8. Interruption

EIGHT

Wife…

"Are you calling me that because you know how much it bothers me?"

"Consider it a reminder."

"What about the other thing you called me?" With my fake Southern accent, I try to mimic the Italian lilt that finds its way to Damien's voice when he switches to that language. All that happens is that it comes out like, "Run-yah me-a?"

"Ragna," he corrects. "Think ‘lasagna'. Ragna. It means ‘spider' in my birth language. Ragna mia is ‘my spider'."

I don't know what's worse: the mafia leader referring to me as his wife or a fucking arachnid.

"Why?"

I thought I had been doing a good job of distracting him. If we had to keep this conversation going back and forth all night to keep him remembering from what he brought me into this room to do, I would. Anything to keep him from finding a way to get me in that bed with him.

I'll sleep on the fucking floor first.

Go on, Damien. Tell me about this ridiculous pet name you'd given your attempted murderer. Black widow… spider. I'm all ears as long as I'm not all naked.

I'm not, but when his hand goes to the waist of his black suit pants—while also drawing attention to the bulge pushing against them—I know that I didn't do as good a job of distracting him as I thought.

My chest heaving angrily, my low-cut t-shirt beneath my sweatshirt hoodie showing off my tits probably didn't help…

Damien does something to the button on his pants. They flick open, and by the time the zipper being tugged downward echoes almost deafeningly around the room, I've run out of time.

"Come here, wife."

No.

"You've stalled long enough, and yes… I know that's what you've been doing. That was fun for a while, but if there's one thing you need to know about your new husband? It's that I consider a good back-and-forth as foreplay."

Then, as if to prove he means it, Damien dips his tanned hand inside of his pants, pulling out his cock.

The first thing I look at is the dragonfly tattoo inked on his forearm after he rests his arm at his side. It's large, intricate detailed in shades of purples, greens, and blues, and wraps around his arm. It's like the mother of all other dragonfly symbols you see in Springfield, and I've been avoiding looking at his.

But when the choice comes between reminding myself who he is and eyeing his erection? The dragonfly wins.

But not for long. When Damien clears his throat, my traitorous eyes move a few inches over until I can't help but ogle his dick.

Why couldn't he have, like, a mushroom down there? Why does it have to be a good-looking cock? Not too fat, the right length, and with just a hint of a curve that I know it would be magical to have that thing inside of me.

No. No.

I shake my head. "What if I don't want to?"

He shrugs one shoulder, drawing attention to his wound this time. "I have sixteen stitches that tell me I don't give a shit."

"You might rip them open."

Damien smirks. "That sure of yourself?"

It's my turn to shrug.

His eyes darken just enough to match his mostly inky-black hair. That single silver streak… I've always wondered if it would be softer than the rest of his mane, but I doubted I'd ever get the chance to find out.

I won't now, either.

He takes his dick in his hand, giving it one leisurely stroke. "Come here," he repeats. "I won't go to bed on my wedding night unsatisfied."

Is that all?

I give my head a small shake, helping my hair fall behind my shoulder instead of in front of it. I don't have a hairtie on my at the moment, but if you gotta do, what you gotta do…

Moving toward him until I'm about two feet away from, I lower myself to my knees. "You won't have to."

I shocked him. Something tells me that this was a test. He wanted to see if I'd just fall back on his bed, shuck off my jeans and panties, spread my legs wide open, and tell him to have at it.

I didn't. I won't. But if he's so fucking insistent on being satisfied…

He arches one eyebrow at me, dipping his chin at the same time. "That you want to do?

Does it matter? I'm offering.

"You want to come, husband? I'll let you have my hand or my mouth. Your choice. But that's it. You'd have to force me to do anything else."

I wait for him to tell me that, as his wife, it wouldn't be force. Like marital rape isn't a thing even when one partner wasn't blackmailed into joining with the other. Surprisingly, he doesn't.

"Then stay on your knees, Savannah, and open wide."

Not Savannah, I think as I inch closer so enough that I can reach his bobbing erection. Or, really, I'm only Savannah because he made it impossible for me to be Georgia…

I lay my fingers along the side of his cock, watching so closely that I see his slight shudder upon contact.

If this is a test, I don't know if I'm failing it or not, but there's something about his reaction that has me double-checking that he's about to let the woman who tried to kill him earlier tonight put her mouth on his most sensitive part.

