Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

Machines beep and nurses walk down the halls. The stink of antiseptic floats through the air. Doors open and close, and the hushed whispers of doctors and patients filter into the room.

Kim looks tiny in the hospital bed. Her hair’s down and her eyes are closed, and her chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm. She’s got a line in her arm, a heart monitor on her finger, and a scratchy blanket pulled to her chin.

“Doctor says she’s sedated for now.” Julien comes back into the room. Weariness covers every inch of him, but I’m still amazed at his force. It’s like everything comes alive when he’s around.

“How bad?” I wasn’t allowed to see her until now, even though I begged and pleaded. She was stuck down in the ER for a while before getting moved to a private room Julien arranged for her.

“He says she’s going to survive. Her pelvis was shattered and she’s got scrapes and contusions and possibly a head injury. They’re going to take her into surgery soon to try to save her hip.”

I pull into myself. My arms hug around my body. Kim’s alive—she’s alive—but only just barely. And now, for the rest of her life, she’s probably going to be dealing with the fallout from this accident.

No, not an accident. That implies what happened wasn’t totally on purpose.

It was an attack, and it was aimed at me.

Or maybe at Julien. I don’t know which, and it doesn’t matter. Kim wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if I hadn’t invited her over, and I did it knowing full well that Julien’s family was going to war. I just didn’t think, and now Kim’s paying the price for my stupidity.

Worthless. Useless. Dumb as dirt. All of my father’s insults run through my mind as tears roll down my cheeks.

“I’m going to find the men that did this.” Julien’s standing beside Kim’s bed, but he’s looking at me.

I stare back at him and wipe the tears from my face. The rage in his eyes is terrifying, and a chill runs through my stomach. “I believe you,” I tell him. “But I’m not sure it helps.”

“They’ll suffer for what they did to her, my wife. I swear, they will suffer.”

“Will that fix her?”

He shakes his head. “But it will deter anyone else in the future.”

I laugh at the absurdity of that. “As if I’ll ever invite her over again.”

“Don’t do that to yourself.” His expression softens. “I know what you’re thinking right now. You think it’s your fault.”

“Tell me it’s not.”

“It’s not,” he says and comes around to sit next to me. He takes my hand and holds it tightly between his own. His palms are big, firm, and dry. “You had a friend over. You did nothing wrong.”

“I knew about the war.”

“Yes, you did. But I took all the precautions, and look what happened? My driver was on the wrong fucking side of the road. My guards reacted too slowly. I failed you, and I failed her. But I won’t let this happen again.”

I lean into him and hold his hand. I stare at Kim, thinking about her laughing in the hot tub, about her crying over what my father did to me, about her joy and her lightness, and I’m so afraid I’ll never have any of that again.

If this dims her—if this breaks her⁠—

I won’t be able to live with myself.

An hour passes. Eventually, I tell Julien he should go.

“I’m not leaving your side,” he says firmly. And so far, that’s true. He’s been texting with his men, and he took a few calls in French, but otherwise he’s been right there.

He doesn’t owe me this. He’s my husband, but only on paper. What happened to Kim isn’t his fault, and he doesn’t have to sit around in this hospital room while I feel sorry for myself and spiral into a dark pit of self-loathing.

But he still doesn’t go.

And after a little while, I realize I don’t really want him to.

I’m strangely comforted by him. Julien’s big and strong, and he’s brooding almost as much as I am, but he’s gentle when he takes my hand and holds it. He doesn’t push me to talk when I don’t want to, and he doesn’t complain about how long we’re staring at Kim’s sleeping body.

All he does is stay with me.

Kim goes into surgery.

The doctor says it’ll at least be a couple of hours. Julien convinces me to go home with him, and promises we’ll head back to the hospital the moment she’s awake again. I’m pretty sure he bribes the nurses to call.

It’s around ten at night when we get back to his kitchen. He takes another call and barks angry commands. When he hangs up, he pours two glasses of wine, and we sit together at the island, my knee touching his.

“Who was that?” I ask, nodding at the phone.

“Jean. I shouldn’t yell at him like that, but it’s been a stressful evening.”

“Is everything okay?”

“The guards got the license plate for the truck, but it was stolen. Jean found it abandoned in Southside. They’re still hunting for the men that did this.”

