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And, honestly, for that whole recovery period, not a single freaking thought managed to cross my foggy mind.
As soon as I managed to pull in a proper breath and my body stopped shaking, though, one very prominent thought penetrated.
I’d just fucked Primo again.
Without freaking protection.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Against my back, a chuckle moved through Primo as, I guess, my body stiffened.
“Regretting me already, lamb?” he asked, moving backward and sliding out of me.
“Always,” I claimed, even if I knew it was a lie. I mean, yes, objectively, fucking him was just stupid on so many levels. And fucking him without protection was completely mental. But my body, well, it didn’t have any regrets.
“Maybe you should tell your pussy to stop being so greedy for my cock then,” he said as I yanked up my bodice and pulled down my skirt before turning to face him, my thighs squeezed together to remind me how careless I’d been yet again.
“You’re such an asshole,” I hissed. “You can fool all your neighborhood fans into thinking you’re the good, church-going guy. But you can’t fool me. You’re a man who forces a woman into marriage then locks her in a gilded cage.”
“That may all be true, lamb,” he said, zipping his pants, then stalking over to me, moving so close that I had to crane my neck up to keep eye contact. “But you’re the one who wants to fuck her warden.”
With that, and nothing more, he walked right out of the apartment.
Leaving me to clean up myself and then the mess that Cassidy had left.
Which was good.
Because I needed something to distract me from the running internal monologue that listed all the various ways I’d screwed up over the past hour or so.
Making Primo think I was being possessive of him? Check.
Letting him think I dressed up for him? Check.
Letting him fuck me again? That was a giant check.
Without protection? Yep, check again.
“Ugh,” I grumbled, tapping my forehead into the cupboard.
What the hell was wrong with me?
How could I dislike a man so much, but not be able to control my body around him?
And every time I let him fuck me, I gave him more power.
He wasn’t taking it from me.
I was freaking willingly giving it to him.
Like an idiot.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen again, that was for damn sure.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Primo
My work always came with risks.
I knew that.
My men knew that.
We took those risks willingly. And, after time, without much thought. Sure, we were careful. We had multiple steps of security in place. But avoiding all threats had never been a constant worry of mine.
Until Isabella.
I was consumed with it, day and night. It was a gnawing sensation in my gut, knowing that my world now put more than my men and me at risk. She was relying completely on me for her safety.
I guess a part of me had imagined that since she came from a mafia Family, she would have gotten used to the possible threats as well. But she’d been terrified hiding in my closet, making it abundantly clear to me that the Costa Family had a lot less upheaval than mine had always known.
That made her even more vulnerable.
Which was why I’d refused to let up on her so-called “imprisonment” even after one week rolled into another without any new attempts on me or my organization.
Even if she hated me more for it with each passing day.
Though, to be fair, she also hated me because, instead of trying to deescalate the situation after we’d fucked again, and she was having conflicting feelings about it, I’d doubled down and made shit worse, turning what could have been a turning point for us, steps forward toward a real relationship, into a fight and ten steps backward for us.
She was back to avoiding me, refusing to make food for me even if she was cooking for herself, and stubbornly falling asleep on the couch, making me carry her back to bed every night. While she hissed and scratched and demanded I put her down.
“It’s not fair, that’s all I’m saying,” Dawson griped as he made himself a cup of coffee.
See, Isabella had let her resentment spread outward, getting pissed not only at me, but at all my brothers and guards who she saw in complicit as her “imprisonment.”
So she wouldn’t talk to them anymore.
And, which was what was upsetting Dawson right then, she wouldn’t cook for them anymore either.
I didn’t really care that much about Dawson’s problems, but I was starting to get some real concerns over the way Isabella was isolating herself even more.
I knew a surefire way to lift her mood was to let her sister visit again. But I also knew that if I let Mira come over, I would be in a world of shit with the Costas when they got wind of Isabella being in lockdown.
