“Stefano Ferraro is head of the shadow riders in Chicago, isn’t he, Brielle?” His voice dropped another octave.
He saw her instant comprehension. She bit at her lip, nodded and then swallowed. “Yes.” Her answer was low.
“As such he is my boss, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Now her voice was a whisper.
“He also is the acknowledged head of the Ferraro family, the family I explained carefully to you that took me in as their own. Is that not correct?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing all that, you still disrespected him in front of his brothers and friends when he came at my call for help, didn’t you?”
She moistened her lips. “Yes, Elie, but—”
“Don’t make excuses. You disrespected him for no other reason than your ego, isn’t that the truth?”
She was silent a moment and then she slowly nodded. “Yes.”
He barely caught the admission. “Did you consider even once that he interrupted his day, risked his life and his brothers’ lives to aid us?”
She blinked rapidly and shook her head. “No.”
“Nor did you consider how you would make me look when you were so ungrateful, did you?” His hand slid up her thigh, and then between her legs once more, testing to make certain she had answered truthfully on her questionnaire. She widened her legs to give him better access, her breath coming in a ragged gasp as he slid his finger into her hot channel. She was tight and his cock jerked in anticipation.
“No, Elie,” she whispered. “I didn’t.”
He pulled his hand away again. “There are consequences for your actions, aren’t there? We both agreed on that, didn’t we?”
A full-body shiver greeted his words. “Yes.”
“Go to the window and place your palms flat on the last lower pane. Press against the glass tight and push your ass out toward me. Keep your legs spread wide.”
Brielle looked at the bank of windows and then back at him. With seeming reluctance, she made her way to the windows and then slowly bent down until she pressed her breasts flat against the glass with her palms on either side of her shoulders, down low, near the bottom half of the pane. At the same time, she widened her stance and pushed her bottom out.
Elie stayed very still just observing her. She liked what she was doing. Her pussy was swollen with need and so wet, it was nearly dripping. He’d been right to keep her wanting him. To drive her cravings up with all the touches, with stepping in and out of her shadow. He’d made certain to lie tight against her all night, to rub his thumbs over her nipples to keep them inflamed.
Her body bucked against his often during the night, and several times her hand had crept down, fingers moving in her body to try to relieve the ache in her sleep. He’d watched her for a few minutes, letting the tension in her build, before he’d firmly removed her fingers, sucking on them, tasting her spice and telling himself to wait, they would be better for it.
He had to have control in order for them to work as a couple. She needed certain things in their relationship. He’d read her answers over and over, read between the lines, and he’d been determined to make them work as a couple. Now that his wife was Brielle, more than ever, he was going to make their relationship work. She might think this was about sex, but he knew better. This was about giving her everything she needed or wanted. That meant staying in control even when he felt desperate—like now.
He padded across the room silently, making certain she didn’t hear him coming up behind her. There was nothing more beautiful than the sight of his woman waiting for him, spread open, her pussy glistening, her rounded cheeks shuddering visibly, but the endorphins so jacked, the goose bumps had taken over her silky skin.
Deliberately, he pulled the leather belt from his trousers, sliding it from the loops so it slithered like a snake, the sound overly loud in the stillness of the house. “You deserve the belt, mon petit jouet très sale. Or the cane. Your infraction is that serious, but since it is your first time, I will go easy on you.”
For a moment, he thought she would protest and he hid his smile. His woman liked her little punishments. She liked him being in charge. She’d made that abundantly clear in her answers, which was one of the reasons she wasn’t happy when she found out she was marrying Elie Archambault. A stranger could know those very personal quirks about her, but not him.
He curved his hand over her left cheek. Satin. He loved the way she felt. She squirmed for the first time, embarrassed that she wasn’t perfectly firm the way she thought she should be. She’d put that down in her papers when she’d written about the things on her body she didn’t necessarily like. He’d asked for that information. It wasn’t something his partner had to answer, but she had and she’d been honest. He’d been surprised that she’d disclosed so much.