Page 12 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

TWELVE

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY

I couldn’t keep it in any longer as the sob tore from me. That was so embarrassing. Why would they do this to us? For what reason? The doctor had been there to show them that I was intact. Why did we have to consummate our wedding in front of all of them?

A sharp, relentless ache bloomed between my hips, every muscle below my navel throbbing with pain.

Alfonso lifted my head and pulled it back onto his shoulder. “It’s over. They’re gone. I’m sorry for the pain.”

He let me cry, allowing the sobs to pour out of me. Each tear felt like it was draining something deep inside, leaving me feeling hollow. He didn’t rush me, didn’t speak, just waited quietly, his presence a steady anchor as the waves of emotion finally subsided.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and give you something for the pain.”

His voice was smooth, like honey, gentle once more. I nodded, and he slowly removed my mask, his touch surprisingly tender. His own mask was long gone, and as he wiped away my tears, his gaze softened. The beast from earlier had vanished, replaced by something quieter, more controlled.

“I’m sorry about this morning. My temper sometimes gets the better of me. But you can’t leave me like that again, piccola fuggitiva . Promise.”

“I promise, if you stop calling me that.”

He huffed and the corner of his lips curved. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I shook my head, knowing that he wouldn’t stop. He stared at me. I could see the hunger he still had dancing inside those green irises.

His gaze lingered on my lips, but he didn’t kiss me. Instead, he stood up, tied his robe, and extended a hand. Before I could move, he scooped me up in his arms, lifting me bridal style, and carried me to the bathroom.

He planted my ass on the toilet seat as he drew me a bath and added a few drops of essential oils to the water.

The scent bloomed instantly, wrapping around me like a warm veil.

Then he opened a porcelain bowl and scattered soft petals across the surface, their gentle drift adding a hint of elegance and calm to the space.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving me alone for the first time tonight, I took a breath, finally feeling a little like myself again. The ache was slowly easing.

He’d changed the rules tonight. I guessed he could. He was a Pontisello.

I felt like an idiot for getting the brothers so wrong. Alfonso was the White Rabbit.

They said his luck was so uncanny, the White Rabbit was the perfect symbol of impossible fortune, always slipping through danger like a ghost in a rigged game.

I’d seen it tonight on his body. All his scars that he tried to cover with skulls, crosses, roses, and snakes.

I wondered how many near-death experiences he’d had.

The bathroom door opened, and he reentered. He was still in his robe. I shook myself out of my thoughts as he bent over to close the taps.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and tears pricked again. It wasn’t the pain. What was tearing me apart was everything churning inside me.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek with a gentleness that caught me off guard, and I met his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he repeated.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t know what to expect. Thank you for being so kind tonight.”

He shook his head and just stared at me. “What sort of husband would I be if I let everyone see my bride’s perfect body?”

My lips curved into a small smile, and his lips mimicked mine. He hasn’t even seen my body yet and already he is paying me compliments.

“The water is warm; you should get in.” He winked, and I stood from the toilet seat.

I still felt so wet, and I had no idea if it was the lube or blood.

Alfonso didn’t leave, and I would have to get used to undressing in front of him.

He was my husband, after all. I undid the robe from its hooks and let it fall to the ground.

My heart stammered as I tried not to focus on Alfonso assessing my body.

He lent me a hand to get into the bath. The tub was deep, and the water wrapped around me like a soft blanket, warm and welcoming. I sank into the bubbles, pulling my knees to my chest and tucking myself in.

I wasn’t ready for the weight of his gaze on my bare skin, it burned hotter than the bathwater.

He took a sponge and washed me. It felt nice, like something I hadn’t known I craved, even if just for a fleeting moment.

I blinked my eyes open and looked at him, resting my chin on top of my knees. The water felt great against the ache between my legs and down my back.

He didn’t stop, just kept on washing me.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked.

I stared at him in a bit of shock. I didn’t know what to say; he was being so patient with me tonight. But I knew he needed to clean himself too, so I shook my head. I didn’t mind.

I was his, but I still needed to find out if he was mine.

He got up, and my eyes followed him. This man’s body was like the David sculpture, the epiphany of perfection, minus the scars and bullet holes decorating him.

My gaze flickered down to his still rock-hard cock.

Even that was a masterpiece. I looked away before he realized that I was staring.

My pussy still ached, but I was also hungry.

I’d waited for this for such a long time.

I heard him climbing in and felt him sliding down in the tub behind me. He carried on washing me, and I opened my eyes again. It felt so good.

The loofah got replaced with his soft lips, and I had to force myself not to moan. I couldn’t show him that a part of me still wanted him. I was too sore tonight, and I had to be stronger than this, right? I couldn’t let my husband know that I long for his touch.

“If you can learn not to defy me, this will be an amazing business transaction. I want you to keep that in mind, please. I hated being rough with you.”

I didn’t reply. I knew he was sorry, but I also knew that he’d gotten hard by handling me like that.

The fact that I got soaking wet being handled like that felt completely foreign. It unhinged me, cracked open a part of myself I didn’t even know existed.

I didn’t know how to process it, and deep down, a small part of me loathed myself for even reacting. It couldn’t be normal, right? Something had to be wrong with me, and that thought terrified me.

His lips kept traveling down my back, soft kisses, warm kisses.

“I’m a very jealous man, Camilla, and I know I said it already, but I do not share, and finding your room empty this morning, not knowing where you had gone.

” He fell silent for a moment. “I didn’t like that feeling.

Don’t do it again. One thing I need to make clear.

You are mine, and tonight I might not have branded you as mine, but I will.

I promise you, my cock will be the only one you taste.

Obey my rules and I will kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way.

But don’t give me a reason to be jealous. ”

I feared his warning, as I could still envision the number one tattoo underneath his eye. He would kill anyone, that much I knew. He’d already killed a hundred. Or more.

“If you give yourself freely to me, let me explore my sexual desires with you, let me do whatever it is I want with you, give me what I need,” there was so much want in his tone, but for some reason, my heart pounded behind my ribcage, “I promise that I will take care of you and give you whatever your heart desires.”

Whatever my heart desires. Nobody had ever offered me that. I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were a lighter green again. I stared at him and then nodded. Yes, I fucking nodded. Sue me. I had been through a lot in the past forty-eight hours.

“Good girl.” He planted his lips on mine, but it stayed with a soft peck, nothing more, and then he climbed out, cock hard, and took a towel that hung over the rack and turned it around his waist.

I stared like a stalker.

When he was done and turned to look at me, I looked away. But from the corner of my eye, I saw him pulling off another towel. My heart stammered again, thinking that now the real fucking was going to start and while I was still aching.

He brought the towel closer and ordered me to stand.

I obliged, aches and all, and he wrapped the towel around my body before picking me up and taking me to his bed.

He laid me down on it and covered me with his satin blankets. “Sleep tight tonight. I still have a lot of work to do.” He reached over to his drawer and took out a suede box. He put it on the bed. “Merry Christmas, piccola fuggitiva .”

I felt bad then. I hadn’t gotten him anything and had actually forgotten that today was Christmas.

He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand and turned to leave.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“What?”

“That picca thing?”

His lips curved. “ Piccola fuggitiva ?”

I nodded.

“Little runaway.”

I closed my eyes at how fitting it actually was.

I was a runaway. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad nickname after all.

I opened my eyes and watched him open his room door, still wearing the towel that hugged his hips.

He had Latin writing on his back with a Catholic cross spread across the length and width.

Everywhere on that man was a tattoo, and I was sure every one of them meant something.

My eyes grew heavy, lashes fluttering shut as the pull of sleep dragged me under into oblivion.