Page 3 of Claimed By the Werewolf Boss

Chapter tw o

Cheyenne

J unelle keeps shoving the plate of toast and bacon at me at the breakfast table.

Andrea is no better, scooping another helping of fresh-cut fruit onto my plate.

The Italian sunshine burns through the windows of this small breakfast nook tucked away in the insane palace they are getting married in.

If it weren’t for the air conditioners everywhere, I’d probably be sweating buckets again like I was last night, ruining the embroidered chairs we’re sitting on.

I’m exhausted, out of my comfort zone, and would really like a lightly sparkling drink down at the pier with a moment to myself. Since I arrived, it’s been nonstop yapping and book signing.

I missed the fast train from Naples, and by the time I arrived at the Sorrento station, I’d missed the taxi I had pre-booked by an hour.

I had quite an angry text message from the driver and a long wait at the bus stop before I could even get to the correct town.

The walk up to Villa di Benetti wasn’t easy either, it was all uphill.

My thighs were burning and I’m sure I looked like a melted candle by the time I spoke to the security guard at the gate.

Junelle and all the aunties didn’t even bat an eyelash.

It was screams of excitement and so much hugging.

My heart nearly burst, and I cried a little at our reunion despite how much I’d rather have a shower first. Video calls and voice notes aren’t enough.

For the first eighteen years of my life, I convinced myself I didn’t need anyone’s affection or love.

My parents were cold to the point of cruelty, ruthless in their expectations, and unforgiving.

It wasn’t until I moved into my student housing, where I met Junelle and her parents, that I realised you could be successful and supportive.

“Cheyenne, you’ve gotta eat,” she insists.

“I did eat something,” I push back. It’s true, I had several pieces of fruit and half a protein bar I had saved from yesterday.

She rolls her eyes at me, while Andrea folds his arms across his chest, crumpling his soft linen co-ord outfit.

As much as I like him, I do wish he would stop trying to boss me around.

We are basically the same age, and I have watched Junelle lead him around like a dog on a leash for three years.

But he’s a persistent sort that you only see in romance books, if I’m honest.

I take two more bites of melon and carefully push back my chair.

“See, look, eating?” I stand up with a smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go birdwatching?” Junelle asks.

I grimace. No, I absolutely don’t want to spend the morning hiking around looking at birds.

There’s something about their faces, all leathery, and the way the feathers stick in their skin that makes me uncomfortable.

Not that I could own a pet in my small apartment, but if I could, it would probably be a cat, an extra fluffy ginger one, ideally.

The outdoors are really not for me.

“Are you sure you two don’t want to go to the pier with me?” I counter.

Andrea looks at Junelle with hope in his eyes. I know they met at the nature reserve where she works, but he’s not a twitcher by any means. We both agree holidays should be spent lounging by the pool.

“We can’t skip,” Junelle says, wrapping her arm through his. “Plus, I know that Nonna packed a picnic that is ninety percent wine. Half the reason all the ladies go on her hikes is to get wine drunk. ”

Yeah, that is definitely not my vibe. Especially with people I barely know. The only person who has seen me drunk at all is Junelle. I make a face that says more than my silence.

“Okay, okay, but you’re back for lunch at three so we can get our nails done,” she says.

“Totally, and I will take the ride you offered down to the pier, Andrea. Just let me know how much it costs, and I’ll send y’all the money.”

His face goes all pinched and annoyed when I offer to pay him back. It’s nice that he’s so generous and caring, but it feels weird. I know it’s a me problem, but I’m used to fighting for myself. If it weren’t for my writing side hustle, I probably wouldn’t have been able to afford this trip.

While flights and accommodation are completely covered by the bride and groom, that didn’t account for the unpaid personal leave and new outfits.

Being a teacher and a homebody does not make for the luxury styling of an Italian destination wedding.

Also, I didn’t own a single swimsuit, and at my size those aren’t cheap.

“If you send me a single cent, I will sic all my aunties on you for the rest of the weekend,” he threatens.

I raise my hands in a show of defeat and back away from the table.

Yeah, I’m okay without that. They are a lovely group of ladies, but I have never had so many invasive questions in my life.

