And when our breathing is ragged and his thrusts frantic, and I feel him thicken even more inside me, I feel his fist at the back of my neck as he winds that rosary around it and draws me up, the sensation different like this.
With one hand, he chokes me with that rosary while with the other, he digs his fingers into my hip, those fingers so close to my clit, so close to my throbbing, wanting clit. And when he comes, he wraps that arm around my middle and holds me so tight that for a moment, I can’t breathe. As he empties inside me, I can’t breathe.
When he’s finished, when he’s loosened the choking rosary, when his arm isn’t a steel bar crushing my ribs, he takes the shell of my ear between sharp teeth, and I still want. Even as I feel him draw out of me. Even as I feel his come slide down the insides of my legs, I still want.
And when he finally speaks, when he finally moves his hand and cups my sex to press his thumb against my hardened clit, I come. Just like that, I come. Even as he warns me not to disobey him again. I come as his seed spills out of me onto the church floor. I come as the hand that wielded that cane cups my sex and reminds me of what he told me last night.
That I belong to him.
21
Santiago
Ivy is quiet as she follows me back down the corridor inside the house. She's stepping gingerly, feeling every bit of her punishment, but no complaints leave her lips.
A strange sense of turmoil roils in my gut. I am overly aware of the pain she must feel. How many times have I walked these halls with that same tenderness burning the soles of my feet? I imagined it would bring me satisfaction to watch her suffer in a way that I understand so intimately. But her lack of tears and silent resolve has brought me little of what I seem to need from her.
I want to bury myself in her again and again. Feel her warmth and her body clenching around me. The possibilities in which I could take her seem endless. Eternity doesn't seem long enough to explore them.
But she won't be here for eternity, I remind myself as I lead her back to her room and seal us inside. She stands on the center of the rug, watching me with uncertainty that makes her seem smaller yet.
A pliable little doll.
My jaw sets as I study her, considering how long it will take for her to break. How long until she is so miserable looking at me every day, feeling my hands upon her skin, that she decides to put an end to it?
Or will I be the one to break first?
Perhaps, that would be easiest. Maybe it's what I should have done all along. I could wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until the light dims from her eyes. There would be no question then. It would be done. And this strange new torment inside me would die with her.
But even that notion doesn't seem to satisfy me as much as it should.
I drag a hand through my hair, smoothing it back into place. The silence has stretched on for too long, and the tension thickens in the space between us. She's glancing at me like she doesn't know what to expect from me anymore.
"Sit down." I point at the same chair she vacated earlier.
She does as I request, the rosary dangling from her neck like a beautiful collar. It is heavy, and I know she feels it. I want her to think of me every time she moves. I want her to feel the weight of my ownership pulling her down.
I step behind her and smooth her hair back over her shoulders. She shivers but does not try to look at me, keeping her gaze forward. How quickly she is proving capable of abiding by my orders.
The first-aid kit is still on the table, so I reach for it and open a packet of alcohol. Gently, I press my fingers against her chin, tilting her head back until I have access to the cut on her forehead. She watches me with a curious expression as I dab the dried blood off around the edges, but when I feel her gaze burning into the scars beneath my ink, I pause to look down at her.
"Close your eyes."
She hesitates with a sigh but then does as I ask. I continue to clean her wound and then apply some salve and a bandage.
"Why do you care if it gets infected?" she asks.
"Because it would be too easy to lose you to something so simple."
Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine again. "I don't think you are as cruel as you would like everyone to believe."
"Then you are delusional." I release her with an irritated scowl and return the items to the first-aid kit.
"If you hate me so much, then why am I here?" she demands.
The wrappers crumple in my hands before I toss them into the garbage. "You know exactly why."
She glances at me as if she's trying to decipher the hidden meaning of my message, and at the same time, I'm trying to decipher her skills of deception.
Truthfully, I am uncertain if she is aware of the events that transpired. I have questioned it so many times over the years. How much does the rest of her family know about Eli and the explosion? Ivy is close to her father, so there is certainly some level of trust there. But it is difficult to say whether she knows the truth, or she really is as naïve as she pretends. Regardless, until I know for sure, I will assume that the traitorous Moreno blood running through her veins knows perfectly well why she is here.
"If I knew the reasons, then why would I bother to ask?" she challenges.
"Because you are a Moreno," I sneer. "And that makes you a traitor by default."
"And you are a De La Rosa. So, I suppose that makes you an asshole by default."
My palm slides around to the front of her throat, fingertips digging into her pulse as I force her head back until she can't bend any farther. Her fingers come up to mine, prying at my hand as she struggles to free herself from my grasp.
"You're insane," she hisses. "Do you realize that? Just let me go. Let me leave here and you will never have to see me again!"
"Let you leave?" I laugh darkly, leaning down to let my words fan against her lips. "The only way you're getting out of this marriage is through death."
Her shoulders stiffen, and she stares up at me with unadulterated hate. "So, what then? You will see me dead? Is that truly what you wish?"
I force her head to the side, dragging my nose along her temple and into her hair, inhaling her drugging scent before I confess the truth.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."
Three days pass. Ivy remains locked in her room, and I do not visit her. Instead, I ask Antonia for reports, a detail she finds rather curious. She provides me updates as I request, informing me of Ivy's eating and sleeping habits. She tells me that my wife has requested access to the pool, and I return my order to deny her.
I know she will have to come out soon. Certain things will be expected of her. She is to attend events with me. There will be meetings with other wives regarding their endeavors and contributions within The Society. They take turns planning events, luncheons, dinners, and ensuring the businesses run smoothly by keeping them adequately staffed. Ivy will be expected to participate at some level, although not as much as the others. She married a Sovereign Son, so many expectations are cast upon her. The way she dresses, speaks, and carries herself will all be scrutinized. But because she bears my mark, nobody will ever dare whisper their judgments in a space where she or I might hear them. It is her duty to sew herself into the fabric of our organization and truly become one of the upper echelon.