Page 12 of Claimed By the Werewolf Boss

Is this heaven? It feels like it. My chest is warm and fuzzy, but I can’t tell if it’s her or me. Oh my god, what will it feel like when we next have sex? What will it feel like when Cheyenne orgasms?

My dick twitches at the idea of making my mate come. But not in the shower. Somewhere soft she can relax and luxuriate.

“My turn.”

I pick Cheyenne up bridal style, and her squeal makes me laugh.

“Put me down, holy shit.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart. You weigh basically nothing,” I grin, curling her in my arms.

I’ve always been a strong guy, and after getting made, my strength increased unbelievably. So many broken doors in my twenties is a small price to pay to make my girl feel weightless.

“This is so unreal, I don’t think I’ve ever been picked up.”

“Well, get used to it because I like having you in my arms.”

As I put us into bed again, Cheyenne grabs whatever it is I thought would work for breakfast and laughs. She shakes a bag of Goccioli, and while I suppose those are a breakfast item, they’re not exactly filling after our loud night.

“Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna lie back while I eat your pussy, and then we’re gonna get dressed and do tourist stuff for the rest of the day.”

“What about the wedding plans? We can’t skip.” Cheyenne runs her fingers through my wet hair, scratching my head lightly. I get why dogs kick their leg now. Fuck me, does that feel good.

“No plans today. Andrea and Junelle are so busy with the final planning we’ve got the day to ourselves,” I reassure her with a kiss.

One that starts my quest down her luscious body to salvation itself. I lick and suck on her clit until she’s begging me to stop and her cum has soaked my facial hair.

Euphoria wraps us tighter and tighter in its embrace.

It’s surprisingly overcast for late April, the sea bringing a cool breeze with it. We barely make it outside before I’m running back to grab one of the two sweaters I packed for the trip. It’s warm in Italy, but the weather at home has been chaotically cold.

Cheyenne gives me a sceptical look but then pulls it on when I don’t make a move to open the car door for her.

It fits, baggy around her arms and shoulder, but a stretch around her hips.

She rolls it up so it’s tucked around her waist above her shorts.

It’s a perfect compromise. Like this, I can slide my hand over the little sliver of skin showing whenever I want so I can feel her, skin to skin.

Again, I use the hotel parking lot. The streets are less crowded today.

The unusual weather keeps most of the tourists at bay, while at the bus stop a crowd of them wait for the shuttle to drive them the ninety minutes to Pompeii.

We walk the pavement hand in hand as I guide Cheyenne through the streets.

I spent most of my summers here, learning how to pickpocket, scam tourists, and anything else my grandfather thought me and my brother would need to know to run the family business.

I point out little nooks with centuries-old statues, and Cheyenne demands we take pictures together at every one.

We stop into little souvenir shops, the small backpack she brought slowly filling up with meloncello, lemon-themed homeware, and enough hard candy to give all of Tolson a cavity.

All the while, I listen to my girl. She ums and ahs at everything we see, tells me how she and Junelle met at school, and lets me see a city I view as my second home with new eyes.

Everything is exciting and fresh, and for the day I’m just a normal guy.

But the feeling doesn’t last.

Outside of Bonamico, a gelateria that’s been serving what I consider the best ice cream since my nonna was a kid, I get a call from Luca .

“Order whatever you want,” I smile, handing over my card for her to pay. “And get me the Vinder Buena flavour.”

“Sounds good.” She salutes me and walks into the shop.

I give her another moment, watching her step into the queue, before I answer the phone.

“Hey, Tino,” Luca says quickly, “we’ve got a problem.”

My tongue rolls over my flat teeth as I step further away from the store. I round a corner into a narrow alley to get some semblance of privacy.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t think we are looking for one guy anymore. There’s someone else working with him in the organisation.”

“You have any leads?” I push.

“Not yet. I’ve put my feelers out with Marcello’s regular crew, but I’m still digging.”

“Alright.” I rub my brow, wiping some of the sweat away. “What time are you back? Andrea’s stressing is gonna boil over if you aren’t back for dinner tomorrow night.”

