Chapter 2
TWO
ARIANNA
Watching them makes my stomach twist into a knot, filling it with nausea, which hits the back of my throat. I try to keep my eyes from rolling, staring at the fruit bowl in front of me and willing the glass of water next to it to be champagne. It doesn’t work. No bother, I’ll just kiss Kroft’s ass today and she’ll sneak me a fresh bottle of bubbly.
Pulling my phone out under the tablecloth, I text:
Me
Wyd?
Wyatt
I’m working, Ari. Stay home.
My heart sinks. He’s still not talking to me. I’ve never had this happen before. Usually, getting my way is as easy as a few tears, some tits and ass, but not with him.
Maybe that’s what drew me to him. He always saw right through every trick I tried and saw me. Wyatt was the first person to treat me as more than a body. No matter how much I used it on him, he rejected me for weeks while teaching me to care for my bike. But that’s what made me fall in love with him.
“Lion, I’m good. I don’t need any more bacon. Thank you, though,” Livia says across the dining room table.
My brother hand feeds his wife as they make doe eyes at each other. Pushing the meat farther into her mouth, Livia finally opens and accepts it while Max puts on a victorious grin and chews his own food.
“Just trying to fatten my son up.” His large palm graces Livia’s pregnant belly as she gives him a come-hither look.
Now my eyes do hit the ceiling. Ever since Maggie told them it was a boy a few days ago, Maxi’s been unbearable. Un-bear-able. Talking about “legacy” and “tradition” and ancient things I don’t care about.
It doesn’t help that all I want is my own child, my own family, so desperately that I’d had a thought of stealing my nephew as my own. But apparently, it’s too much for me to ask for now that Wyatt is shunning me, and my husband doesn’t want to be married to me.
Whatever. It’ll just take some time and planning. I’ll get what I want.
I always do.
“I’m finished.” I shove my chair back and stand, slinking into the kitchen where Mrs. Kroft is busy with tea service pastries for later. Picking up a day-old scone, I roll it in my hands as she tries to ignore my presence while standing at the island.
“Yes?” She finally pauses in her rolling and eyes me suspiciously.
“Give me a bottle.”
Wiping her flour-covered hands on a towel, she spreads her arms across the marble top and stares me down like a gorilla ready to pounce. “Miss Arianna, it’s 10 a.m. and you don’t need another bottle. I’ll tell Master Freidenberg if you keep this up.”
A small sigh leaves my lips, but before I can whine, she returns to her kneading and twists her head slightly over her shoulder. “Besides, you can get one yourself.”
Dropping the crusts from the sweet on the counter, I stand and head to the wine cooler.
“Clean up this mess you left here!” she yells from the kitchen, but I keep walking until I’m in the back of the butler’s pantry.
I snag a blush green carafe from the fridge, pop the top and pour myself a crystal glass. A celebration… I’m having a wedding in a couple of days. It used to be that I mixed orange juice with it this early, like it was breakfast. Now, I don’t even pretend. Just give me the stuff that will make my head numb and tingly.
Waltzing past the ovens, I toss my hair over my shoulder before nodding at the crumbs on my bar stool. “Nah, you do it. Thanks for the champagne, love!”
By the time I reach my room, sneaking past my bear of a brother, half the bottle’s downed. From the glass. I’m not a heathen.
It’s just like summers in the Hamptons with Charlotte Mason’s family, where I had to stay in order to remain safe, as Mama and Papa told me. Their staff would try to palm off jobs to me because I was the guest. If I pick up after myself now, it will always be expected of me.
I’ll stay a disappointment.
In my closet, I undress, then stand and turn in slow circles, considering what I should wear. Using scissors, I cut up a vintage T-shirt, and after putting it over my bra, I tie it just under my full bosom, pushing up my girls to their fullest height, almost choking myself. Ripped, black, high-legged denim shorts go over my gold thong. Thigh-high black leather boots cover most of my legs. I’ll be on my Harley, after all.
Remembering the last time the maid came in and exasperatingly cleaned up the closet, I kick the clothes toward the hamper. There. That should help. My good deed is done for the day.
