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I smiled. “I know.” He was about to move again when I cupped his cheek in my hand. “Make love to me, Angelo.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, confused.
I moved my hands to his back and dug my foot into his ass, telling him to keep going. “Yes, I want you to go slow. Tease me. Make me beg you to come again.”
Angelo did as I asked, his cock sliding in and out of me so slowly my raw pussy ached with each thrust. I hooked my legs around his back, and he kissed me. Each flick of his tongue brought me closer to my release. I came along with him, and this time, it was nice. This time, it wasn’t rough. There was no violence involved, no rage behind the act.
“I love you, G.” He stroked my jaw with his thumb. “Marry me. Make me the luckiest piece of shit in the world.”
I laughed. “Somehow, that was oddly romantic in a super fucked-up kind of way.”
He smirked. “I just asked you to marry me with my cock still inside you after I choked you. I don’t do romance. But I did buy you a ring.”
“Good thing I don’t like romance.” My eyes lit up at the promise of a ring. “Let me see my rock.”
“Who said it’s a rock? It could be the same piece of string I tied around your finger when we were kids.”
He slid out of me and rolled onto the other side of the bed.
I sat up and turned to face him, watching as he removed a small box from the nightstand. He got off the mattress, down on one knee, and pulled my legs to him so he was on the floor between them. He held the ring in his big palm which swallowed up the massive diamond and took my hand in the other.
“Nothing with us has ever been normal, so why should this be any different?”
He winked at my comment. “You get me, Gia. You always have. When I lose myself, you’re always there to bring me back from that dark place. This life isn’t easy. If I had a choice, I would do things differently for both of us.”
“I wouldn’t,” I confessed. “We’re not Lo and G without all this. We would be some boring stiffs who have vanilla sex and talk about current events over dinner.”
He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Instead, you make me tell you about the men I’ve killed while I fuck you. Real normal, babe.”
I shrugged, making a silly face. “Hey, potato-potata, right?”
“You gotta get in where you fit in,” he said. “And that’s always been with you, Gia. We both knew from an early age we had a different life than other kids. But you were always mine. Nothing ever fazed you. It still doesn’t.”
I touched his cheek with my fingers. “I love you more every day.”
“I don’t know how. I’m a bad man. A criminal. I kill people, steal shit, and do things that would do most people’s heads in, but you never see the bad in me.”
“That’s because your good outweighs the bad.”
“No, it doesn’t. Keep telling yourself that. The longer you stay with me, I will ruin you.”
“You already did, Angelo. Now put that ring on my finger so I can tell everyone in this city I’m going to be your wife.”
Angelo slid the ring on my finger and told me he loved me. I whispered it back just as he squeezed my breast and pushed me back to the mattress. He made me beg, he made me come, but most of all, he made me his.
I had perfected the walk of shame. After doing this more times than I could count, I was what you would consider an expert ‘walk of shamer.’ Sneaking into my own house, after a long night of fucking, with my heels in hand and trying not to fall flat on my face, was the worst walk of shame ever. But I owned it, like the orgasms Angelo took from me almost every night.
My dad’s car was parked out back, blocking the view of my window. I wasn’t able to climb back into my bedroom, so Angelo had to improvise, helping me sneak through the side entrance. I crept toward my bedroom door, my fingers crossed I would make it there without interruption.
Just a few more steps. Don’t make a sound.
Almost every night for weeks, I’d found new ways to escape my prison, and every morning, right before the sun had come up, I would repeat the same routine. Connor had no idea our nightcaps were filled with sleeping pills. I wasn’t a company or a piece of property for someone to own. No one could control me—not even my father.
As I slinked down the hallway, I hid in the dark shadows and slid my back along the wall. The sun was about to rise casting its shadow on the hardwood, as I tippy-toed to my bedroom. Moving closer to my room, the floorboards creaked beneath the weight of my bare feet. Focused on the door in front of me, I took a few more steps, about to reach for the handle, when someone clamped their hand down on my shoulder.
I didn’t smell cigarettes or Connor’s cologne. By process of elimination, I already knew who I would find behind me. Sucking in a deep breath, I spun around to face my father, letting out the air I was holding in.
“Daddy,” I said, with forced enthusiasm. My voice reached a higher octave than normal.
