THE DON'S BRIDE

Jealous Boy

**Kiara**

Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Rossi’s bedroom, casting a soft, dangerous glow over the c*****e of the night before.

I woke slowly, every muscle aching with a strange, heavy exhaustion,the first thing I noticed was the blood,flaked and cracked now on my skin, smeared across my breasts, my stomach, and dried between my thighs where Rossi’s fingers had worked me mercilessly,the metallic scent had faded into something darker, more intimate, mixed with the unmistakable musk of my own arousal and his.

I was still naked,still trapped against his hard, powerful body.

Rossi’s arm was locked around my waist like iron, his large hand possessively cupping my boobs,his thick, heavy, and already half-hard,rested against the curve of my ass,he was awake,I could feel the tension in him, the controlled hunger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Buongiorno, mia moglie,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and dark promise. His lips brushed the back of my neck, sending unwanted shivers down my spine. “Did you dream of me? Of my fingers stretching that tight virgin cunt while you wore the blood I spilled for you?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. I tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip, rolling me onto my back so he could loom over me.

His ice-blue eyes raked over my body slowly, taking in every smear of dried blood like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You look perfect like this,” he said softly, dangerously. “Marked,claimed.”

I swallowed hard, my voice hoarse. “We need to bathe. Please, Rossi. I can’t… I feel disgusting.”

A slow, predatory smile curved his lips. “Disgusting? Or honest?” He trailed a finger through a streak of blood on my inner thigh, then brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. “This is what protection tastes like, Kiara,this is what happens when someone tries to take you from me.”

He rose from the bed in one fluid motion, completely naked and unashamed,his body was a weapon,hard muscle, tatoos ,old scars, and that thick tool standing proud and heavy between his powerful thighs,he held out his hand.

“Come. We bathe together.”

I hesitated only a second before taking his hand,he led me into the enormous en-suite bathroom, all black marble and gold fixtures,the massive walk-in shower could easily fit four people,Rossi turned on the multiple rainfall heads, adjusting the temperature until steam filled the air.

He stepped under the spray first, pulling me in after him,hot water cascaded over us, turning the dried blood into rivulets of pink that ran down our bodies and swirled toward the drain.

Rossi didn’t let me wash myself.

Instead, he grabbed a bottle of expensive body wash, poured it into his large hands, and began to soap me with deliberate, possessive strokes.

His hands were everywhere,sliding over my shoulders, cupping my boobs and teasing my n*****s until they tightened into hard peaks,he washed the blood from my stomach, then dropped to his knees in front of me like a dark god worshipping at an altar.

“Legs apart,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

When I obeyed shakily, he washed between my thighs with slow, thorough care,his soapy fingers slid through my folds, circling my area and dipping just inside my entrance, cleaning me while simultaneously teasing me back to aching arousal.

I gripped his shoulders for balance, a soft whimper escaping as the hot water and his touch made my knees weak.

“Look at me,” he growled.

I did. Water streamed down his sharp face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead,his eyes burned with raw obsession as he watched his fingers disappear between my legs.

“So f*****g tight,” he murmured. “Even after my fingers last night, this cunt is still fighting to stay closed,when I finally take you on our wedding night, I’m going to have to force my c**k inside inch by slow inch while you scream for me.”

He added a second finger, pumping slowly while his thumb worked my c**t in firm circles,the pleasure built fast and vicious under the hot spray.

“Rossi…” I gasped, hips rocking against his hand despite myself.

“Come for me again, little Bride,” he commanded, voice dark and filthy. “Come while I wash my enemies’ blood off your pretty p***y,show me how much your body craves its owner.”

The orgasm hit me hard,I cried out, walls clenching around his fingers as waves of shameful pleasure ripped through me,Rossi kept working me through it, drawing it out until I was trembling and oversensitive.

Only when I was limp did he stand, turning me to face the wall,he pressed his hard, naked body against my back, his thick sliding between my cheeks as he reached for more soap.

He washed himself quickly, but his hands never left me,gripping my hips, squeezing my a, one finger teasing the tight ring of muscle there until I gasped.

“Not today,” he whispered darkly against my ear. “But soon.,every hole will belong to me.”

When we were both clean, he shut off the water and wrapped me in a thick black towel, carrying me back to the bed like I weighed nothing.

But the peace didn’t last.

A sharp knock sounded at the bedroom door.

“Don Del Brenta,” Matteo’s voice called. “The Romano family is here. Marco, Vito, and the boy Lorenzo. They’re demanding to see Kiara. They brought Bianca Moretti with them as well.”

Rossi’s expression darkened instantly, the tender possessiveness vanishing into cold, lethal danger.

He dressed quickly in a fresh black suit, then chose clothes for me,a simple but elegant white silk blouse and black pencil skirt that hugged my curves..

“Wear this,” he said, voice leaving no room for argument. “I want them to smell me on you,to know you spent the night in my bed.”

******

Downstairs in the formal dining room, the tension was thick enough to choke on.

My father, Marco Romano, sat at one end of the long table, face tight with barely contained anger. Uncle Vito stood behind him like a shadow. Lorenzo was there too,his eyes immediately finding mine, filled with pain, jealousy, and helpless rage as he took in my flushed cheeks and the way Rossi kept one possessive hand at the small of my back.

Bianca Moretti lounged in a chair beside them, her smile sharp and venomous. “Well, well. The little virgin survived the night. How touching.”

Rossi pulled out a chair for me, then sat beside me, his hand resting openly on my thigh under the table, fingers stroking possessively.

“Speak,” Rossi said coldly, voice like ice. “You have five minutes before I throw all of you out of my house.”

Father leaned forward. “My daughter was almost killed last night because of your enemies, Del Brenta. We demand answers. And protection.”

“Your daughter is safer with me than she ever was with you,” Rossi replied, thumb pressing harder into my thigh. “The attack happened at your event. Your security was sloppy. My men ended it.”

Lorenzo’s fists clenched on the table. “She shouldn’t be here at all,not like this,not… not after what you did to her.”

Rossi’s smile was slow and terrifying. “Jealous, boy? Did it keep you up last night knowing I had my fingers buried in her tight little cunt while you were probably jerking off to the thought of her?”

Lorenzo shot to his feet. “You fucking...”