Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Anya

L ivy is popping the cork of a champagne bottle in the office when the door bursts open and my very angry husband storms inside as fast as his limp allows.

He’s dressed in the jeans, hoodie, and heavy-duty boots of this morning when I kissed him goodbye. His dark hair isn’t brushed back as usual. It looks as if he’s messed it up by dragging his fingers through it.

Wow. Saverio is at the office? I’m too stunned to get a word out.

Dante and Livy go quiet.

Saverio drags a frantic gaze over me from my head to my toes as if he needs to assure himself that I’m not shot or stabbed. He moves his attention to the bags of money that sit open on his desk, and then he looks at Claire who’s lying on her play mat on the floor.

“Champagne?” Livy chokes out, half-heartedly offering him the glass she was pouring.

Instead of replying, he turns his ire on me. It’s me he looks at when he says in a chilling tone, “Everyone out. I need a word with my wife in privacy.”

Dante bends down and lifts Claire into his arms. “Come here, princess. It’s time to practice our Disney songs.”

He shoots me an apologetic look on his way to the door.

Thanks a lot, Dante.

Livy coughs. “I’ll, uh, finish pouring this later.”

She leaves the glass and the bottle on the desk and ducks her head as she passes Saverio. The door shuts with a click, closing us into a room that suddenly feels too small.

Saverio leans on the desk and balances his cane next to him. “Come here.”

I swallow. “Why?”

“Come here, Anya.” Not even the eyepatch is enough to hide the rage in his expression. “Don’t make me go after you. Not now.”

I advance cautiously, stopping a step away from him.

“Closer,” he says.

Taking that last leap, I stand toe to toe with him.

He searches my face, not hiding the turmoil in his uncovered eye from me. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“I’m not going to touch you.” He continues in a measured tone. “I’m too angry. So I need you to listen very carefully and do as I say. Don’t test my willpower right now. I’m too close to snapping. Got it?”

Not trusting my voice to speak, I nod.

“Take off your clothes, tesoro .”

What? I stare at him in confusion, but when he works his jaw from side to side, looking as close to snapping as he claimed, I unzip the dress and push the sleeves over my shoulders. The fabric pools around my pumps. I stand in front of him in my black lace bra and thong and my high heels, and even though he’s seen me naked plenty of times, this feels different. More vulnerable.

Heat sparks in his gaze, warring with concern. “Turn around.”

I turn, giving him my back.

“Eyes forward again.”

Obeying the cryptic command, I finish my parade.

“You’re not injured,” he says, sounding surprised, relieved, and downright scary.

“Of course I’m not.”

“Where did you get the money?”

“I gambled.”

He tilts his head. “You gambled.”

“Blackjack.” I lift my chin. “We needed the money.”

“Is that how much trouble the club is in?”

Biting my lip, I confess, “I had to take a loan.”

“A loan.” The anger vanishes, leaving his face perfectly blank, and that’s a lot more frightening than when I can read him. “Where from?”

“I didn’t want to worry you about it.” My tone is beseeching, willing him to understand. “You had too much going on.”

“Where from, Anya?”

I stand taller. I did the only thing I could. I did what had to be done. I’m not going to apologize for that or cower. “Benson Bennett.”

His features transform into shock. For a moment, he’s frozen with that mask of horror on his face. Narrowing his gaze, he stands stock still except for his hands that he balls into fists. “What did you say?”

“He’s the only one who was willing to give me a loan. I couldn’t pay the salaries or cover our expenses. After the attack, business was slow. We lost suppliers and clients. The Morellis were putting the fear of God into them. Without enough cashflow to pay the overheads, I didn’t have a choice. I did it to keep up the front. We couldn’t risk losing our men’s faith or raise our enemies’ suspicions. We couldn’t let them think they’d weakened us. So I did what any good manager would’ve done. I saved the club.”

His chest heaves with breaths, yet his statement is level. “You saved the club.”

“I couldn’t pay the loan back, so I made Benson a deal. We gambled.”

He closes his eye and cracks his neck. Five seconds pass before he looks at me and speaks again, articulating every syllable. “Benson Bennett.”

I don’t reply.

His voice is soft but deadly. “Do you have any idea what that man is capable of, what he could’ve—and would’ve—done to you?”

“Yes,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

“Yet you did it, put your life in danger, risked what was mine…” It’s only then that his control finally caves and his volume rises. “…for the club?”

I step right up to him, putting our bodies flush together. “For us.”

“Fuck, Anya.” Stabbing his fingers into his hair, he watches me like a madman. “That you’re here in one piece is a miracle. You should’ve come to me. You should’ve told me.”

I place a hand on his chest. “I dealt with it.”

Blowing air through his nostrils, he asks, “What was on the line if you lost?”

I hesitate before admitting, “After Dark.”

“How did you win?”

“How do you think?”

