Page 36 of The Mafioso’s Bride

“Keep holding me.”

I drive into my wife. Hard. Deep. Possession burns through every stroke, but her answers rule me. When she asks for slower, I drag my cock through her in long strokes. When she says more, I give her everything I have.

“My husband,” she says again.

“Your husband. Your bed. Your home.” I release one wrist and press my fingers to her clit. “Come around my cock, wife.”

Her body clamps around me. She cries out and pulls me down with her free hand. My control dies under the pressure of her pussy and the sound of her claiming me.

I thrust deep and come. For several seconds, I remain over her with my face against the pillow. Her fingers move across my back, tracing the marks she left.

“That was better than the pornography,” she says.

A laugh tears out of me. “A remarkable endorsement.”

“It was also better than your mouth.”

“Now you’re trying to flatter me.”

“No. I’m comparing the experiences.”

“Of course you are.”

I dispose of the condom, bring a warm cloth from the bathroom, and tell her before I clean the blood and wetness from between her thighs. She keeps her attention on my face the whole time.

“Do you regret it?” I ask.

“No.” Her fingertips touch my cheek. “Do you?”

“Never.”

I pull her against me beneath the covers, her head on my shoulder and one leg across mine. Her blue shirt lies on my floor. Her socks remain on her feet. Her tea cup waits downstairs beside the folded plan from the gala.

Every sign of her has entered my ordered life and made it worth returning to. I don’t want her across the hall tomorrow night. I don’t want her across a room if I can put my hands on her. The marriage Dante ordered has become the fixed point around which everything else moves.

Giada presses her lips to my shoulder. Her gaze stays on my face, open and intent. Her fingertips trace my cheek, but she doesn’t speak.

The language for mine refuses to come. I tighten my arm around her. “You belong in this bed.”

“Every night?”

“Every night you choose to be here.”

“I choose it tonight.”

“Sleep.”

My phone vibrates on the nightstand after her breathing evens. A message from Dario fills the screen.

Antonio secured. Alive. Basement room prepared.

I answer with one instruction: No contact with Giada. The external doors are locked. Guards control every entrance. Her father is below us, bound and unable to reach her.

My wife remains asleep against my side. I put the phone down and hold her closer.

Morning brings a gray wash through the curtains and Giada’s bare body curled beneath my sheet. I leave her sleeping long enough to shower and pull on trousers. Her shirt waits at the foot of the bed. I fold it and place it on the chair before I step into the hall.

Dante arrives before breakfast. I take him into my office and leave the door partly open so I’ll catch any movement upstairs.