In a husky voice that accentuates the draw, I ask him softly, "You really want me to do this?"

Damien's own voice turns slightly throaty as he gestures at his erection. "What do you think?"

That hate sex with this man would probably be worth the regret tomorrow morning…

"Go on," he urges, spreading his legs a little wider so that he can brace them.

"We've had a long day. If you want to go to bed with me and sleep, give me what you offered."

I get it. I suck him off and he won't molest in my sleep—tonight.

If that's the best I can expect from this monster…

Fine. Besides, it's just a blow job. I had to feast on pussy nearly nightly for two-and-a-half years in order for Portia to share all her perks in prison while also keeping some other inmates and the guard—the fucking guards—off my back.

Close your eyes, lick, get the job done.

Close your eyes?—

I meet Damien's stare. With a rueful smile, I take a hold of his cock and put the head to my lips.

"No teeth," he warns.

Shame. "The faster I get you off, the faster I can go to bed and pretend this nightmare is over. Right?"

"If that's how you want to look at it."

Good enough. Parting my lips, I take him inside my mouth.

I'm sure he thinks he's won this battle. I'm betting he can't believe that he got me to agree to give him a blowjob so easily, either. And for the first thirty seconds or so as I run my tongue down the underside of his shaft, he's stiff—and I'm not just referring to his dick. He seems to be waiting for me to try to chomp off the tip or something, and when all I do is suck on his skin, he finally begins to relax enough to seem to enjoy it.

Of course, that's when I tug him out of the warmth of my mouth as I innocently ask, "What about the blonde?"

He goes tense immediately.

Ah-ha. Bulls-eye, just like I thought.

She's important to him. I figured as much, but I never targeted her because what was the point? My revenge wasn't about ruining Damien's life. It was about ending it. I've never seen her before. As far as I was concerned, she had nothing to do with this.

But if that's a way to get to Damien…

"Excuse me?"

I have a flippant, ‘you heard me', halfway to my lip before I see the change in his expression.

Whoa.

Up until this moment, he's been amused. Charming. But the second I mentioned the blonde? I can see just how Damien Libellula became the powerful bastard that he is. There's no mercy in those pale blue eyes.

"Be careful, Savannah." Not spider. Not wife. Cool. Cold. Savannah.

I take his dick between my lips again, hollowing my cheeks as I use as much suction as I can to trigger the nerves on the head. I swirl my tongue over it next, and just when he closes his eyes so that I don't have to see the threat in them, I let his cock slip out with a gentle pop.

Gripping him by the base, I twist my wrist, stroking him a few times before I ask him, "What's the matter? Feel guilty? You have me on my knees, but she probably wouldn't like that, would she?"

His eyes snap open. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Maybe not. "Is she going to find out about me? I hope so. I can't wait to meet her."

I know in an instant that I went too far. I might not have asked him if she has anyone he cares about after he asked me the same, but I have an answer to that when he removes his stiletto knife in one fluid machine before I can finish my latest stroke.

Crouching his legs just enough to put me in his reach, the point of his knife touches my throat.

"I went to a lot of trouble to marry you," he says in a conversational tone. "Don't make me a widower on my wedding night."

Regret is a bitch, because I'm already wishing I never brought up the blonde.

I swallow because I can't keep myself from doing it, all the while expecting to feel the sharp stiletto piercing me any second now. When it doesn't, I whisper softly, "You'd kill me? Right now? When I'm as vulnerable as I can be?"

When he said we would have a truce while in this room?

Fool me, I believed him, too.

Now I'm on my knees in front of the man I hate most in this world. His cock is in my hand, the taste of his skin is in my mouth, and his knife is millimeters away from slitting my throat.

"My devious bride… you might be sucking your husband's cock right now, but if I lose my grip on this blade for even a second, you'd kill me. Wouldn't you?"

I would—and I hope he knows it.

Damien shifts the knife, using the flat of the cool blade to trace the edge of my jaw. He's not cutting me, though, and as if it'll save me, I tighten my grip and pump him a little harder.

"That's what I thought. So maybe I put this away." He slips it back into the holster, high enough that it's out of my reach while I'm on the floor. "And you go back to satisfying your new husband. Yes?"