“You read the cards.” He studies me for a beat. “Reading cards may not be illegal in casinos, but it’s considered cheating in the private rooms where Bennett gambles. Do you know what men like Bennett does to people who cheat?”

Flicking out my tongue to wet my dry lips, I nod.

Saverio doesn’t spare me. He puts words to the gritty facts I already know. “He tortures them—slowly, for days—and then he boils them alive. He would’ve returned your body in a soup can.”

“It’s done.” I drop my hand to my side and motion with my head at the table. “There’s the money that will prevent the men from walking away when we need manpower the most. That’s the means to prevent us from sinking. You should be happy. At least be relieved if you can’t be grateful. But don’t be angry because I did what had to be done.”

“You don’t understand, tesoro ,” he says in that even, measured tone from before.

“No.” I clench my teeth. “I don’t.”

He’s done keeping his hands to himself. Risking it despite what he said earlier about not wanting to touch me, he locks his hand around my jaw, fingers spread out over one cheek and his thumb digging into the other. “I’d rather lose this club ten times over than risk losing you. I don’t give a fuck about After Dark or anything else for that matter if the price is you.”

The declaration is delivered with quiet but raw fury, the blow that he strikes not physical but emotional. Because I know how much After Dark means to him. He’s poured his heart and soul into this place. And I mean more to him.

Staring up at him, I say, “I think that may be the sweetest thing you’ve said to me.”

He lets me go as fast as he’s grabbed me, clenching his hands at his sides. “Promise me you’ll never go near that man again.”

I give a small shake of my head. “I can’t.”

“Anya,” he growls. “Promise me or I swear to God I’ll never be able to sleep again. I don’t want to lock you up, but make no mistake, I will if I have to.”

I put my hand back on his chest, right over the erratic beat of his heart. “I can’t promise that I’ll never be in Benson Bennett’s proximity because I can’t control everywhere he’ll be in the future, but I promise never to play Blackjack with him again.”

He stares at me with flaring nostrils, a man very much out of control.

Brushing my hand lower, I trace his hard, flat stomach. “Instead of being angry, why don’t we celebrate?”

He watches me with suspicion on top of all that anger, showing me how difficult it is to hold back in the way he locks every muscle in his body in place. He may not want to risk touching me, but I can touch him.

Holding his gaze, I cup the bulge in his jeans.

His timbre is rough. Gravelly. “What are you doing?”

I show him by sliding down his body. His eye flares when I go down on my knees and reach for the button of his waistband. He remains unmoving, his gaze trained on me as I pull down his zipper and free his cock. He’s large and warm in my hands, the velvety skin stretched taut over the steel-hard flesh beneath. Locking my fingers around his thick girth, I guide the crest to my mouth.

Saverio’s gaze darkens to a deep-sea blue when I stretch my lips around the crown and trace the slit with my tongue. A drop of precum coats my tastebuds. Humming my approval, I suck him deeper.

“Jesus,” he mutters, breaking his own promise for a second time to thread his fingers through my hair.

I flatten my tongue on the underside, stroking his length before I lick around the head.

He punches his hips forward, sliding through my lips. “Your mouth is so hot, that tongue so wicked.”

Already, he’s working with me, thrusting at the pace and depth I set. Cradling the heavy sac between his legs, I take him all the way to the back of my throat. His cock jerks and thickens in my mouth. When I pull back slightly to let air into my lungs, my eyes tear and saliva pools in my mouth. The sounds we make are dirty, but they make me hotter, turning the ache between my legs into a constant throbbing.

I close my free hand around the root of his cock to stroke him where my mouth doesn’t reach. He’s so big my fingers don’t meet. The burn in the corners of my mouth warns me that hair-thin tears are left in my skin, but I love this.

Another spurt of precum designed to lubricate my pussy is wasted on my mouth. I lap it up, loving the taste of him. Of my man. I take him deep again, swallowing everything I can. My throat is sore and raw already, but I can’t stop. Milking him with my lips and my hands, I work harder for my reward only to have it snatched away cruelly when he holds my head steady and rips his cock from my mouth.

“Not like this,” he groans. “I want to come in your pussy.”

He cups my upper arms and pulls me to my feet. His mouth is on mine before I have time to drag in a breath. Kissing me with a crazed man’s fervor, he walks me backward until my ass hits my desk. With a sweep of his arm, he clears one side, sending papers and stationery flying. He locks his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the desk. When my backside hits the desktop, he’s already working my thong down my legs. He frees the scrap of lace, pulling it over my heels, but leaves the shoes. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply before pocketing my underwear.

“You smell good.” His tone turns sinful. “And ready for me.”

He brushes his palms up my calves and over the insides of my thighs, all the while watching me as he gets closer to my core. Instead of touching me where I need it the most, he spreads my legs wide open and hooks my ankles over his shoulders. I lean back on my elbows, the first flutter of pleasure contracting my belly when he lowers his head between my thighs and blows hot air over my soaked folds.

