes drag on, I’m not sure that I can. The pace of his fingers increases slightly, and Luca smiles as I whimper helplessly again, unable to keep myself from making any sound at all. My hips arch upwards despite myself, and Luca laughs, a dark chuckle coming from deep in his throat.
“You’re so very wet for someone who swears they don’t want me,” he taunts. “I saw how wet you were on that security tape, too, Sofia. Your pretty little pussy was so drenched I could have seen it from a mile away. And the sound you made when you played with yourself.” He licks his lips, looking down at me. “How did it feel when you touched your clit? Did it feel like this?”
He pulls his hand back, his fingers still inside of me as he suddenly presses his thumb against my aching clit, and I let out a yelp of pleasure before I can stop myself, a sound that fades into a long moan as he starts to rub. “Oh yes. That sound.” His expression darkens. “What were you thinking about, Sofia, that made you so wet?”
I shake my head. I won’t say it. He can’t make me, he can’t. But I can feel the pleasure of his touch tightening my entire body, pushing me closer and closer to a climax, one that I’m certain he’s going to deny me.
“Oh—oh, fuck, I’m—” I start to gasp and moan before I can stop myself, feeling the orgasm begin to unfurl through me, and the moment the words spill from my lips, Luca yanks his hand away.
“My pussy,” he murmurs, his voice so deep and rough that it sends a bolt of lust through me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. “Mine.”
My body clenches tightly, suddenly empty, protesting the loss of sensation of his fingers inside of me. Mine. The word sounds so firm, so final, that for a minute I have the urge to say yes, of course it’s his, I’m his, if only he’ll let me come. If only he’ll slide his fingers inside of me, his tongue, his cock, anything he’ll give me. I can feel myself squirming on the bed, thighs clenching together with desperate need, my hands balled into fists with frustration.
I’m not his. I’m determined not to be.
But I’m not the same girl I was before, either.
