Brutal Prince: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance (Brutal Birthright Book 1)
Brutal Prince: Chapter 12

I stomp inside the house, my entire body shaking with rage.

The nerve of that fucking girl, showing up here with her suitcase like she didn’t just try to kill me. Like I didn’t spend my wedding night in the hospital with a fucking tube shoved down my throat.

She humiliated me in front of everyone—first with that suit, and then by making me look weak, fragile, utterly pathetic.

That allergy is the most embarrassing thing about me. It makes me feel like some little kid with coke-bottle glasses and a snot nose. I hate that it’s so irrational. I hate that I can’t control it. I hate that I have such a ridiculous vulnerability.

I don’t know how she found out about it, but the fact that she sussed it out and used it against me makes me absolutely fucking furious.

So I pulled her under the water to give her a taste of her own medicine. See how she likes clawing and gasping for air, helpless against the necessity to breathe.

It made me feel better. For a minute.

But it also made me feel something else.

Her body, twisting and writhing against me.

It wasn’t supposed to be sexy. And yet, my heart is racing for more than one reason . . .

“Cal,” my father calls as I pass the kitchen doorway.

“What.”

I glance into the kitchen, seeing him seated at the counter, eating one of the meals the chef keeps prepared in the fridge.

“Where’s Aida?” he says.

“Out by the pool,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my bare chest. I didn’t bother to grab a towel, so I’m dripping all over the tiles.

“You should take her out somewhere tonight. A nice dinner. Maybe a show.”

“To what purpose?”

“Because of your . . . accident . . . yesterday, you didn’t make use of the honeymoon suite.”

“I’m aware of that,” I tell him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“You need to seal the deal, so to speak. You know a marriage isn’t finalized until it’s consummated.”

“So you want me to fuck her tonight, is that your point?”

He puts his fork down next to his plate, fixing me with a cold stare.

“No need to be crude.”

“Let’s call a spade a spade. You want me to fuck this girl, despite the fact that we hate each other, despite the fact that she tried to kill me yesterday, because you don’t want your precious alliance to fall apart.”

“Exactly,” he says, picking up his fork once more and spearing a grape out of his Waldorf salad. “And don’t forget, this isn’t my alliance. It benefits you more than anyone.”

“Right,” I say bitterly. “It’s been a real joy so far.”

I stalk upstairs, stripping off my swim trunks and running the shower as hot as I can stand it. I take a good long time soaping myself, washing my hair, letting the water pound down on my shoulders.

I’m aware that I’m supposed to “make Aida my wife” in every sense of the word, but I doubt she’s going to be in the mood for that after I half-drowned her. I’ve never been one for grand romantic gestures, but even under the most liberal interpretations, I don’t think waterboarding counts as foreplay.

In fact, I doubt she’ll even agree to go to dinner with me. Which is fine by me. She probably eats with her hands. She’d only embarrass me if I took her someplace nice.

Even after I hear Aida coming into the room, I stay exactly where I am, enjoying the hot shower. She can stand out there and shiver her ass off for all I care.

I can hear her moving around, but I can’t see what she’s doing because I’ve been in here so long that the glass enclosure of the shower is opaque with steam.

So I’m startled when Aida pushes her way inside, completely naked.

“Hey!” I say. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Showering, obviously,” she says. “Some asshole pulled me into the pool.”

“I’m already in here.”

“Really?” she says, fixing me with an unimpressed stare. “Thank you for informing me of that fact. That’s the kind of razor-sharp observation and inside information that’s sure to secure you the Alderman seat.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor,” I say to her, in my father’s most insufferable tone.

“Taking lessons in humor from you would be like asking a dog how to perform an appendectomy,” she replies.

She elbows past me to grab the shampoo.

Her bare arm grazes my stomach, and I become acutely aware that we haven’t actually seen each other naked before now.

I’m used to girls who keep their bodies torturously slim by any means necessary—diet, pills, pilates, and even surgical intervention. Aida obviously doesn’t bother with any of that. From what I’ve seen, she eats and drinks whatever she likes, and she probably hasn’t seen a running shoe in years. As a result, she’s curvy, with a soft stomach and a big ass.