“Want to celebrate?” he asks in a deep, husky timbre, the words reverberating over my swollen clit. “Then let’s celebrate.”

When he licks my opening from the bottom to the top, my back arches off the desktop. I’m vaguely aware we’re not alone in the club, that there are people outside the door, but the office is soundproof, and no one will dare to walk in.

I swallow a moan when he sucks my clit into his mouth before biting down lightly. He licks away the sting and parts me with his tongue. I cry out at the intrusion, but it’s not enough. I need him to fill me.

“More,” I say, my whisper breathless.

But my husband is not to be rushed. Pulling away, he flattens his palm over my stomach. “This is still my favorite part of you.”

I tangle my fingers in his hair, trying to move his head back between my legs, but he traces the silver scar on my pelvis with a fingertip while pouring all his attention into studying it. When he’s had his fill, he presses a kiss on that spot.

I lie back, my neck no longer able to support my head. “Sav.”

“I know what you need.” He slides a finger inside me. “Is this enough?”

Moving my head from side to side, I moan in frustration. He knows I need his cock.

“How about this?” he asks, using two fingers.

The stretch wakes nerve endings, making me spiral a little more out of control.

“You want to celebrate, darling?” he asks, tormenting me. “Then we’ll do it properly.”

He yanks the cups of my bra down, letting my curves spill over. Yes. I want his mouth there too. He takes the champagne that stands on the other side of the desk and takes a swig, drinking straight from the bottle. With my ankles that are still draped over his shoulders, he folds my body double as he bends over me for a kiss.

When I open my lips to seek his tongue, the liquid that rushes into my mouth catches me by surprise. The bubbly alcohol leaves a delicious tartness in my mouth that mixes with the yeasty taste of champagne on his breath. The expensive flavor mixes in our kiss, creating an intoxicating cocktail. He feeds me little champagne kisses until I’m heady and high on lust, craving release.

“Sav, please.”

“I’m not done with you, tesoro .”

He tips the bottle over my torso, splashing my naked breasts with the ice-cold liquid. I utter a shriek. My nipples contract, and goosebumps break out over my skin. The complaint dies on my lips when he closes his hot mouth around a cold nipple and flicks his tongue over the tip. My belly contracts, the sensations he evokes traveling straight to my core. I’m even wetter than before, the evidence of my arousal slick on my thighs.

Saverio abandons one breast for the other, lavishing it with the same attention and a bite that makes me yelp. The vise of his teeth around my extended nipple is like the bite an animal gives when overcome with its own pleasure. Our neighbor’s cat once bit me in the calve when I caressed him. It was like a strange kind of love bite, as if sinking his teeth into me wasn’t out of malice or self-defense but simply irresistible. That’s what it feels like when Saverio clamps down hard enough to provoke a sting. My instinct should warn me to pull back. Instead, I lift into the touch, offering myself for wherever that irresistible, uncontrollable urge drives him, and it’s to bring the neck of the bottle to my pussy.

“Sav, what are you?—”

The smooth rim parts my folds. The narrow end of the neck slips effortlessly through my slickness. I lie perfectly still, not entirely sure where he’s taking this. My heart thrums between my ribs, my pulse keeping time in my temples. He wiggles the bottle, twisting it from side to side, and splits me open until the stretch of my pussy lips is almost too much.

“I want to drink straight from your pussy,” he says, carefully pulling out before pushing back.

He shoves first one leg and then the other off his shoulders. Gripping my left knee, he pushes it backward until my upper thigh rests on my stomach and I’m folded double with all my private parts on display.

I want to object, but when he starts fucking me with the five hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, my objections turn into unintelligible garble. The angle at which he holds the bottle ensures that what’s left of the liquor runs out. Coldness bathes me inside, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that’s spreading through my lower body.

He discards the bottle and pins both my knees to my chest while burying his head between my legs. The heat of his tongue is a shocking contrast to the iciness inside. He does what he promised, drinking me dry while torturing my clit with nips and sucks until my toes curl.

“I’m…” I start, but I can’t get out another word.

My pleasure spikes hot and fast, coiling around me until I can’t breathe.

Having already stretched me, he’s not careful when he finally gives me what I want. He drives his cock into the sticky mess he made, slamming home with a single thrust. I think he may break me in two. He pushes down on my knees, keeping them wide so that my pussy is spread open for him to pummel. Pounding into me, he makes every thrust count.

He’s never taken me harder or in a more depraved manner, and I love it. Like that time when he pushed my boundaries by fucking me in a public toilet, stamping his ownership onto me in this dirty manner makes me feel depraved and daring in a liberating way.