Both of their families ask too many questions for my comfort, but Andrea’s knows more about me somehow, and it’s disconcerting.

Junelle squeezes my hand as I walk by, a silent understanding between us.

She knows I would die for her, I would kill for her.

I may not be the Gomez to her Morticia, but there is very little I wouldn’t do for if she asked.

She understands I’m usually a stage nine clinger or completely cut off from people.

We know each other’s dark secrets, and I will forever be on her side.

Past all the opulent tiles and ornate Sicilian designs, I close the heavy wooden door to my room.

Like every other room I’ve seen here, mine is rustic with vaulted ceilings and exposed stone walls, but one look will tell you there wasn’t an expense spared in decorating it.

My busted suitcase looks wrong shoved into the corner.

I heft it onto my unmade bed and rummage around for my swimsuit.

After I turned thirty at the start of the year, I decided it was time to be brave and embrace my life.

I shouldn’t hide from myself, and I shouldn’t hide from others.

Following a few amazing influencers isn’t going to change my mindset completely, but it made me delusionally believe I could rock bikinis for this whole vacation .

For this first venture, I dig out the lavender halter bikini.

A style and colour I wouldn’t normally wear, it’s pricey enough I can’t not wear it.

The suit slides across my skin like a dream, and when I look in the mirror to adjust the ties, I feel good.

There is a flush on my cheeks when I see the amount of pale skin I’ve got on display.

Boobs, tummy, and stretch marks all visible without any lifting or tucking.

“You look really good, you stupid bitch.” I point at my reflection. “You deserve to take up space.”

The affirmation I’ve been saying to myself every morning makes me smile for a moment, but then I take a deep breath.

Nobody is going to look at me weird or even pay attention to me.

It doesn’t matter what I tell myself though, my mother’s nagging voice in the back of my head tells me I look ridiculous.

I pull on some loose shorts and an open, oversized button-down before packing up my towel, my e-reader, and enough sunblock to paint the town pasty white.

My sandals slap against the tiles as I wander towards the foyer.

The birdwatching group should have left by now, but there is a man dressed for the cover shoot of some outdoors magazine lingering by the door.

His olive trousers are snug, showing off a plump ass, while his shirt is definitely hiding a well-padded torso based on how wide he is.

One I bet is perfect for snuggling or grinding on with his dick buried in you .

When he turns to look at me, my entire body lights up.

My cheeks heat, my heart stutters, and my clit throbs with how fucking delicious this man looks.

Thank god I’m wearing a swimsuit because my bottoms are now soaked.

His dark hair even turns grey and white where his facial hair begins, like he’s from some kind of superhero comic.

Fuck me.

When my eyes finally drink in enough of his body, I realise he’s been staring at me as well.

His gaze is hot and heavy, checking me out like I’m a whole fucking buffet.

Unconsciously, I wrap my open shirt up to hide myself.

Shit, I’m being rude. He’s dressed like he’s also going birdwatching, so the group clearly hasn’t left yet.

“Morning.” I wave, quickly stepping up and putting on my peopling persona. “Cheyenne, I’m with the bride’s side of the wedding. I got in late last night.”

“I know,” he says. “You don’t look dressed for a hike.”

Motherfucker. My lips part when I hear his voice.

Wow. What would it sound like to hear him say take my dick like a good girl ?

Should I be taking notes on this guy? My fingers itch to take out my phone and start interviewing a total stranger.

Like where does he get this cologne he’s wearing so I can buy a bottle?

“Cheyenne? ”

“Sorry, I’m supposed to be getting a ride down to Pietro’s Pier. I’m not really the outdoorsy type.”

“What type are you then?” He steps closer to me, but rather than move back, my feet are glued to the floor.

He’s practically on top of me. Every breath I take has my chest brushing against his.

This unbelievably hot man dips his head lower, his fingers touching the strap of my beach bag where it digs into my shoulder.

“Um—” I don’t know what to say but words tumble out of my mouth anyway. “I like being home, it’s where my stuff is.”

If I could kick myself, I would. That is not what you say to someone when you’re at your best friend’s destination wedding. You say something like museums or sightseeing. Not imply that you already want to be done with this place.