But I have to admit . . . her figure is pretty fucking sexy. She’d probably hate to hear me say this, but she kinda has that classic bombshell look—like I could slap a fur bikini on her and she’d be Raquel Welch in One Million Years B.C.

It makes me curious what it would feel like to grab a handful of that soft flesh, to watch her ride on top of me. To throw her around and manhandle her, without worrying that she’s going to snap like a stick figure.

Her smooth brown skin looks even better when you can see more of it. The hot shower is bringing a pink flush to it, particularly across her chest. I’m trying not to stare at her full, round breasts, but the way the soap suds slide down the chasm between them is so distracting . . .

The warm water runs down her body, to the delta between her thighs, where I can see her freshly waxed pussy, completely bare, looking softer than velvet. The fact that it’s waxed for me, under my instructions, is incredibly erotic to me.

Aida is so wild and rebellious. Making her do anything is an incredible feat. She’s determined to spite me, to do the opposite of whatever I say.

The more she rebels, the more I want to control her. I want to bend her to my will. I want to make her do whatever I say, for my pleasure . . .

My cock is getting swollen and heavy between my legs. I see a flutter of Aida’s black lashes as she glances involuntarily downward.

She quickly looks away again, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. But soon enough, her eyes are drawn back to my body.

I know I’m in good shape. I work out every morning, sixty minutes of intense weight training, followed by thirty minutes of cardio. I have the chef make me macro-portioned meals so I ensure the perfect protein, carb, and fat intake. All of that has led to a well-muscled physique with a solid six-pack.

Aida’s eyes linger over my abs, and the member continuing to swell under her gaze. It’s standing out from my body now.

“See something you like?” I ask her.

“No,” she says, stubborn as ever.

“You fucking liar.”

I step closer to her, so my erect cock brushes against her bare hip. My thigh slides between hers, slippery with soap. I thrust one hand into her thick, dark hair, wrapping the wet rope of hair around my palm and then tugging her head back so she has to look up at me.

“You fucked up our wedding night,” I tell her. “You know we’re not actually married until we sleep together.”

“I know that,” she says.

“You haven’t been eating anything else poisonous, have you?”

Before she can answer, I press my lips hard against hers once more.

When I kissed Aida at the church, it was only to finish that stupid ceremony. Now I’m kissing her because I want to taste her mouth again. I want to press my whole body against hers and run my hands over that silky tan skin.

She’s incredibly soft. I don’t know how someone with the personality of a cactus can have the softest lips, shoulders, and breasts that I’ve ever touched. I want to run my hands over every inch of her.

At first, she’s stiff and unyielding, not wanting to respond to me. But as my thigh grinds against her bare little cunt, and as I take her breasts in my hands, she gasps and her lips part, allowing me to slide my tongue inside her mouth.

Now she’s pressing back on me, grinding her pussy against my leg. She’s kissing me back, deep enough that I can taste the lingering tang of chlorine on her lips.

I slide my hand down her belly, all the way down to her bald pussy. I rub my fingers over the perfectly smooth lips, loving how bare and exposed she is. Then I part her folds and replace the tiny nub of her clit, swollen from the heat of the shower. I circle my middle finger around it, reaching down to test how wet it’s making her, then returning again to the most sensitive spot.

She gasps when I touch her there and squeezes her thighs around mine, rubbing and pressing against my palm with her cunt.

I slip a finger inside of her, making her moan. She moans right into my mouth, a deep and helpless sound.

I knew it. She’s a horny little slut. She likes sex as much as I do.

That’s perfect. Because if she wants it, if she needs it, then she has to come to me. And that’s one more way I can control her.

I rub her and finger her until I can feel her legs starting to shake. Her breath quickens, and her thighs squeeze tight as she gets closer and closer to climax.

Right when she’s at the edge, I stop touching her and withdraw my hand.

“Don’t stop!” she gasps, opening her eyes and glaring at me.

“If you want to cum, then suck my cock first,” I demand.

She looks down at my cock, so hard that it juts straight out from my body.

“Fuck no,” she says. “I’ll just do it myself.”

She leans back against the shower wall, putting her hand between her thighs. Her fingers slide between her pussy lips, and she exhales softly. I grab her by the wrist and yank her hand away.

“Hey!” she shouts, eyes flashing open again.