I head down the hall to the guest suite once I’ve finished my champagne. There’s a balcony with stairs there so I can avoid the watchful eyes of Wenz. I call him Wince because whenever I have to look at his annoying face, it’s all my eyes do.
Fortunately, my new guard is nowhere to be seen. Slipping inside the room, I carefully shut the door without making a sound. Max and Livia will be busy with their post-breakfast romp, so they won’t hear me anyway, but I don’t want anyone else to. The getaway is clean as I climb down the narrow wooden stairs, then half jog across the cobblestones to the garage around the back of the manor.
When I round the corner of the open doors, Wince is standing there with sunglasses on, ripped arms folded, and leaning against my Harley. With a smirk. My eyes narrow at him.
“Where’re you going, princess?”
“Hello, kid. Why are you touching my things?” I point to his ass resting on the leather seat. He’s only two years younger, but he has this full mustache like he’s a state trooper in his mid-forties. And he acts like it, too. Annoying.
“He doesn’t want to see you right now.”
My jaw drops at his audacity, hands finding my hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a gorgeous day and I want to ride my bike around the grounds.”
Lifting up his shades, his light brown eyes stare me down with a blank expression before speedily scanning my frame. Almost so quick one wouldn’t catch it, but I do. “Arianna, I’m not a fucking idiot.”
My gaze is drawn to the stretch in his khakis. Pulling my bottom full lip under my front teeth, I let my arms hang at my sides, then stroll towards him. He holds his ground and doesn’t move an inch, even when I sidle up to him so close, I can smell his nasty cheap cologne. “Wince, may I ride my bike, please? I’ll be a good girl.”
If I blinked, I’d miss his nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air around us. Very obviously, his erection jumps in his pants as he clenches his teeth, the muscle pulsating as he does. But he still doesn’t make any moves.
Placing my lips just barely on his clean-shaven jawline, I whisper, “I’ll be your good girl. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Now, his cheeks fill with red-hot blood as he barely turns his head to me. “Arianna, you can ride…” Biting his lips, he refrains from saying something he shouldn’t, or else I’d tell Maxi and my brother would gut him. “You can ride your bike around the grounds. That’s it. Stop trying to get me fired. Or killed.”
I stroke a black-painted fingernail down his white T-shirt, smiling sweetly. “Thanks, Wince! I adore you.” With two smacked-lipped air kisses, I slide past him and onto my bike. He moves out of the way with his arms still crossed and a look of defeat emblazoned on his cute little face. He’ll get in trouble later, I’m sure.
And I don’t care.
I need to see my boyfriend.
My helmet fogs with the heat of summer sweat as I exit the back farm gate before carefully shutting and locking it again. It’s only a few miles to the shop, and as I pull into the driveway, all the boys inside stop and glance up from their work.
Oh! The side of the building has been crushed. Wyatt and his men just spent weeks supervising a new build, and it already looks like someone took a backhoe to it. Great. That means he’s going to be extra grumpy. As I get off the bike, I tie my boobs up slightly higher and reapply some lipstick.
I saunter into the shop, hips moving hypnotically while the guys give me a skeptical eye. I know they don’t like me, but Wyatt does, and he’s the only one who matters. His broad back is turned, facing his workbench as the other men grumble under their breaths, but everyone seems to spread out and head in different directions as I make my slow approach.
Sliding my arms around his middle, Wyatt remains still and keeps up his task as I press my cheek into the cotton fabric of his T-shirt. “I missed you.”
Straightening, his rough palm lays over my hand, and he speaks to the wall in front of him. “Vixen, you can’t be here.” At the resonating sound of my pet name through his rib cage, my heart races. He still loves me. And I know just what he needs to feel better.
A good fight.
I drop my hold on him and take a step back, placing a perfect pout on my mouth. “Why not?”
He avoids my eyes as he turns slowly, his greens hitting the floor instead. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”
His cut shoulder bumps my little one as he brushes past me before kneeling in front of the motorcycle he’s working on.
