a single touch

FRANCESCA

HE’S ON top of me, just like before. His suit jacket is gone and his tie is loose around his neck. His lips are on my neck, making my core tingle.

~This is just sex. We’re just breeding for babies. Don’t hope for more, Franci.~

But I can’t help it. I’ve never been okay with the idea of “no strings attached,” and he’s my husband. Is it wrong to not want to share him?

I suck in a sharp breath as I feel him bite my shoulder. It’s hard enough to draw blood. My eyes sting at the pain as I hold back my tears and any hope of him going easy fades.

He’s going to be brutal, just like the rumors.

One hand holds him up, the other has mine restrained beside my head.

His lips pepper such gentle kisses around the wound that it’s hard to imagine that he’s the one who’s brought it upon me in the first place.

He’s a devil in the disguise of a sinful angel and I have no choice but to be a loyal pawn—his puppet.

One of his legs is between my thighs, grazing against my warmth, but not fully touching it. It’s as if he’s teasing me enough to get me ready.

His lips move to my jaw, making sure it stings when he sucks. I crane my neck to the side to give him more access. Maybe what Amalia said is right. What if I let myself be the woman he wants?

He wouldn’t go to someone else then, right? At least, not everyday like Gianna’s husband Pietro does. I’m not a possessive person, but I don’t want what’s supposed to be mine to be shared either.

His grip on my hand tightens. “If it hurts, you tell me.” His voice is a strained, quiet whisper. I wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close.

It makes me wonder if he wants me to hear, or just hopes I don’t.

“Okay,” I answer after a moment as a bit of hope blooms inside my chest. But it quickly dies down as I overthink. Did he say that so my pain would bring him more pleasure?

He presses his thigh harder against me, making me jerk back. I can feel my core tingle with an unwanted feeling. These feelings are too foreign. They make me feel needy.

Is this why some women love sex? It is, after all, the natural reaction of my body to get me prepared for what’s to come.

My core pulses and I can feel myself getting wet. I can smell my arousal, and it’s embarrassing.

His large hands reach behind my back and pull at the dress. I can hear the sound of a faint tear as a gasp leaves my lips.

The dress is ruthlessly thrown off me within seconds, and I sit there bare once again. Suddenly, I don’t feel too tired anymore.

I feel curiosity build up within me even though fear manages to overpower it by a ton.

He’s fully clothed, masked with his power, whereas I lay bare under his body like a lamb ready to be devoured by a starving lion.

My husband sits up, his knee drawn away from my warmth. He shakes his tie off before he unbuttons his shirt slowly.

The veins on his arms bulge as I continue to stare. It makes me wary of my own body. Am I fit enough for his approval?

Bangs fall over his forehead, forcing me to actually see his youth. He’s a made man but still very young for the mob he’s a part of.

His skin is raw and plain, with a bit of chest hair curving down to the V of his abs as he sits bare-chested before me. Not many tattoos cover his body despite the many scars he proudly flaunts.

I don’t mind. Tattoos, especially excessively exaggerated ones, aren’t my thing. Men sporting them are show-offs in my eyes, copying each other with plain tattoos of skulls and whatnot.

Maybe something more unique I would appreciate, but not something one does because they saw someone else do the same thing.

I suck in a breath as I feel his hands make way to my inner thighs. Goosebumps appear on my skin at their warm trail.

He draws circles around my clit but doesn’t relieve me of my agony as I crave him below. I groan. I know he’s watching me, analyzing the depths of my reactions.

My face is beet-red for sure… I bring my other hand up to cover myself but stop instantly when his eyes narrow in warning. I gulp.

“Antonio,” I whisper. Maybe he’s just toying with me. I don’t want to tell him what I want. I don’t have the confidence.

He leans over me and his lips meet mine with force. I gasp as his large hand cups my warmth. He sucks savagely on my lips; I know they’ll be bruised later for him to stare at.

He’s telling me who I belong to—who’s the puppeteer and who’s the puppet in this relationship.

He’s setting boundaries, asserting his dominance in our relationship as all men do while bedding their wives. The kiss isn’t filled with love. It will never be.

Without warning, one of his fingers plunges inside me. I moan at the intrusion. The feeling of his finger inside me isn’t pleasing.

It’s uncomfortable and leaves me fully at his mercy. It hurts, especially since I’ve never had anything inside there. Not even a tampon, much less a human finger.

His lips leave mine and make his way down as I squirm in discomfort when his hand moves inside me. I’m burning inside. The want I felt before is subsiding.

My fear paralyzes the pleasure. His lips descend down to the valley between my breasts before he takes one of my mounds in his mouth, making me arch my back.

“Antonio…” I breathe, but it comes out more like a pant. I groan when he pecks my other bud before swirling his tongue around it.

His teeth pull at it before sucking it, repeating the torture a few more times. I like that, and the discomfort of his finger is lessening until he adds another.

Oh.

His finger starts moving faster inside me. In my embarrassment, I try closing my legs but his legs stop me from doing so.

His lips descend down to my stomach before he sucks at the skin on top of my belly button. I mew at the sting. I like the pain. It’s fun.

He comes back up, his face a breath away from mine. His fingers leave my core and rest on my thighs before patting them twice. “Open up, Doll.”

I pause, my legs reluctant to part. But I know it's better to just get this done. My knees bend, making room for him as he settles between them. The sound of his belt buckle being undone reaches my ears before he sits up to remove his pants.

His boxers follow suit. My eyes instinctively shut at the sight of him. My breath comes in quick, uncontrollable gasps. Fear grips me. I know it's going to hurt.

His finger slips inside me again before withdrawing. My gasp echoes in the room. I feel something nudging my thigh and his warm breath fans my face.

My hands, which had been lying lifelessly at my sides, are now held above my head, his fingers gripping them tightly. The tip of him grazes my entrance, causing me to squirm in panic.

“Relax, Francesca. It’ll hurt less,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky whisper. I force my eyes open to find him watching me. His eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed.

Oddly enough, my muscles relax a bit under his gaze. His lust-filled eyes make me feel strangely good about myself. I'm desired.

I squeeze my eyes shut as he enters me. I feel him deep inside, or maybe I'm just too inexperienced to know the difference.

The pain isn't unbearable, but I squeeze his hands, still holding me down, and squirm uncomfortably as he thrusts in and out. It's not a pleasant sensation. How can anyone find this enjoyable?

My whimpers mix with his groans, filling the room as he continues his movements, giving me no time to adjust. “Wait,” I manage to whisper, but my voice is so soft.

I can barely hear myself over his groans. I don't think he hears me either. He gives no indication.

“Fuck,” he curses.

His ragged breaths echo in my ears as I struggle to control my own. It's useless. Sex is painful. There's no pleasure in it. The burning sensation leaves me feeling sore.

Tears trickle down my cheeks. I just want him to finish, to get this over with.