“Suck me off, or I’m not letting you cum,” I tell her.

She glares at me, cheeks flushed from heat and from the denied orgasm. I know it’s boiling inside of her, spinning around like a cyclone. I’m sure it’s nagging at her, making her ache and throb, and hopefully feel desperate enough to do as I demand.

I put my hand on her shoulder and push her down to her knees.

Reluctantly, she grips the base of my cock.

Her lips part, and I see the gleam of her teeth. I wonder for a moment if I’ve made a horrible mistake. I’d really rather not lose my dick to the temper of my new wife.

But then her warm, wet mouth closes around my cock, and my brain short circuits. If I thought her lips were soft before, I had no idea how they could feel on the painfully sensitive head of my cock. They slide over and around, completely enveloping me. Her tongue flicks against the underside as she gently licks and sucks.

Fuuuucking hell, she’s good at this. It’s no wonder Oliver Castle was obsessed with her. If she sucked his cock like this just one single time, I could imagine him following her to the ends of the earth to get it again.

She slides her hand up and down the shaft, her mouth and fingers working in tandem. Her other hand reaches underneath to gently cradle my balls, stroking the underside of the sack.

All these sensations together are rocketing me toward orgasm . . .

Until she drops my cock and stands up again.

“That’s all you get,” she says.

God, her obstinance is infuriating. If I said the grass was green, she’d call it purple just to spite me. I really should take this opportunity to teach her a lesson.

But she and I both want the same thing in this moment. A rare instance of our impulses aligning. And we want it so bad that desire outweighs malice.

Aida puts an arm around my neck, steadying herself while she lines the head of my cock up with her entrance. Then she wraps both legs around my waist as my cock slides all the way inside of her.

I grip her thick ass with both hands, my fingers digging into her cheeks. I hold her up as she starts to ride me, her arms locked around my neck, her soap-slippery body grinding against mine.

As hot as the shower might be, her pussy is even hotter. It clenches around my cock, squeezing me on the inward and the outward motion of the thrust.

I was wrong in my assumption that Aida isn’t athletic. She’s riding me with the vigor and enthusiasm of a sexual Olympian. I’m used to girls who pose themselves in the most attractive position possible, then lay back to let you fuck them. I’ve never been with someone so . . . eager.

As she gets closer to the edge, she starts to ride me even harder, her pussy like a vise around my cock. She’s slamming down on me over and over. The intensity of the strokes and the heat of the shower is making me dizzy.

But there’s no fucking way I’m tapping out. I press her back up against the glass wall and fuck her all the harder, determined to prove that I can dish it back to her twice as heavy.

When her eyes start to roll back, I feel a surge of triumph.

“Oh my god . . . oh my god . . . oh . . . Cal . . .”

I’m wringing the climax out of her. It’s going on and on, drawn out by every stroke of my cock. It’s so fucking sexy seeing that rebellious expression wiped off her face, watching her submit to the pleasure surging through her body.

I’m doing this to her. I’m making her feel this. Whether she hates me or not, whether she wishes it were anyone but me, she’s helpless to resist it. She loves the way I’m fucking her.

With that thought, I explode inside of her.

I mean, I really explode. The orgasm is like an atom bomb, hitting me without warning. My balls are ground zero, and the shockwave rockets through every last neuron, all the way out to tips of my fingers and toes. In the wake of that sensation, my brain can’t send any other signals. My body goes limp, and I have to put Aida down before I drop her.

I collapse against the opposite shower wall, both of us panting and flushed.

Aida refuses to meet my eye.

It’s the first time she hasn’t been able to look at me. No matter how I’ve tried to stare her down, she’s always been up to the challenge.

But now she’s rinsing off slowly, pretending to be totally absorbed by her cleaning routine.

She called me Cal. She never did that before. Except to make fun of me at the engagement party.

“So that’s it,” I say to her. “It’s official.”

“Right,” she says, still not looking at me.

I like her embarrassment. I like that I’ve found this chink in her armor.

“Good to know you’re not completely awful at sex,” I say rudely.

Now she glares back at me, eyes bright and ferocious once more.

“Wish I could return the compliment,” she says.

I grin.

Aida, you little liar. Keep it up, and I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap. Or maybe something else . . .