“Wyatt.” I repeat his name three more times as he continues to ignore me. My eyes fall on an open pan of oil sitting on the floor nearby. Using the toe of my boot, I kick it hard until the entire thing sprays inky globs all over the room, some on Wyatt’s veiny forearms blending with the lines of his tattoos. His entire frame stiffens as he stands and faces me. And when he does, a pang of guilt rips at the lining of my stomach. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.
His eyes are glassy, and the pain in his expression is almost too much for me to bear.
“You went and married him. That’s why. You’re someone’s wife now.”
I reach out my hand to touch him, but he pulls away, and it hurts. Being without him is not an option. “You know I didn’t have a choice. I had to save my brother and sister-in-law. Wyatt, it was the only way.” A sob escapes my throat and I think it’s genuine. “Please. Please, I can’t live without you.” My heart does feel like it’s broken without being able to be with him. Without being able to just talk with him. Part of my soul has been missing since he started backing off, but part of me is also drunk.
“Vix…you can’t be here.” He side-steps to enter the shop office, but I don’t let him shut me out. Following closely behind, I slip inside and lock the door before he can slam it in my face. Continuing to the lone desk near the back, he bends over it with his head hung low.
“You were the one who told me, Wyatt. You told me that it didn’t matter who married who. That it’s all just a piece of paper. That it means nothing. That I’ll always belong to you, no matter what. That marriage is just a sham and you wanted to show me a world where the boundaries between us didn’t exist. Remember all that? Or was that all just some cute lines to try to take my virginity?”
Spinning around, he comes at me with fury in his footsteps, his heavy boots hitting the concrete floor with loud thuds. He doesn’t stop until his hand is around my neck and he presses my body up against the wall. My breath chokes out as he sneers at me, his deep-set green eyes narrowing into tiny caverns. “You’re a rotten brat sometimes, you know that, Vix? I said those things not knowing you were going to actually marry one of those rich pricks. I was saying it so you would be with me. That we could break the rules of this godforsaken city and be together. And now…you’re Mrs. Asa Donovan.”
In strained tones, my voice sputters out, “I don’t want to be. I love you.”
With molten lava flaming his countenance, he tightens his grip on me until large black spots cover my vision. “Well, I hate you.”
Flashing my lashes once before I slip into the darkness, I manage to whisper, “Show me.”
A feral growl erupts from his large, sculpted chest as he drops the hand around my throat to scoop me into his arms, the air pulling back into my lungs with a frenzy, causing all lights and sounds to suddenly make me feel alive. And hyper-aware of every sensation. Slinging my body onto the desk, he rips off his T-shirt and tosses it aside before quickly undoing my shorts and tugging them down along with my thong.
The sight of his muscular, thoroughly inked body wearing nothing but his black pants and boots makes me instantly soaking wet, clit throbbing with need. Bending down, he lowers his shaved head to my pussy before ravishing it like he’s eating a rind of watermelon. Teeth and tongue and mouth all envelop my hot core with a hunger I’ve never seen from him, and a wild scream rips out of my chest as I arch my back until I’m only on my tailbone and the tip of my head.
“Wy-wy-wyatt!” It hurts. And feels amazing. My body isn’t sure which to focus on. Part of me tries to scramble away, but his thick arm grasps my waist, holding me down for him to continue to eat. Bite. Suck. Lick. Soft strolls of his tongue against me make me sink onto the hard desk and squeeze the ticklish hairs on the sides of his head between my thighs. Angry gnaws at my flesh have me pushing away with my hands, but he pulls me closer and then smacks my outer thigh.
Just as I feel myself rising up to an orgasm, wanting his finger inside me like he usually does, he stops, stands and stares down at me, a whimper escaping from my lips with an ache unfulfilled.
“Brats get their pussies tortured like this, vix. And that’s what you are. You’re a fucking brat. You need another lesson. Flip over.” When my thighs quake and I lie still with uncertainty, he grips me and twists my body, so I land against the laminate surface with a thud. The rattle of his belt buckle almost makes me finish, but when I try to see his gorgeously pierced cock, he grips my hair and turns my face down. “Nope. You don’t get to look. Not anymore.”
