Page 33 of Mafia Bride
I slide the heavy chair back. The movement is enough to catch a moment of his attention, so I unbutton the remaining buttons on my ugly blouse.
He raises an eyebrow. The newspaper is down at least.
I channel every sexy runway model I can think of, chew on my lip. I even throw in a hair toss for good measure.
“What are you doing?”
“You want to fuck me?” The words don’t come out as strong as I’d hoped, but they send another shock of heat to my core. They help me feel a little dangerous. “You want to prove what a man you are?”
He doesn’t move. I rip the shirt off and run my hands under the cups of my bra.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Just take what you want.”
“Get dressed.”
He goes back to his newspaper, this time shaking it out loudly and holding it up before his face, blocking me out. Ignoring me again.
This time, it hits my pride. My body isn’t good enough for him? My breasts are too small? I’m no Rosetta, but I’ve been hit on enough to know I’m not disgusting.
And the king wants to turn me away?
Unless he’s playing hard to get?
God, this man and his stupid games.
I walk around the back of his chair, letting my fingers trail across his shoulders.
“We never consummated our marriage,” I say throatily. I wish my voice had more rasp in it so I’d sound older.
“I don’t fuck women who act like children.”
Anger replaces the other internal urges at war under my skin. Am I nothing but a literal child bride to him? Someone he can order around like he’s my replacement father?
I don’t have a father. I have Zio. And now I have a husband who threatened to harm the only father figure I have left.
Santino will never, ever replace either. He’s not a husband. He’s an obstacle between me and my freedom.
I get on my knees and take a deep breath before forcing my hands to run along his hard thighs. I’ve never touched a man anywhere near his dick before and the sensations are confusing. Infuriating. Overwhelming.
“You want me to suck your dick, Santino.” I run my hands further up his thighs and drop my voice. “Just tell me to. Command it.”
“I told you enough.” He yanks me up by one arm. I wince at the pain throbbing through my bicep. “I won’t take what you don’t give with both hands.”
He lets me go. I swear my entire body turns red from embarrassment, from anger, from the frustration of failure. I’m half naked and he still barely looks at me. Won’t even drop his eyes to my exposed chest.
Is this king a fucking monk? A eunuch? What the hell is going on here?
“When you want it enough to beg, I’ll take it.” Santino tosses my blouse at me. “I won’t tell you again. Get dressed.”
When I beg for it? What the hell does he think I was just doing? Seducing a man should not be this difficult. I have all the parts he needs, the right number of holes. My skin is soft and clean. If my face is so awful I’m pretty sure he could do it from behind.
“Are you gay?” I ask, tossing away the blouse.
“No,” Santino’s voice isn’t loud from behind the paper, but its denial is powerful. It fills the dining room, full to the top of its tall ceilings. It reverberates off the expansive windows. It topples over the ridiculously ornate furniture.
With that one word, he is somehow everywhere, even under my skin.
To go from ignored to on full display, so quickly, is almost terrifying.
