Page 34 of Urgent Vows
It's the scent of sandalwood and masculine cologne that permeates the room I like best though. It's him.
I inhale, reveling in the knowledge that this is now my inner sanctum too. That I have a right to be here because I am Severu's wife.
I am Severu's wife.
I have gone from believing I would leave the mafia behind forever to making a lifelong commitment to the man whoisthe mafia in New York.
The snick of a lock has me turning to face him. Severu watches me with a predatory glint in his dark eyes.
"Are you ready to consummate our marriage,mi dolce gatto?"
With no thought of trying to prevaricate, I nod.
I'm nervous, but I want him so much. The entire three months I helped my sister prepare for her wedding, I fought my intense and inexplicable desire for the don. I had believed that leaving New York was not only necessary to keep me safe from my father, but to stop me from making a fool of myself over the man who I thought was going to be my sister's husband.
Now, he's mine.
"Good." He shrugs off his jacket and then tugs the bow out of his tie so the black ends fall on either side of his tuxedo shirt's white collar.
I move toward him wanting to help, to unwrap him like a present. He is my gift, the one I never thought to have.
But he shakes his head. "This time, I will undress both of us."
Because of my injuries? Or because of something else?
The possessive, dominant expression on his face says it might be simply because that's the way he wants to do it.
He unbuttons his shirt, exposing a tight sleeveless white undershirt that clings to his muscular chest. He removes the crisp white fabric and the dangling tie, dropping them on the floor, before peeling off his undershirt to reveal dark chest hair. His upper body is on full display.
Drawn by an irresistible force, I step up to him and trail my fingers over his abs. I cannot help myself. He has an eight pack. "I thought that was a myth."
"What?"
My answer is to brush each bulge of his ab muscles until I've counted all eight with my fingertip. His face is almost frightening as dark, animalistic desire takes it over.
He likes when I touch him.
But he shrugs, like his amazing physique and the desire I see on his handsome face are no big deal. "I have to be stronger, faster, smarter and more ruthless than any other man in New York."
"Because you are don?"
He nods.
"Other dons are not like you."
"Some are. Some aren't." His tone makes it clear what he thinks of the dons that rely on their men to do all their fighting.
He unclasps his watch and then turns to drop it on the dresser.
I gasp. His entire back is covered in a tattoo done in black ink. I'm not sure why I'm so shocked. It's common practice for mafia men to wear tattoos that symbolize important events in their lives. This one is a ferocious lion standing on a hill, roaring his power for all to hear. There is a gravestone in the background. I'm sure the date tattooed on it is when his father passed.
Once again unable to control my urge, I reach out to trace the lines of the lion's body. Severu shudders and my body responds with a flood of wetness between my legs.
"This is beautiful." I don't know why I whisper.
"I got it right after my father died."
As I guessed. "When you became don."
