Page 174 of The Mafia King's Reign
I blink. "A garden?"
"Geez… and all I got you was socks," I tease, a soft laugh slipping out.
"They were perfect," he says, brushing a kiss to my forehead like he means it.
His gaze lingers on mine. "I know you love to sit and write in the garden at home. I wanted to give you a place that's completely peaceful. In case you need to get away. To write."
I don't know what's causing the butterflies—the beach house, the garden… or the man standing in front of me. The man I once only imagined. And now… he's my husband.
"Or make love to my husband on the beach?" I ask softly.
His eyes darken. "That too."
"But not yet." His hand comes to my waist, firm, possessive. "I want you to see everything first. Then I'll take you apart on every surface of this house until you can't remember your own name."
Heat floods through me.
"That's a promise, Mrs. Vitale."
I fold the deed carefully and step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing my face to his chest. He closes both arms around me and holds on.
"Thank you," I whisper against his shirt.
His hand moves up my back. "Happy honeymoon."
He shows me the garden after lunch.
It's tucked into the south side of the property, protected by white stone walls that block the wind but let in the sun. There's a bench exactly where he said, positioned beneath a pergola woven through with jasmine and climbing roses. A small table beside it. The kind of place that feels like it exists outside of time.
"It's perfect," I tell him.
"Good." He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that focused attention he gives everything that matters to him. "You can write here. Or just sit. Whatever you need."
I walk over to him, slide my hands up his chest. "What if what I need is you?"
His jaw tightens. "Valentina."
"You said you'd take me apart on every surface of this house."
"I did."
"So take me apart." I hold his gaze. "Right here. In my garden."
He doesn't move for a long moment.
Then his hand comes to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, his thumb against my pulse, and he leans down until his mouth is at my ear.
"Not yet," he says quietly. "When I fuck you in this garden, it's going to be slow. I'm going to lay you down on that bench and take my time with you until you're begging me to let you come. But not now. Maybe not today."
"Why not?"
"Because today," he says, his hand tightening just slightly, "I'm going to fuck you on the beach. And I'm not going to be soft. I'm not going to be gentle. And when I'm done with you, you're going to understand exactly what it means to be my wife."
My breath catches.
"Now go inside," he says. "Change into a swimsuit. We're going in the water first."
"Yes, the water does look welcoming. But why do you want to swim first?"
