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Our teeth clatter and scrape, the dull sound of a primal coupling creating a low heat in my belly. Tiny kaleidoscopes of bright, neon colors burst behind my eyelids as we wrestle for dominance, our mouths fighting a war my mind doesn’t quite understand.
It’s almost painful, this kiss. Painful in the way being with Kal has so far proven to be—a sharp, sudden ache that feels like being torn open and ripped apart, but your body craves the sensation.
Like you need it to survive.
A low, guttural moan ebbs from his throat, making a home in my bones. The warmth in my belly spreads like a wildfire, burning everything in its wake, until I’m practically climbing his lean form, trying to get him to make the sound again.
Someone claps at our side, snapping me from the moment; my eyes pop open, seeking our audience. The priest smiles, chanting something in Italian that I can’t translate, while Papá looks on and Marcelline studies her white sneakers.
Self-consciousness flares in my chest as I come down, trying to disentangle myself from Kal’s limbs. He resists, pressing one last searing kiss against my mouth, before finally releasing me so suddenly, my knees buckle.
I reach out, grasping his sleeve to steady myself, sucking in a deep breath. My lips feel swollen and raw, and I smooth a finger over them, trying to commit the evidence to memory, since it’s the last kiss I plan on ever having with him.
“Rings,” the priest says, gesturing toward our hands. “You’re skipping steps, Mr. Anderson.”
“Kind of like you skipped courting, proposing, or generally asking for my consent in any of this,” I mutter, watching as Kal reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a burlap pouch and discarding his gloves.
“Would you have said yes?”
I blink, frowning. “What?”
“If I’d asked.” He pulls one ring out, a simple black band, and shoves it onto his own finger, then reaches for mine. “Would you have said yes?”
“I…”
In truth, I want to say yes. That my infatuation with this known killer would’ve led me to do anything he asked of me. But Mamá drilled into my head at a young age that such an admission was practically a death wish, and so instead, I shake my head.
“No.”
Yanking the ring from Mateo off, he tosses it to the ground, replacing it with a solitaire diamond.
His jaw tics. “No?”
Pulling my hand from his, I fold my hands over my arms. “No, Kallum, I wouldn’t have. I was engaged—”
“Didn’t stop you from begging me to fuck you.”
“That was different. It was a—”
“We ask these blessings for them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the priest interrupts, moving forward and gripping our shoulders. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He hesitates, sunken eyes darting between us. “Er… well, I suppose you can kiss her again, but if you’re going to, I request enough time to leave the room beforehand.”
Kal holds up his hand, shaking his head. “No need, Father. We’re leaving.”
Marcelline ushers the priest from the room, slamming the door shut as she exits. Kal cringes as it clicks loudly into place, then swallows, walking back over to the bed. He bends, collecting his things, no longer paying me any attention.
“Um?” I arch my eyebrows. “Do I get a say in anything? I still don’t even know what’s going on.” Turning to Papá, I hook a thumb at Kal. “Why didn’t you stop this? Hasn’t he just ruined your contract with Bollente Media?”
“No, you did that when you decided to sleep with the man.” Papá’s face hardens, disappointment melting his features. “And because you weren’t discreet about it, someone has video evidence that they’re using to try and blackmail la famiglia.”
My throat constricts, the blood rushing to my face as I process his words. “Someone was watching us?”
Disgust pulls at Papá’s mouth, his lips curling in a sneer. “Someone is always watching, figlia mia. And now, we’re all paying for your fuckup.”
Glancing over his shoulder at Mateo’s corpse, he shakes his head.
“Can’t we… tell the Elders, or something? Surely, there’s another way.”