I drink and regret asking. I don’t want to know the details. “You don’t have to. Go out of your way, I mean.”

He shakes his head and puts a hand on my thigh. I like the way it feels there. “Someone tried to hurt my wife. They hurt my wife’s friend. That can’t go unanswered.”

“Even though this isn’t a war you really want?”

“We’re past that now.”

I drink my wine and lean my head against his shoulder. I stay like that for a minute, but I keep seeing Kim in my head getting knocked down by that truck, her body bouncing against the pavement. All at once, I get to my feet, and take his hand.

“Come with me.”

He frowns, but follows me to the hot tub. I fire it up and get the jets running. He stares at me, his expression hard to read in the soft lights coming from the tub. Chicago twinkles around us, an entirely new universe of stars and lives and homes, and even the lake seems to shimmer. The moon comes and goes from behind clouds.

I take off my sweatshirt. I shimmy out of my jeans. I’m aware of him staring, and I look over my shoulder, my arms covering my breasts as I let my bra fall forward.

“Are you getting in or not?” I ask him.

He undresses wordlessly. I leave my panties on and get into the hot tub, sinking down enough that the moving water obscures his view of my breasts. He strips to his black boxer briefs, and I lick my lips at the sight of his bulge pressing against the fabric.

He’s hard, just from watching me take off my clothes.

Julien climbs into the hot tub and sits beside me. Our wine glasses are perched on the rim.

“Talk to me about something,” I say, pleading. I put my legs over his and sit very close.

I’m aware that this is a very bad idea.

“I can tell you a story,” he says, his gaze hard, almost too intense. “From when I was a boy.”

“I’d like that.” I sit even closer. I’m emotional right now and desperate for a distraction, and I’m acting out. Pulling Julien into the hot tub, stripping in front of him, touching him like this—I know it’s extremely dumb and wrong. It’ll only lead me somewhere I don’t want to go.

And yet.

He tells me about the first time he stole bread. At eight years old, he was already partially homeless, drifting from a drug addict aunt’s apartment in a very rough Marseille neighborhood to staying with street friends under bridges and tent encampments. “The bakery was open early like most bakeries in France, but this one had a little stand out front. The man that owned the place, he’d make himself a coffee at the same time every day, and when he did that, he wouldn’t be watching very closely. I waited until he was grinding the beans before I snuck inside, and kept quiet until he was pushing the plunger on his press before I grabbed a loaf and ran. I heard him cursing after me, but I kept going and going, and had the best breakfast of my entire life after that.”

There’s a smile on his face, almost like he misses those days.

“You sound nostalgic,” I say.

His hand strokes my thigh. It feels really nice. “Life was simpler back then. Now, that bread would be like nothing to me. But when I was eight years old and learning how to survive on my own, it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before, because I had risked my life to get it.”

“It sounds like you need to take up stealing bread again.”

He smiles and pulls me closer to him. My breath comes in fast as our hips touch and he tilts my chin up toward him. “I know what you’re doing,” he says, almost at a whisper. I have to lean in closer to hear.

“What’s that?” I ask, aware of my body, almost naked beside his.

“It won’t fix anything. No matter how fast or how far you run.”

“Who says I’m running?” I lean toward him, lifting myself from the water. Cold air plays against my naked skin and my nipples are hard. I straddle him, kneeling on the tub bench, my breasts exposed.

His eyes move down to look at me. I can tell he likes it. I sit back and feel his hard cock grinding against my thin, soaked panties.

Excitement tears through me.

The rational part of my brain is saying I should stop, this is stupid, I’m just emotional right now and I might regret this later.

But the rest of me wants to kiss my sexy French husband, especially now that his hands are on my hips and he’s looking at my tits like he’s barely controlling himself.

One of his hands moves back into my hair. He grips hard, and when I lean forward, he doesn’t let me go. I gasp at the slight pain.

“Tell me you won’t wake up tomorrow and wish this hadn’t happened,” he says, leaning forward to kiss my neck.

Oh, fuck, that feels good.

“I know what I’m doing.”

He kisses lower, tongue whirling around one stiff nipple. “Before, you made it clear that there would be no touching.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Yes, you are.” He stares at me and I know he’s struggling not to smother my mouth with his.

I want him to do it so badly.

