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“Who?”
“N-No one, sir,” he stutters, and I know if I turn around, every single man in this room will have their heads down. Lowering the gun slowly, I turn and see just that. Each man has their head low, and they don’t even attempt to steal a glance at me.
I trust Giulio with everything, and I know he would never cross me, but I needed them to know that if he ever did, he is not granted immunity from me. It had to be done.
Giulio stays standing behind me, and I turn back to my men.“You all remember who you work for. If you know anything about Levetti and who he was in business with, you better speak up and do it now.” I look around the room and give them ample time, but no sound is made. Not one man moves.
“Good. Now, back to fucking work. Jeremiah, you are now dock manager. You can get with Giulio to go over plans and all the shipment details.” I leave the conference room and move back to my office, slamming the door and locking it.
And in a fit of rage, I finally snap.
I slide everything off my desk, glass shattering and papers flying through the space. The men don’t get to see this part of me. If they knew I was showing any sense of agitation or worry about what’s happening in my outfit, they could use that as a way to blindside me.
I tear my office apart, every fucking inch of it. And when I finish and there’s nothing left but me breathing heavily, I grab my phone and check the cameras.
I find Emelia in our bed, reading. Her eyes fly over the words, and I look at her body, barely covered by flimsy material I could shred in my bare hands, it takes everything in me not to go to her.
I have to put some space between us. If we’re going to fuck, then it has to be just that. When we work together and put on a show at events, it has to be just that—work. A job and nothing else.
I will go to her tonight when her eyes are slowly closing, and we will fuck while she’s too tired to try to talk to me or get inside my head.
Emelia can’t be a goddamn distraction!I all but throw my phone, then run my hands back and forth through my hair. What the fuck is going on in my head? Slamming the meat of my fist into the side of my skull a couple of times, I shake it off, trying to get her off my mind so I can finish the day. But it doesn’t work. I check the cameras over and over, watching her move throughout the house for the rest of the day. I’m secretly there with her as she eats dinner alone, and I get hard and stroke my cock to her showering. Once her head hits the pillow, I finally leave.
I need her. Need my distraction. And fuck me for giving into it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EMELIA
The feelof arms encapsulating me and pulling me into a warm wall of muscle wakes me.
“Nico?”
“Shh, I want you. Let me work us both back to sleep.” His raspy voice thrums against the shell of my ear.
I could cry with relief when he lifts my leg by gripping the front of my thigh and slides his cock into me.
“Yes, such a good wife. Ready for me.” He lazily begins to fuck into me, and I moan out his name, holding on tightly to the pillow. I want to ask him where he was all day, and up until now, I realize I can't, because the feeling of him controlling my body feels entirely too good to stop to talk. That and the fact that would be me surrendering first.
For now, he’s here, and we’re in sync. I meet his movements and get lost in what it feels like to be fucked by the most dangerous and powerful man in the world.
My husband. That man is my husband. Suddenly, I cry out, screaming his name when the sensation hits hard. His finger is on my clit, working it delicately, and I detonate around him, squeezing and pulsing on his hard cock. Moments later, he bites my shoulder and comes inside me.
I feel the hot spurts, filling my insides and reassuring that I am his and his only.
But is he mine?
Am I ever going to be afforded the same luxuries of owning him and knowing him and who he is? Or will he be just a thief in the night, coming to claim me and leaving before the sun hits the horizon?
I guess tomorrow will tell me. Until then, I’m too tired to ask, and I doze to his words of praise.
“Good job. You did such a good job taking me, principessa.” The delicate way he brushes my now messy hair from my face and kneads at the muscles of my neck is almost too intimate, a crack in his rough exterior. I fold and lean into yet again and pray that tomorrow we can start building at least a friendship.
But tomorrow comes, the morning light breaks through, and the only warmth in my bed is the side I occupy by myself. Not only did he leave without a word or an attempt to speak to me, but he also made the bed on his side. Almost as if to remind me that he is not anything or anyone other than the man who gets to use my body.
That hurts more than his absence.
It’s the purposeful way he put a visual reminder that he’s never fucking there.
