Page 72 of The Beast Who Begged Me

He folds forward with a choking sob. I catch him, but his arms go around me so hard I lose my balance, and we topple over on the carpet beside the fire, tangled together in a mess of blood and limbs.

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that tastes like iron and salt. I pull him closer and kiss him back with everything I have.

When we finally break apart, I catch his injured hand before he can reach for me again. “We need to get Rosa to look at this.”

“Fuck my hand.”

“You seem to think that was a suggestion. It was an order. From your Don.” I stare him down, let him see I’m serious. “And it’s either Rosa or the hospital, because we’re not calling Darla out on Christmas Eve. And listen to me, Orsini: you’re done paying me in blood. I don’t want it. I want you with two working hands to do my bidding.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “Fine.”

Sammy wanders into the kitchen with his phone in his hand. His eyebrows rise at the sight of Rosa stitching Dami back together, but he apparently decides against asking.

“I’m going to spend the night with Ricky,” he announces.

“The hell you are,” Dami growls, then clenches his teeth as Rosa’s needle pierces his skin. “Some asshole tried to kill Caligula yesterday. No one’s going out tonight.”

Sammy opens his mouth, but I get there first. “Invite him here.” They both look at me. “We can send Vito for him,” I add.

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Sammy looks down at his phone, a smile spreading across his face. “It’ll be nice to wake up with him on Christmas.”

“Tell him there’ll be breakfast,” Rosa says, and then turns back to Dami. “Hold still.”

Sammy is already typing as he leaves the kitchen. Dami watches him go, then grumbles something about Sammy being so fucking lovestruck. I hide a smile and rest my head on his shoulder.

Back in our bedroom, Dami surveys the blood soaked into the carpet. “Have to replace that,” he says gruffly. But he’s not really thinking about carpet. I know, because when he turns to me, it’s with a searching intensity.

“I haven’t changed my mind, Dami. I meant what I said before.” I watch him take that in, his shoulders easing. Then I add, “But I think we should have an arrangement. A gentlemen’s agreement, if you will.”

“You got the wrong fucking guy for that.”

I have to fight a smile. “Look,” I say. “I’m Don Clemenza. My men need to see you answer to me. My decisions are final, even when you don’t like them.”

“I already told you I’d serve you,” he replies. “I don’t give a fuck about power. I never have.”

And I believe him. He’s never wanted my title. He wants me. “Then this should be easy,” I tell him.

His good hand settles at my waist. He’s forgotten the carpet. “And when I think you’re making a bad call?”

“Tell me. I want your judgment. But I need your backing in front of my people. Your backing—not your permission.”

He considers. “I can live with that.”

How very accommodating of him.

“And I don’t want us fighting over who’s in charge every time we’re alone,” I tell him. “Behind closed doors, I’m more than happy to let you have control.” I have to take a breath, because this part is the hardest to admit. “I like it, Dami. I want it. But I can belong to you without giving up my place.”

Because I’ve noticed something about Damiano Orsini. Every time I take an inch of ground, he tries to take it back from me. Every time I’ve claimed a little authority, he’s found a way to remind me who I belong to.

I’ve enjoyed those reminders far too much to want them to stop. But I’d rather he understood that I’m offering him something he doesn’t have to take back from me.

He tugs me close, looking down into my face, that ravenous look back in his eyes. “That’s a lot of words,” he growls, “just to say you want to get fucked.”

I feel heat spreading up my neck at his words. “It’s rather more than that,” I say breathlessly. “And you know it.”

“Alright,” he says. “Out there, you’re the Boss.”

“And in here?”