Page 24 of The Mafioso’s Bride

“I’m not fragile. I’m not incompetent. And I’m not stupid.” Each sentence comes harder than the last. “I’m twenty years old. I’m your wife. I want you. If you don’t want me, say so, but don’t treat me as if I’m incapable of choosing.”

The rebuke lands cleanly. I deserve every syllable.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She presses her lips together. She waits.

“I want you enough that I’ve spent half our marriage avoiding being alone with you in a bedroom.” I take one step closer. “My questions weren’t meant to insult you. I won’t ask whether you’re capable of choosing again. I’ll ask what you choose.”

Her shoulders settle. “That’s better.”

Dry amusement threatens despite the ache behind my zipper. “Thank you for the performance review.”

“You’re welcome.”

Christ, she’s magnificent. I stop within reach. “I’m going to put both palms on your waist. Firm pressure. Is that good?”

“Yes.”

My palms close around her waist. Her body stays loose beneath them.

“Now I’m going to kiss you.”

“On my mouth?”

“Unless you want another location.”

“My mouth.”

I bend and press my lips to hers. She parts for me at once, offering no coy pause or calculated retreat designed to make me pursue her. Giada wants my tongue, so she opens and takes it.

My palms stay firm at her waist while I kiss her. Her hands settle on my shoulders. When I draw away, she follows for another kiss.

“Again,” she says. “More pressure.”

I obey, and her mouth opens wider beneath mine.

Her fingers curl into my jacket as I take her mouth. The clean demand strips away every polished seduction I’ve endured. She offers no performance for me to decode. Every answer is true. Every request gives me another piece of her.

Her honesty leaves no room for games, and I want more of it. I end the kiss before I lose control. “I’m going to undress you. Tell me before I touch each place, or do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me.”

I undress her above the waist, warning her before my knuckles pass her ribs. Her bra is pale pink, plain and soft. The sight of her breasts held in it brings my cock hard against my trousers.

Giada looks down. “Your penis is hard again.”

“It’s been hard since you told me to make you come.”

“Good.”

One blunt syllable threatens my control. My cock pulses beneath her palm.

I set her palm against my erection. “Firm pressure.”

She cups me through the fabric. My hips drive into her palm once before I stop them.

“You’re large,” she says.