He smiles, though. Maybe I amuse him and he’s humouring me for the simple fact we are attending the same wedding and staying at the same villa. Close quarters like this means you’ve got to play nice with people.

“Nothing wrong with being a homebody. Keeps you out of trouble,” he teases.

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s true.” My cheeks immediately heat. Why did I say that? He’s going to think I’ve got some sort of taboo hobby or, worse, that I’m a curtain twitcher. “I just mean that with my work, I don’t have much free time, so I like to recharge at home.”

“What do you do to recharge?”

Write sex scenes that make me question my own sanity.

“Journaling, but if I need fresh air, I go to TAM. The cafe there is gorgeous.”

“Can’t say I spend a lot of time at the Tolson Art Museum,” he admits. “But if I had a guide as gorgeous as you, I’d make a point to go every day.”

I’ve died. Clearly, this is my own personal heaven because what do you mean this ridiculously handsome and thick man is flirting with me with such ferocity?

This can’t be real, but I want it to be desperately.

We are standing so close together and I want him, but I don’t even know his name.

He’s carried this whole conversation. I need to engage better, flirt back, ask him to fuck me on this side table.

“Are you with the groom?” I ask before I voice that insane idea.

“Andrea is my nephew. Valentino Benetti.”

I swear to all the muses, this man is straight out of a bodice ripper.

Valentino? What’s next, is he going to reveal he’s some kind of mafia boss or international spy?

I can barely think straight when his massive hand moves to cup my cheek.

The warmth of his skin is intoxicating, pulling me in closer.

I step into him, letting whatever this moment, this gut-wrenching need to have his body pressed into mine, take over me.

His eyes move from mine to my lips and then back again.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Valentino doesn’t give the impression that he asks for permission, for anything. He takes and devours whatever he wants. But the question, even if he didn’t verbalise it, makes my pussy clench. Consent is one of the sexiest things a man can focus on when he’s with someone, if you ask me.

His lips are soft against mine. Gentle and hesitant when I’m expecting force. The kiss is chaste yet sets my skin on fire. Tingles shoot down my arms and right into my fingertips. This feels like fate, like worlds colliding with perfect precision to bind atoms together.

When his thumb brushes against my soft chin, tilting me up higher, he licks my bottom lip. My hands move to his shirt, tugging him closer in a quiet demand for more.

I open my mouth to deepen the kiss, and he groans.

Oh my god, I’m going to come. The pure satisfaction in that sound makes my core tighten and thighs squeeze together.

His tongue plunges into my mouth. Something sharp presses against my bottom lip, and I whine.

This is the force I crave. I’ve never wanted anyone like this, with this unexplainable hunger.

I want him to take me in every way possible.

He grabs hold of my waist, squeezing my chub.

No.

My blood runs cold as I break the kiss. I know he’s seen me, I know that my size isn’t a secret, but I can’t handle anyone touching me like that, let alone the most beautiful man in all of Italy. That part of me can’t ever be sexy or attractive, can it?

Tits? Sure.

Ass? Hell yeah.

The rolls of fat around my body? Surely the sort of thing that makes a man like him disgusted.

But he’s still holding me, looking ready to drag me to the nearest flat surface. Valentino wants me, and I think I want to give him everything when someone starts hollering from deeper in the house.

“Tino, I gotta head up to Naples to handle…” A large guy in a sharp suit stops short when he sees the position we’re in. “Am I interrupting something?”

Valentino doesn’t let go of me for a beat too long.

Yet another person I haven’t met stares at us with a critical and creepy eye.

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I step out of Valentino’s grasp, and he frowns.

Yep, I’ve seen that look before. It’s time for me to go before he makes some lame excuse .

“I should go so I can get a good lounger,” I mutter at my feet.

If Valentino says something, I don’t hear it.

Junelle waves at me from the people carrier van, and I have enough sense to wave back and pretend like nothing is wrong.

I dip into the sleek black car when a driver opens it for me.

He doesn’t ask where I’m going or even say a word to me, and I’m glad for it.

For the next five days, I’ve got to avoid Valentino Benetti or risk losing myself in him.