"You know that this will only make me want you dead more," I say, rubbing the head against my bottom lip before I dart out my tongue, swirling it around the tip.

Damien blows a breath of air through his nose. "Sì. Oh, yes. I know. But it'll be worth your wrath, ragna mia, to know I had you on your knees on our wedding night."

In that case…

I twist my wrist again, stroking Damien from root to tip before answering him by lowering my head and swallowing as much of his erection as I can.

He wants me to satisfy him? Fine.

I'm not above using sex to control this man if I have to. And whatever happens after this, I don't think he cares.

His hand goes the back of my head, guiding me to bob up and down on the length of his cock. If he started to piston his hips just a little, he'd be straight-up fucking my mouth. He doesn't do that, though. Oh, no. If he did, he couldn't convince himself that I want to blow him. The mafia leader is going to stand as still as he can, threading his fingers through my hair as I do my best to make him come.

I'm distracted. I'll admit it. So focused on making Damien lose control, I don't notice that someone has opened the door and walked into the room with us until I hear a female voice shriek, "Damien? Oh, God, Damien."

From my position, I can just about make out a blonde woman—that blonde woman—before she spins around and dashes out the door.

It slams shut behind her, and I immediately try to pull away from him.

His fingers are tangled in my hair, pinning me in place for a few seconds before he sighs and lets go of me.

Damien is still hard. His cock his engorged at the head, and I can tell from the way his upper body goes tight that he was seconds away from blowing his load when we were interrupted.

That makes me irrationally happy even if I had to be caught in such a position first.

I swipe the corners of my mouth with the back of my hand as he paces a little, his dick still out. "Um. Who was that?"

He doesn't answer me.

I persist. "Your wife?—"

He spins on his heel, cock leading the fucking way. "You are my wife, Savannah."

That's what he thinks. "But your… your girlfriend?—"

"Not my girlfriend."

She's something.

"I've seen her before. She's?—"

It's like a chill comes over him. The hint of temper recedes, and he's back to the faux charming bastard I've seen a million times before.

"Not anyone I'll ever be intimate with," he says, moving until he's back in front of me again. "And now that I've chosen youto be my bride, I won't be fucking anyone else ever again. Like I told you before, that makes it your responsibility to satisfy me tonight. So," he grips his slick cock by the base, angling it toward me, "I'd appreciate it if you'd get back to what you were doing."

Has he lost his mind?

"You sure she won't care?" If he's cheating on who ever she is… "She looked like she needed to talk to you before she realized you were busy."

"Don't you worry about that, wife."

Wife again.

"But—"

"How are you still talking?" he asks, a hint of impatience finding its way to his tone now. "If your mouth was full of my cock, you shouldn't be able to question me on this."

God, I could so kill him right now?—

Too bad his knife is out of my reach, I can't get to my gun, and he seems to think I won't attack him while we're in this room...

Okay. Let's get this over with. Tomorrow is another day, and I'm not giving up on my revenge just because I failed once.

Remember. It's just a blow job. It could be worse…

That's what I tell myself as I go right back to it, sucking and teasing, stroking him roughly while nibbling along his shaft with the edge of my teeth. Only the memory of the stiletto's point against my skin keeps me from actually biting him, but the pressure of my teeth is enough to have him bucking his hips just enough to be noticeable.

Now he is fucking my mouth, and by the time he's grunting softly as the salty, warm spunk fills my mouth, I'm nothing more than a vessel to get him off.

Wife? What wife?

He jerks his hip again, his dick still in my mouth as he finishes coming. I'm sure my new husband would want his swallow, though I'd bet he's expecting me to spit his semen on the floor. Nope. I'm not giving him any reason to threaten me again.

I swallow it, and though it's not my favorite thing in the world to do, I manage to get it down without making a face at all.

Until he strokes the underside of my chin as he murmurs, "Good girl."

Then? Then I glare up at him.

"There." I snap. "Happy?"

"Yes," he says bluntly. Dick. "Probably happier than my sister is, I'm sure."

He's such a fucking dick?—

Wait.

Sister?

That was his sister?

His sister walked in on me blowing Damien?

As he watches me closely, searching for a reaction, I wish I could pretend that I could give a shit about what she walked in on. If only. My cheeks heating up, I fall back a little, ass against my heels as I have only one thought:

Welcome to the fucking family, Savannah.