With a flick, his leather belt meets the air, and I know what’s coming next. A long pause interrupts the flow of his action until I almost turn back to look again, but remember what he told me. “Vix, what do you say if you need to?”
“Avocado.” But before the word is out of my mouth, my palms grip the edge of the desk as he swats my ass with his belt. Hard. A loud cry hangs in the air as I try to get some oxygen into my chest as he spanks me again.
“Do you need more?”
Sniffling my tears back, I let him know what I need. “Yes.” I so do. With each sting against my skin, my worried thoughts, my selfish thoughts, my thoughts of individuality and of fear all evaporate until there’s just physical pain and pleasure.
Another harsh blow to my other ass cheek makes my hips jolt against the desk. Four more and my skin is on fire, flaming from the inside, but before I can say a word, Wyatt takes two large fingers and smears my soaked wetness from my pussy to my back hole.
I’ve never allowed a man to take my virginity, holding on to it like a diamond, knowing it would be worth something someday. But Wyatt was the first to fuck me back there. Repeatedly spreading the evidence of my arousal all over in messy waves, he kneels and sticks his tongue inside my asshole until I open my mouth to gasp then moan. Between his firm, wet mouth and his hard, coated digit, I almost explode, but he stops and straightens until I feel his crown press against me.
“Brats get it in their ass, ain’t that right, vix?”
Nodding, I stretch back against him, so he’ll enter inside me and satisfy my unmet need. Instead, more heat erupts across my backside as he palms my cheek with a smack. “Nuh-uh, vixen. You don’t get to have my dick unless I say so. And I will control the speed if I choose to give it to you.” Wyatt’s never acted like this before. He’s been cross with me, sure, but never this harsh.
I like it.
Usually, things are passionate and quick in order to hide from my brother and his friends. But I know over the last few months, being secretive has bothered him more and more. Not me, though. I’ve enjoyed our clandestine activities. Getting away with something we shouldn’t.
Holding still, my body strains against the head of his cock when it thrusts inside me, the opening agonizing with pain until I feel him dribbling spit over my stretched hole. Rubbing it in with a finger, the first of his piercings pushes past the barrier with ease, then the second with a pop, then the third, the fourth. By the fifth and sixth row, I’m panting, fingers grasping the hard edge, so I don’t move.
Then he fucks me.
Hips shoving hard into me, the head of his thick dick pokes into that wall between my pussy and ass to some spot that makes my legs twitch and my brain go fuzzier than the champagne. He grips my pelvis with his greasy hands as he pummels me, my eyes squeezing shut so hard tears trail down my cheeks. I’m sure my mascara is ruined.
“Now, brat. You’re gonna take my cum in your ass this time.”
A quick gasp leaves my lips parted. “Wha-what? Wyatt?” I’ve never said he could come inside. He always coats my skin somewhere, usually my butt cheeks.
“Yep. Brats get it like this.” Scrambling up on the desk, my thigh lifts, but he grips me so I’m kneeling on the top while he stays inside my back hole. Through gritted teeth, he groans into my ear as his cock rampages into me. “I fucking hate that I love you.” My long nails dig into his firm forearms, as my orgasm rises to the surface, almost taking me away to ecstasy, but before it can, Wyatt spurts his full hot load inside me, then slides out. All of his ejaculate falls down my inner thigh as I try to figure out what just happened.
“You don’t get to come, Mrs. Donovan. Your husband can do that for you.”
Pulling up his jeans, I turn just to see him dress hurriedly, his sullen demeanor returning in full force. I’m grasping at words to get him to forgive me, to stay with me. To want me again like he did, but all I can come up with is, “Wyatt…please don’t shut me out. I love you.”
“Don’t come back here, Arianna.” As he tugs his shirt back over his short brown hair, he finally looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “You broke my fucking heart.”
Seeing him like this makes my own eyes leak more onto my cheeks.
Before he leaves me and reaches the door, I make him pause and ask, “Will you come to the wedding?”
His head drops back until he stares at the ceiling for a moment. Then he flings the door open and storms out with a slam.
I guess that’s a no.
For now.