Page 61 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
Her eyes flash with anger. “You don’t get to forbid me from doing basic things, Dante. I’m not one of your soldiers.”
“When it comes to your safety, I get to forbid whatever I want. And you’re not leaving these grounds.”
“Watch me.”
She turns on her heel and walks away, dismissing me like I’m some servant she’s done with. The audacity of it makes my blood boil.
I follow her down the hallway, my footsteps matching hers. She speeds up but I’m faster, my longer stride eating up the distance between us.
I catch her wrist and spin her around, slamming her back against the wall with controlled force. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make my point absolutely clear.
We’re inches apart now, both breathing hard.
“When I say something isn’t safe,” I growl, “you listen.”
“I’m not one of your soldiers to command.”
“No. You’re more important than any soldier. Which is exactly why you follow my rules about safety.”
“Your rules are logical, yes, but it’s frustrating and suffocating.”
“My rules keep you alive.”
Her hands come up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. “I can’t live like this. Like a prisoner.”
“You’re not a prisoner. You’re protected.”
“It feels the same way.”
My hand moves to brace beside her head, my body caging hers in completely. I can see her pulse racing in her throat, can feel the heat coming off her skin, and can smell her lavender fragrance.
“You think I like this?” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “You think I enjoy having to lock you down like you’re in witness protection?”
“Then let me have some freedom.”
“I can’t. Not when it could get you killed.”
“You can’t protect me from everything.”
“Watch me try.”
We’re both breathing hard now, the anger mixing with something else. The air thickens with tension that’s part fury, part want.
I can see her pupils dilate. Can feel the way her breathing changes. Can sense the exact moment the argument shifts into dangerous territory.
For a long moment we just stare at each other, and I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies are almost touching. The few inches between us feel electric. Then I can’t take it anymore.
I kiss her hard, claiming her mouth like I have every right to it. Like she’s mine and we both know it even when we’re fighting.
She makes a sound of protest that dissolves into a moan as she kisses me back with equal fury. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer even as her mind is probably screaming at her to push me away.
This is what we do. Fight and fuck and fight some more because neither of us knows how to just exist together without the battle.
My hand slides to her hip, gripping hard enough to leave marks, and she arches into me with a gasp I swallow. Then she shoves me away with enough force that I actually stumble back.
“Don’t,” she says, and her voice is shaking. “Don’t use sex to win arguments.”
“I’m not?—”
