Revenge by Renee Rose

Author:Renee Rose [Rose, Renee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Renee Rose Romance
Published: 2024-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Antonio

Fuck. Me.

My wife emerges from our bedroom in a sexy, slinky red cocktail dress. It hugs her curves, with an open triangle cutout at her breasts and a short hemline that shows off her long, shapely legs. Her hair is curled, and she’s wearing fake eyelashes and red lipstick. There’s a softness about her face, like she’s still riding the high from the orgasms this afternoon.

I’ll say one thing–what she lacks in charm, she makes up for in looks. Our children will be beautiful.

I shouldn’t think of baby-making, though, because my already blue balls grow heavy.

I stand from the table where I was going over the books. “You look beautiful.”

There’s a flicker of surprise on her face. I remember the same flicker at her debutante ball. As if she finds the compliment unexpected. Although surely she must be complimented every day of her life.

Perhaps it’s that she doesn’t expect it from me–the cretin.

I extend my hand. “Ready for dinner, Principessa?”

Hours ago, I had food sent to the room and left outside the door with a knock. There’s no way I would risk my server entering the bedroom without me there to ensure he didn’t look at her. I was told she barely touched the food, though.

“Yes. I’m starving.”

For some reason, it pleases me that I get to be the one to feed her. Like it satisfies some biological caveman need to provide.

I escort her to the dining room where the table is already set for us, and my men bustle around to light candles and pour wine.

I lift my glass after hers has been poured. “To my wife. Who tastes as exquisite as she looks.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes and drinks without clinking my glass.

“I enjoyed watching you come undone this afternoon.”

A visible shiver runs through her. “This isn’t polite dinner conversation.”

I give her a stiff smile. “And yet here you are, the yacht princess, married to a man who doesn’t give a fuck what you think is polite.”

She recoils slightly, and I regret my sharpness. I was enjoying seeing her soft and relaxed. I don’t need to poke her this way. Not after she surrendered to me this afternoon.

Of course, I hadn’t given her much of a choice.

But the truth is, if she’d been frightened, or angry, or resistant, if her pussy had been dry or her body tense, I wouldn’t have gone on.

No, my feisty bride enjoyed my touch and my tongue. She was incredibly responsive, and watching her come was the most spectacular sight I’ve seen. It was beautiful.

“Talking about your pussy at dinner is as much my right as tasting it,” I declare. “And,” –I pause to take a sip of my wine– “I can’t wait to taste you again.”

She lifts her lashes to meet my gaze. “As punishment.” She doesn’t say it as a question, but she’s watching me like she’s trying to discern how and when it will happen again.

I shrug. “It can be a reward, too. Depends on the context, I suppose.”

I watch a pretty flush color the exposed triangle of skin above her breasts.

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