Letting go of my legs, he wraps a hand around my neck and pins me to the wooden surface, making sure I can’t escape what’s to follow—the final mark he’ll leave on my body. I brace my feet on the edge of the desk, drawing in what little air he allows me as he fucks me as if both our lives depend on it while using the heel of the palm of his free hand to rub my clit.

I come so hard my vision fades. His face blurs in front of me. He holds me down and pumps until he’s empty and I’m full. Only then does he move his hand from my neck to my jaw, slipping two fingers into my mouth.

I taste myself and champagne on those fingers he had inside me not so long ago. Like a good girl, an obedient toy, I suck them clean.

We’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. Wrapping my arms around him, I hold him close. I don’t care that I’m soaking his hoodie in the sticky alcohol on my chest.

When I breathe more or less normally again, he pushes onto his arms, caging me in between them on the table.

His smile is wolfish. “I made a mess of you.”

Brushing the hair back from his forehead, I say, “I made one of you too.”

The words recall the night of our engagement party in this very club when Rachele told me Saverio couldn’t have children. It makes me sad for him all over again.

“We better clean up,” he says, straightening and pulling out. “Unless you’re happy to do the walk of shame.”

“No walk of shame.”

“Understood.”

He grabs some tissues from the desk and cleans himself before adjusting his clothes. When I close my legs, he cups my knees and pushes them open again.

“I want to watch,” he says in a dark, silky voice.

My cheeks heat when wetness gushes out of me, soiling my thighs and the desk beneath me.

“So pretty,” he muses, studying the spot between my legs. “Champagne and cum look good on you.”

I give him a playful kick in the gut, resting my foot on his stomach. “You’re crude. The least you can do is offer a lady a hand.”

He chuckles. “Stay, my love. I’ll take care of you.”

There it is again. That silly term of endearment.

He grabs more tissues and cleans me a little too thoroughly, prodding and poking to make sure he didn’t hurt me.

When he’s satisfied, he lifts me to my feet and hands me my dress. I pull it on and turn my back so that he can close the zipper.

He turns me to face him and combs his fingers through my hair. “You have beautiful hair. I hope you never cut it.” He drags me closer and presses me against his chest. “You’re not only an amazing mother and a worthy wife, Anya. You’re a fucking queen.” He tightens his hold, making it difficult to breathe. “You’re every bit the queen all of us need.” He pulls away to look at me. “And people need their queen more than they need their king, so don’t ever risk your life like that again. If you do, I’ll tie you up, and you’ll spend your hours on your hands and knees alternating between being hand-fed and fucked by me.”

He softens the threat with a kiss on my lips, but I have no doubt he means each word.

Smiling as if he hasn’t just told me he’d keep me in a cage if I go against his wishes, he asks, “What do you need? Want me to get you some dry clothes? A hairbrush?”

“I’ve got everything in my bag.”

Remembering where I keep it, he takes it from the desk drawer and gives it to me. He smooths his own hair back with his palms as he watches me fix my make-up.

When I’ve applied lipstick, he asks, “Ready?”

As ready as I can be.

“Anya.”

His serious tone alarms me. I clip my bag closed and give him my attention.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” he says.

If that’s his way of thanking me for getting the money, I’ll take it. “Thank you.”

He offers me his arm, his stance regal as he looks at me. “Let’s get Claire and go home.”

People jump to attention when we walk onto the gallery. The men stare at Saverio with slack jaws.

He leads me into the lounge where Dante sits on the sofa, bouncing Claire on his lap. A Disney princess movie plays on the television.

“Put the money in the safe,” Saverio says, reaching for Claire. “Drinks are on the house. Tell the men we have reason to celebrate.”

Dante searches my eyes. “Yes, boss.”

I don’t smile at him. I’m still angry that he called Saverio behind my back, not that I can fault that. Saverio is his boss after all.

“Where’s Livy?” I ask.

“Manning the bar,” Dante says. “I think she’s one step ahead of you. The celebratory drinks are already flowing, and just for your information, so are the rumors about where Anya got that money. The story is already turning into an urban legend.”

“Great,” Saverio mumbles under his breath as he kisses the top of Claire’s head before putting her in her car seat. After strapping her in, he hands me the seat. “You better take her. I don’t want to risk it down the stairs with the cane.”

Claire makes a cooing noise and kicks her sturdy little legs when I give her her favorite rattle.

It’s been a long, stressful day, and all I want is to go home, have a shower and maybe a snack, and crawl into bed.

“I’ll drop Livy off later,” Dante says. “She seems to be in a party mood.”

Saverio guides me along the gallery with his hand on the small of my back. The men step aside for us to pass. As we walk through the club side by side, the smell of champagne on our skins a reminder of our complicity in the secret we share, the men pat my shoulder, offering quiet acceptance. I see the way they look at me, with respect, and I know. I’m no longer simply a bookkeeper or Saverio’s wife.

I’m one of them.