Slowly, I grind myself along his hard dick.

His eyes go heavy-lidded and he lets out a groan. It’s the most sinful and gorgeous expression on a man’s face I’ve ever seen in my life.

“You like that,” I whisper, going so slow it kills me, but it feels really good.

“You’re very fucking bad, my wife,” he says, purring with pleasure. He bites one of my nipples softly and sucks it hard. I moan, arching my back to let him lick the other too.

“I want this,” I whimper, staring at him with my mouth hanging open. “Don’t make me beg.”

His expression darkens. Light sucks out of his eyes. “That’s what I want, baby. I want you to beg.”

“Julien—”

He drags me forward by the hair and his mouth finally crushes mine. I gasp into that kiss, my mind completely blown, pleasure wreaking havoc on my body. I groan and whimper, making noises I didn’t know I could make, as I grind against his dick harder.

His tongue dominates me. His hand holds my hair tightly and controls me.

His lips take me and own me, and I give myself over to him, willing and needy and moaning.

It’s the kind of kiss that lingers. It’s the kind of kiss that can change everything, and I feel it shifting pieces in my mind, rearranging hate, rearranging love, replacing it all with pure and dripping lust.

A dark and beautiful desire blooms in my guts and I’m totally lost.

It’s the kind of kiss that can break a girl.

“Beg for me, baby,” he whispers, pulling my hair tight. “Beg and I’ll give you the release you need.”

“Julien, please,” I gasp, moving my hips faster. He licks his lower lip as he looks at my tits and my mouth, and I know the filthy thoughts he’s having.

I’m having them too.

He suddenly stands and lifts me from the water. I yelp in surprise, but he only puts me down on the edge of the tub, lifting my feet up so my knees are raised and my legs are spread. He drops down and kisses me, then kisses lower, to my breasts and my nipples, down to my belly, until he pushes aside my soaked underwear and licks my pussy top to bottom.

“Oh, fuck,” I say, shivering with pleasure. I grab his hair with one hand as his mouth goes to work, and my god.

The man knows what he’s doing.

His tongue rips into me. His lips suck and work my clit, and my brain is totally broken. The sounds he’s making should be freaking illegal, and if he had neighbors, they’d all hear me moaning loudly into the night. Fuck, it feels so good, and my back arches as the pleasure peaks and builds, sharper and sharper, a bright glow between my legs.

Then he slides two fingers deep into my pussy, curling them and moving them out again, before pushing them into my mouth.

I suck the taste of my pussy as he licks my clit, and all my triggers are pulled.

I come hard against his mouth. I’d scream his name, but his fingers are buried against my tongue. I gasp, moaning, noise stifled as I suck and come, and he’s sucking and licking, and I nearly black out from the pleasure.

But slowly, I come down. He pulls back, a wicked smile on his lips. I sit there, panting hard, naked and damp. The air’s cold against my goose-pimpled flesh.

He leans back and admires me.

“You look so fucking beautiful after you come,” he says, licking his lips.

Oh my god.

“Can I ask you something?”

He smirks, head tilted. “Go ahead.”

“How many boxes did we check off?”

His smirk turns into a big grin and then we’re laughing together.

It’s another kind of release. The orgasm was one thing—but the laughter is another. The tension breaks, and we get out of the hot tub together. He gets us both towels and I retreat into my suite to take a shower, despite his offer to come stay with him.

“I think I’ve had enough fun for one night,” I say, lingering in the hallway.

“The offer stands.” He’s in the doorway to his room. “If you need someone, I’m here.”

“Just promise you’ll get me as soon as the nurses call, okay?”

“Okay, but they might not call until the morning. If we’re lucky, she’ll sleep through the night.”

I nod, selfishly hoping I can see her sooner than that.

“Goodnight,” I say and close the door.

I stand there for a second, eyes closed, thinking about his mouth between my legs, thinking about his voice ringing in my ears, thinking about that kiss.

My freaking god, that kiss.

What happened in the hot tub was a mistake. It was a stupid decision, a self-destructive distraction. Getting through this marriage with Julien is going to be hard enough, but now I just made it even worse.

I crossed the line. I got a taste of what being with him can feel like⁠—

And I really, really liked it.

It felt so good, and I don’t regret it at all.

Which is going to be a problem.