"Puoi baciare la sposa."
You may kiss the bride.
My heart stops.
Dante turns to me, his expression unreadable. This is just a formality. A brief press of lips to seal the deal. Nothing more.
He cups my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and lowers his mouth to mine.
The moment our lips touch, something inside me ignites.
My first kiss.
It's soft at first. Gentle. A question.
But then his mouth moves against mine, coaxing, and my lips part without permission. His tongue sweeps inside, and oh?—
Oh.
This is what kissing is supposed to feel like.
Heat floods through me, soaking my panties. My hands fist in his jacket, pulling him closer, and I hear myself make a sound—a needy, desperate sound.
I lean into him, forgetting where we are, forgetting the witnesses, forgetting everything except the taste of him and the way his hands hold my face like he's afraid I'll disappear.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are blazing. His chest rises and falls.
I'm panting too, like I just ran a marathon. My lips feel swollen, my body electric.
"Congratulations," the priest says mildly, like he didn't just witness me come apart at the seams.
Dante's thumb traces my bottom lip once, his gaze locked on mine.
Then he takes my hand and leads me back down the aisle.
I'm married.
To a man I've known two days. A Don of the Chicago Mafia.
A man who rescued me. Cared for me. Held me when I cried. Even married me to keep me safe.
I know he’s a dangerous, powerful, deadly man.
But not to me.
To me, he's the best man I've ever known.
I hear his voice in my head."I won't fuck you.”
And then the disclaimer. “Not until you tell me—clearly, without any doubt—that it's what you want."
I bite my lip and stare up at my handsome husband.
It's what I want.
It's most definitely what I want.
Polina
