Page 34 of Mafia Bride
He clears his throat and sets down his newspaper. For the first time, he really looks at me. I feel his eyes roam across my body, head to toe. Investigating. Examining. Prying.
My jaw sets in determination. I will get him, and I won’t be the one begging. He will beg for me. He will be at my mercy.
He may be king, but this power will be mine.
“What do you want?” I ask, failing to mask the frustration in my voice. “Tell me what you want!”
His eyes answer for a single moment, burning lines of crisscrossing heat over my skin. Then it’s gone, and he’s ice again. It happens so fast I’m not convinced he looked at me at all.
“You tell me what you want,” he says.
“I want to go home!”
He leans forward and down, caressing my neck and drawing his hand to the back of my head, and when his fingers are fully woven into my hair, he makes a fist, pulling my head back by the roots of my hair.
“You want to go home?”
“Yes. Ow. Please.”
“You think you’re going to show me your tits and I’m going to let you go?”
“No, I—” He jerks his hand. “Ow!”
“But I can just take your tits.”
“Take them.” I tell myself I’m seducing him, but he’s seducing me. My nipples are already so tight for him, that when he grabs one with his free hand and pulls it, stars of pleasure explode in my vision.
“When I want your mouth, it’ll open for my cock.” He pulls a handful of hair so hard I’m blind with surrender. “When I want to fuck your ass you’ll spread it open for me. And when I want to take your virginity, you’ll spread your legs apart and offer it with both hands.”
“Yes.” My defenses are gone, and all I want is sweet surrender. I want him to take it all.
“When. I. Want.” He lets my hair go, and I drop to my ass, legs bent under me, hands behind me to keep from falling backward. “And I don’t want. Now.” He sits back in his chair, looking down at me as if I’m a dog he refused a treat. “What will Celia make for you?”
“A cappuccino,” I say, because it’s all I can think of.
He nods and rings his stupid little bell. Celia comes out, making it a point to not look at me.
“A cappuccino for Mrs. DiLustro.”
He won’t even say my name. At least he didn’t call me his wife.
Santino shifts, returning to his paper. No words. No more glances.
“You might put your shirt on,” he says.
“Why?”
He turns the corner of the paper down, looks at the length of my body, then at my face.
“I have men in the house to protect us.” He goes back to hiding behind the paper. “If they see my wife’s body they’ll want to fuck it. Then I’ll have to kill them.”
A snappy retort dies on my tongue when I think of Fat Lip’s eyes on me, and I put the blouse back on, leaving only the top button open.
I load up a piece of crusty bread with ham and artichoke hearts. I’m starving. Sustenance and caffeine will get my brain moving. As if called by my thoughts, a cappuccino appears before me.
“Grazie, Celia. This is really good. The artichoke. Did you jar it?”
“I did!” She beams. “There’s a secret ingredient.”
