Keeping his bride

Luca

ANôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

FTER I SHOWER and get dressed for the day, I immediately go downstairs. I’m hungry. No, I’m fucking starving. I’m hoping the staff has breakfast ready; but when I reach the dining room and hear loud shouting, I’m thinking breakfast is the last thing on everyone’s minds this morning.

The shouting grows louder with each step. And when I push through the kitchen door, I step knee deep into… bubbles?

There are fucking bubbles everywhere. The whole room is filled with them!

My eyes search the room, but everyone is busy yelling back and forth in Italian. Verona stands across the room with tears streaming down her face while my staff calls her every name in the book.

Dante snaps back in Italian to them while Verona simply stares at him in awe, so I’m assuming she doesn’t even know the language. Surprising, given who her father is. But then again, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t want his daughter privy to his private meetings. He probably wanted to keep her in the dark.

Dante pulls Verona into his arms, rubbing his palms up and down her back, soothing her. My blood fucking boils in my veins at witnessing the intimate contact.

“Verona!” I roar. The entire room is suddenly quiet, and Verona pulls back from Dante’s embrace like she was just burned.

Her big, honey-colored eyes widen as she stares at me. I can see the fear in her gaze; and for some fucked-up reason, it turns me on.

“Come with me. Now!” I demand, turning on my heel, leaving the room full of bubbles behind me.

I walk straight to my office, not stopping to see if she’s following me. I know she’ll follow like the good, little, obedient wife that she is.

I stop at my office door, giving her a chance to catch up. Blocking the keypad with my body, I punch in the code and then open the door, stepping inside and holding the door open for her to enter. I feel like the lion that has just caught the lamb. She is my prey. But the sick fuck in me wants to play with her a little first before I destroy her.

I walk behind my desk and stand there as I watch her timidly move to the front of it. I sit there for several long seconds, watching her squirm. And then very calmly, I ask her, “Why is my kitchen full of bubbles?”

Her long, dark lashes are still wet with tears as she stares at me with those honey-colored eyes. “I-I-I put the wrong soap in the dishwasher,” she says, looking to the ground with embarrassment.

“And why were you running the dishwasher?”

“I woke up early, before everyone else,” she explains. “There were so many dirty dishes. I…I just wanted to help,” she says with a shrug.

“Never used one before?” I ask her, already knowing the answer.

When she shakes her head, I roll my eyes. Pretty, little princess never had to lift a finger at home, I’m sure. So why would she attempt it here and try to destroy my house? Is she deliberately trying to fuck things up here? Sabotage me?

I round the desk and stand behind her. Grabbing her by the neck, I force her to bend over until her face is pressed against my desk. Her breathing picks up as she places her palms on the expensive oak next to her head.

When I release my hold, she stays in that position with her face down and ass in the air for me, on display. She’s so short that she has to stand on her tiptoes to stay bent over the tall, oak desk, and I love how she fidgets, trying so hard to be a good girl for me. And fuck, her obedience makes me hard. I have to step away from her, so she can’t feel my arousal.

“Do you have any idea what my staff was yelling at you in there?” I ask her, curiosity getting the better of me.

“No,” she says, releasing a shaky breath.

“I’m surprised your father didn’t demand you learn

Italian. Maybe he wanted to hide things from you.” She doesn’t respond to that.

I pace behind her. She’s wearing a short, blue dress, nothing special, but the material has ridden up, giving me a tempting peek of her ass. I can see the bottom of her perfect globes and the material of her lacy, light blue thong between them. I smirk, knowing she doesn’t have much choice in underwear since I only ordered thongs. I can’t help but wonder if she ever wore thongs before now.

“What do you think your punishment should be for fucking up my kitchen?” I ask her.

“My…my punishment?”

I can hear the unease in her voice, and it makes my cock twitch in my pants. I’m sick for getting off on her fear, but I can’t help it. I’ve wanted her to suffer for a long time now.

Her and her entire fucking family.

My hands itch at the need to take my belt out of the loops and beat her until she can no longer walk. But I know that if I start hurting her, I might not be able to stop. I don’t trust that I won’t take it too far.

I curl my hands into fists at my sides. I’d rather take my frustrations and hatred out on her father. But since he isn’t here…I guess she’ll have to take the brunt of my anger.

Walking over to her, I brush my hand over her backside. She jumps at the touch and then slowly relaxes. I like how much she fears me. How much she doesn’t trust me.

“Count, Verona,” I tell her while flicking up the back of her dress to expose her completely to me.

“What?” she asks right before I bring my hand down on her delicious ass.

She cries out in surprise, but doesn’t give me what I want. “That was one,” I say as I lean down to whisper into her ear.

“One,” she says in agreement.

I slap her other cheek, and she cries out, “Two!”

My hands have a mind of their own as they caress her flesh between spanks. Her ass is turning a delicious shade of dark pink, and I still want more. I spank her over and over again, relishing the pained cries coming from her mouth.

The light blue thong grows darker between her legs with every spank. This is turning her on. Who knew Verona would be a little slut for pain? And, fuck, I can’t help but wonder how much wetter she can get just from me spanking her.

“Please!” she cries out suddenly.

I lean down and whisper into her ear, “Does that mean you want me to stop or that you want me to continue?”

She closes her eyes, effectively blocking me out as a shiver runs through her.

Standing and moving away from her, I say, “Go to your room.” I want her to feel like an ill-behaved child. “Somebody else will have to clean up your fucking mess.”

With tears in her eyes, she slowly stands, fixes her dress and runs out of my office. My cock presses painfully against my zipper, and I grind my palm down against it. I need a fucking release, but now isn’t the time. I have shit to deal with thanks to my new wife trying to be helpful.

Taking a few minutes to compose myself, I finally tame the beast in my pants so that I can take care of the situation in the kitchen.

When I walk in the door, the staff is still arguing loudly. They haven’t even begun cleaning, because they’re too busy fighting over who should be the one to do it.

Benito and Dante look at me and instantly shut up. I look at the five housekeepers and tell them, “Sei licenziato! Get the fuck out of my house.”

They all look at me and then at each other, thinking they misheard me.

“You’re fired!” I tell them this time in English. “No one disrespects my wife in my own home.”

I watch and wait as they all leave the room. Benito and Dante stare at me, waiting for what happens next. “Benito, hire some new staff. I want them to start today. And make sure they sign the NDAs.”

“Yes, of course,” Benito says, walking out of the room to get started on the task.

And then, with a grin on my face, I tell Dante, “Clean up this mess,” before I leave the room.

If Dante thinks he holds some kind of power over me because he knows Verona better than me, then I’m going to have to put him in his place every fucking time he tries to overstep his boundaries. Most men would get their hands cut off for touching another man’s wife. He’s lucky I’m letting him keep his hands long enough to clean up the mess Verona made. Next time, he might not be so fucking lucky.