Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Twenty Two

Niko

As defiant as ever, Bianca attempts to slip her wedding gown down her arms to play with me. Luckily for her, I'm more than willing to play the cat to her mouse.

I race to her side, stopping her from undressing from the garment made to wrap a bride up for their groom.

In our culture, the whole meaning of a wedding gown is to present her to her awaiting husband as the pure second half of him. That is why they usually only dress in white.

Bianca broke that silent rule with the red, but I love it. It's very much her.

A wedding night is the first time a man supposedly has a claim to her. He unwraps his gift to reveal the natural beauty below before finishing up with his unspoken vows.

"That's a husband's job," I note, stroking her now bare skin on her shoulder. A look transpires between us, and I can't quite decipher what it means. Does Bianca want me as I want her? Or am I reading into emotions that don't truly belong between us? The sexual tension has been palpable for the last few weeks, so I can only presume that she's playing with me.

"Then be a love and slip it down my arms," she demands with a demure look of defiance as if goading me. Of course, she's goading me. That's her go-to ammo regarding me.

"Are you ready for me?" I ask her with a dubious smile. I know she isn't, and that's okay. Our time alone will surely break all the barriers she's trying to erect between us. That's why her behaviour changed, I'm sure. She can feel that the time is nearly up in this farce, shecalls being hard to get.

"No..."

"Then this stays; I want to be the one to peel it from your body, Bee."

"You peel it now or never."

"If I peel it now, I'm not sure I'll contain myself," I almost growl lowly. My voice gruff with need. I press my hips into hers suggestively, giving her an inclination of how I'm feeling. She sighed, a sure sign that she wasn't unaffected by me, yet she tried to pull away as I started to slip the other shoulder strap from her right shoulder. "Did that kiss mean nothing?"

Her eyebrows raise, and a blush stains her cheeks at the reminder of the little kiss I woke up to on the plane chair.

"Niko," she breathes.

I could push her, show her how much control I have over her, but I pull away instead—bringing her straps firmly up her shoulder before I spin her away to press her zipper up her back.

"Breathe my name like that, and you'll have me jizzing in my pants," I tell her, stroking her neck as I hold onto her shoulders.

She says nothing, ignoring my jibe before stepping away once more. I let her this time, watching her move back into the bedroom away from the toilet. Her eyes draw close to the unusually placed tub, evidence of her need to take a soak. I should draw her a bath, help her inside and leave her to enjoy a calming soak, but I don't. I can't.

"Hungry?" I question as I take a leak myself.

"Famished," she calls back to me.

I wash my hands before reentering the bedroom. Bianca is standing at the windows, looking out over the moonlit evening. I wish I had my phone; honestly, I don't know where it is. It's somewhere at home, most likely. It's scary that we're stuck here with no way of communicating with those outside of this home. But I can't dwell on the unknown.

"I'll make us something. I'm sure the fridge is stocked."

"Do you know how to cook?" She calls to me.

"I'm sure I can put something together," I shrug nonchalantly as I leave the room. She rolls her eyes dramatically and flips a loose tendril of hair behind her ear before seemingly dismissing me. Smirking to myself, I shake my head in disbelief. The truth is I can cook pretty well, actually, but there's never any need when I'm home. Anna does a good enough job to feed us all; besides, I'm far too busy most of the time to sit in the kitchen and create a dish when my mind isin twenty other places.

My Aunt taught me how to cook, that was her thing. We lived above a small Italian restaurant. Apparently, it's where my parents met. My father wooed my mother; he obviously took her breath away and pushed her down the stairs of irreparable damage. Maybe she'd still be alive if he were anything but an Italian mob.

The kitchen is fully stocked, as I presumed it would be, but I only chose to make a simple, quick, easy omelette. I'm far too famished to be creating a dish of delicacy. Anyway, I've noticed that Bianca often eats Anna's omelettes, so this is a safe choice to make if I want to fill her tummy and have her less hungry. Slicing ham and grating cheese, I mix the egg mixture together before laying half in the heated pan. I cook it on one side, flipping it with a flick of my wrist when it's ready before plating it and then completing the second. Turning back to the fridge, I take out some prepared salad and plate a small handful on each plate. I had the food ready in no time, with my jacket lying over the counter and my sleeves pulled around my elbows. I'm humming to myself, smiling sadly at the fact that I feel more alive here in the kitchen than I did at my wedding ceremony.

"So you're domesticated, then?" Bianca's voice has me jumping slightly as it carries over a short distance. She's leaning on the other side of the kitchen, her chin in her hands as she stares at me. I wonder how long she's been there, whether she's watched me prepare, cook, and plate her food with dedication as she remained stoically quiet for a reason only known to her.

"A man's got to eat, Bee."

"Sure, but men like you are catered for, so why do you know how to cook?"

"I'm only a man like me because of the men I serve. I came from nothing, Bee—something you wouldn't understand. My Aunt brought me up; she didn't come from Italian roots, andshe also knew nothing of the ease this life supposedly has. Here, your food. There are dressings in the fridge door if you so wish."

"I'm good... Thank you, Niko."

"Eat up, youmust be famished."

"I am," she agrees.

I watch her eat from this side of the counter as she digs into her food. There's something in the way she's carried herself differently here. She's less guarded, more at ease. I've never seen her eyes close as she chews the way she chews the omelette, her throat bobs with each swallow, and the column of her neck moving in aid of helping her food go down. If it were a possibility, I swear my cock has grown three inches by her motionsbutthat's anatomically impossible. Either way, I adjust myself and turn my attention to my own food, attempting to ignore my need for the hundredth time in favour of keeping her comfortable.

Something has to give, though. Otherwise, I'm sure the little devil will drive me to insanity and back.