Luca better damn well be back at the villa for dinner. Both the bride and groom will ride his ass into next week if he doesn’t show. Andrea has been stressed enough about making sure we’ve got all the family together for this, he’ll be crushed if Luca misses any more of vacation.

I sense the hesitation in his silence, though. My second isn’t going to be back tonight.

“You can fucking call him and tell him, just know I ain’t around today to smooth things over.”

“What the fuck do you mean you aren’t around?”

“My mate and I are busy being tourists.” I grin.

“The chubby girl from yesterday?” he asks, the disgust in his voice evident.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growl at his tone. Anger rises in me like a fucking geyser about to burst. “Cheyenne is mine, claimed and all. You put some fucking respect in your voice when you are speaking about her.”

“Sure, boss. I gotta go.” He hangs up without another word.

How fucking dare he? That’s fucking it with him. We’re having a meeting first thing after the wedding. I shove my phone into my pocket. God-fucking-damn it. What the hell is wrong with him?

I walk back onto the main street just as Cheyenne is stepping out with our cones. She looks around, but it’s clear she can’t see me as a throng of tourists pushes between us and the tour guide shouts about the history of gelato. I’m already shoving through them when I hear it .

The sound of a knife cutting through a bag, of Cheyenne’s gasp, of a tussle.

A lanky man with blond hair has one hand on the cut straps of my mate’s backpack and the other raised to fight her for it.

I explode.

I don’t wolf out, I’m a grown fucking man, but I don’t hide who I am either.

My fist collides with his face, and he stumbles to the ground.

One kick to the gut stops him from trying to get up, and a second to his face has him gushing blood from his nose and mouth.

I wrap my fist around his T-shirt, squishing ice cream through my fingers.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I snarl, shaking the guy. It doesn’t matter that I used to do the same shit. I’m too amped up, the need to care for and protect my mate overriding any sense of decency I have. “Do you know who I am?”

“Get the fuck off me!” he shouts in Italian, scrambling to kick at my shins.

“Do you know what it means to cross the Benetti family?” I counter back in our mother tongue, seething with rage. “That’s my fucking wife you raised a hand to. I should gut you right fucking here.”

He blanches, just like I knew he would. Around us a crowd is forming, all the eyes and cameras are bad for business, I know. I know. But I want to make this man suffer enough to remind the local gangs who owns these streets. Before I kill him for even looking at my mate.

“Valentino,” Cheyenne’s quiet and urgent calling pulls me back though. “Valentino, the crowd.”

Motherfuckers. Fucking hate all these goddamned smartphones.

I shake the guy once more and toss him into the street.

From behind us, David, owner of the gelateria, steps out and quickly ushers us back inside the now empty store.

He’s a quiet man, but a good one. He hands me a damp towel to clean my hands, while Cheyenne’s shaking fingers tug at a loose piece of her hair.

“Did you throw your gelato at that guy?” I ask, trying to distract her. Shit, she looks like she’s about to freak out.

“Yours too,” she whispers. “Gut instinct.”

“Have a seat in the back and I’ll bring you something fresh,” David says, walking behind the counter.

I guide Cheyenne, snagging two bottles of water from the fridge on the way. She sits, crossing one leg over the other. A blush rises on her cheeks while heat blossoms in my loins. It’s impossible to resist. I take a deep breath disguised as a heavy sigh.

There it is. She’s turned on. Did seeing me get in a little fight make her pussy wet? What about it triggered this response from her? I was ready to beg for her understanding before we got back here, but now I’m wondering if we need to skip gelato altogether.

“You okay?” I ask, struggling to keep what I know a secret. She hums a little, so I press her more. An unabashed smirk forms on my lips. “You look a little flushed.”

She looks towards the counter where David has his back to us, watching the door. “That was… hot. I’ve never seen someone get punched in real life, and you looked so aggressive and you did that for me .”

The way she says the last part stirs something in me. A sort of sadness that makes me wonder what people haven’t done for Cheyenne before. My physical reaction to this news affects her almost instantly, the slight droop in her posture obvious to me. We will definitely be having our gelato.

“That is the least I could do for you, sweetheart,” I promise, taking hold of her hand. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”