Arranged love

HAVEN

I STAND BEFORE him in a white lace thong and my pink high heels. That’s it. The once expensive pink dress lies ripped on the marble floor of the bathroom. Just like my heart. He tricked me. He wanted me to think he cheated. Why? Because he wanted me to get jealous? Will this be my life from now on? Game after game? Test after test? I’ll fail all of them.

He’s right. I was jealous. But I can’t forgive him for what he did. Or what he made me think he did.

My lips purse, and my hands fists. I lean into his face. “I will not play a role in your fucking life, Luca.” Then I turn around and go to leave the bathroom.

His hand grips my hair and yanks me back. I cry out as he places me in front of the bathroom mirror, shoving my hips into the white and gray marble countertop. His hand stays in my hair while the other comes around and grips my chin.

“Luca, what are you-”

“Look at yourself,” he interrupts me, shaking my chin. I whimper. “Tell me I’m not the only one who has ever loved you.”

I swallow the knot that instantly forms in my throat. My watery eyes meet his cold stare in the mirror, begging him to stop, pleading with him not to do this, but he shows no sign of mercy. “No …”

He spins me around and cups my face. His dark eyes glare down at me. “Your biological mother didn’t want you.”

“Stop.” My body shakes.

“Your adopted parents didn’t want you.” His voice rises.

“Please,” I cry.

“They sold you into the Mafia, a world that they know you may not be able to survive, for five million dollars!” he screams.

“Stop!” I shout back.

“Where are they, Haven?” he demands, his hands gripping my upper arms painfully. “Where the fuck are the people who were supposed to love you?”

I punch his chest. My fists just slide off, and my body shakes. I hate that he’s right. That he’s all I have left. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My life. Our love. “You son of a bitch,” I choke out. “I … hate … you …”

“Quit lying,” he growls. “Quit acting like this isn’t what you’ve always wanted.”

“You’re not my savior,” I cry, hating that he feels as though he’s doing me a favor. As if he didn’t love me, then no one else ever would.

He smirks. “You can’t raise hell with a saint, darling.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re no innocent, and I have a job to do,” he growls.

“Now I’m a job?” I shout. “I thought you were doing me a favor?”

“What I’m doing is none of your business,” he snaps.

“This is my life!” I seethe. “And I don’t want you anywhere near it!”

He yanks me to him, and before I can even open my mouth to protest, he slams his lips to mine, aggressively kissing me. I open for him as I always have, and I hate that I pull him closer to me. That I need the contact. I need to feel something.

Luca has always been my home. My protector. But that changed when he left me alone. Vulnerable.

I pull back and slap him across the face. The sound bounces off the cream walls. “Fuck you.”

Without missing a beat, he grips my thighs, lifts me up and slams my ass down onto the countertop. The cold surface makes me whimper.

He spreads my legs wide, coming to stand between them.

I try to shove him away, but he easily pushes my hands behind my back and holds them in place by my wrists. His lips fall to my neck. “Fight me, Haven,” he growls, his teeth nipping at my sensitive skin, and goose bumps break out across my body. “Pretend you don’t want me to fuck you.”

“Luca …” I breathe his name.

“Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want me.” Taking both of my wrists in one of his hands, his now free hand grips my hair and yanks my head back.

The sound of heavy breathing fills the large bathroom. My chest rising and falling quickly. My nipples are hard, and my mouth is dry. Add the alcohol to my lack of sex life, and I’m completely fucked.

Letting go of my hair, he straightens and runs his hand up my rib cage and cups my breast. He licks his lips as his thumb runs over my pebbled nipple before pinching it.

I cry out, and he releases my wrists. My fingers run through his hair, my nails digging into his scalp. He hisses in a breath before ripping my underwear from my hips. The fabric cuts into my skin before giving in to his strength.

His hand falls between my parted legs, and he shoves a finger into my pussy.

I throw my head back and cry out.

“Tell me,” he orders.

“What …?” My breath gets caught in my throat as he adds another.

I could almost cry at the sensation that I’ve longed for too long. No memory or dream could come close to the real thing. To him.

“How many guys have you fucked since me, Haven?” he growls.

“Enough.” I pant.

A growl rumbles his chest. His free hand comes up, grabs a handful of my hair, and yanks my head back again. I pant.

His dark eyes bore down on mine. And for once, I don’t shrink back. I forget about why I’m here and the ripped dress that lies on the marble floor. My heart pounds and my pussy throbs. I’m wet for him.

I need to be reminded that I’m his.

It’s pathetic and completely wrong, but that’s us. Nothing about our lives has ever been clear. Or morally right.

I lick my parted lips, and whisper, “How many women have you fucked since me, Luca?” I shouldn’t ask, but the alcohol makes me daring. Stupid even. Why not cut myself and bleed for him?Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

He gives me a smile that makes my heart beat faster. “You really wanna know, Haven?” he asks, running his nose long my jaw.

“Yes,” I growl, trying to swallow. He still holds my neck back at an odd angle, and my pussy throbs, begging for his fingers to return.

“Five,” he answers. His nose runs along my chin. “Each one better than the last.”

I ball my fists and hit him in the arms.

“Get mad, baby,” he whispers roughly. “Spread those soft legs and let me show you why you were always my favorite.”