Page 52 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

My blistering glare darted to her.

“Funny that you didn’t even want your family to come for it. Your dad is in your locket, but he’s not important enough to attend your wedding? What are you hiding from me again?”

She clutched her locket on autopilot as if I would yank it off her again. “Leave my dad out of it.”

“With pleasure,” I muttered and concentrated on not crashing the car against the nearest tree.

She always wanted something else that wasn’t us. This wasn’t normal to her. And I said fuck normal. I wanted this. This was special.

She’d accelerated my fury. My hands trembled on the gearshift. My molars were clenched so tightly that if I were in any sane mind, I would fear they would break.

The drive flew by. At the speed I raced, it was no surprise.

I brought the car to a stop with a screech and a burst of hot smoke in my driveway.

Storming out of the car, I yanked her out in the next breath.

There was a furious pounding in my neck, my head, my chest. My nerves scattered all over my driveway, because a cold realisation had seeped in.

One I had gone looking for, like a moron.

I pushed her inside the door. It hadn’t even slammed shut before I had her pinned to the wall.

“A little impatient, are we?” she muttered, but the desire shining in her eyes belied her tone.

That was the only thing I was sure she wanted.

From me. My dick inside her. Probably because her limp dick ex couldn’t do it.

But the rest of me she didn’t want. She didn’t want her family to meet me, she didn’t want me to take her home. Fuck, she didn’t want to marry me.

“Shut up. Stop pretending you don’t want my dick inside you.”

Anger and desire warred within her eyes.

Mine probably raged with murder. I shoved her saree up and yanked her lace to the side.

She hooked her legs around me and a second later, I was unzipped and free.

I fetched my aching cock in my hand and buried it one thick inch at a time inside her.

I hissed. She groaned. She was so fucking tight.

Her pussy clenched around my dick. Pulled it in deeper.

I followed and buried myself to the hilt.

Our heated breaths fumed. The air was tight between us.

This was the only time she didn’t hide anything from me.

The only time I got to see her naked, read her inner thoughts.

Her hands wrapped round my neck, and she pulled me in for a kiss.

I was still too fucking angry and pushed her off me.

“Show me your tits,” I seethed my anger in a demand.

I was angry, and I wanted her to know it.

She shoved the tail of her saree down and unbuttoned the front clasp of her tiny top.

It hit the floor, and I went feral for the view.

Her naked tits. Swollen. Needy. Fabric bunched up between her hips and her chest. My cock inside her.

She was wrapped in secrets. The only thing I could yank away was the fabric on her body.

I pounded into her like a wild animal. My rage built up my lust. She didn’t give in either.

Her nails crawled on my chest. Sent the buttons on my vest and shirt flying.

I didn’t even know who came first or if we did it together.

I zoned out. My balls grew twice in size and tightened.

My dick thickened inside her and I was done. Exhausted.

I’d been thinking all along that if I married her, she’d fucking stay. Now I knew there wasn’t anything that I could tie her down with that she thought was worth remaining for.

Sweat coated my back as I nuzzled into her neck.

She was still breathing heavily, her pulse thudded to a million beats.

It pained me that these were the only times she was ever really close to me.

I didn’t want to pull out, didn’t want to let go of this intimacy, but she was already shifting.

No. I was never letting her go. I wrapped my arms around her and started to move.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you up.”

“I can walk, you know.”

Or run. I ignored her, carried her up, and dropped her onto my bed.

She was perfect. Made to be buried in my silk sheets.

She crawled away from me. I followed her hungrily.

Fuck it . I felt it. She was pulling me in.

She was quicksand, and I was the victim on dry land.

Knowing it didn’t stop me from sinking in.

AHANA

“Hey Bhagwan.” I rolled out from underneath him and fell on the floor before scrambling back to my feet.

His hand branded my pulse and yanked me to him. With a lazy head roll, he growled at me, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I need a shower.”

“Later.”

I landed on his bed. I had barely entered his house before I got railed against the wall, and now this. Frustration ran through me. “This is not the way a wedding night is supposed to be,” I huffed.

He went stone still. “How does it happen?” His tone was deadly.

“Well, for one thing, I’m still dressed when I come into the room. I have to bring a glass of milk with turmeric, and everything should happen gently.”

I couldn’t figure out what’s set him off. He was furious. He practically vibrated with it. “Is that how it happened with your limp dick husband?”

Shit. My mouth went dry.

He shoved me off the bed, and I landed on the floor. It wasn’t hard, but it still made my ass burn. “Go then. Go and take your shower. Get dressed. Bring that fucking milk.”

I got up. “I didn’t mean li—”

His tone was silky smooth when he broke in. His gaze shut off. Cold. “Take. That. Shower. Now. Ahana.”

I didn’t wait a second longer. I ran to what I assumed must be his bathroom, closed the door, and sank to the floor.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My heart beat like a trapped bird. Kitni gadbad hai. I had messed it all up. He’d just made me so angry. He should have known. Not to push me around. I didn’t want that. I had had enough of that to last me a lifetime.

I didn’t want any of this. I wanted t—

But I wanted him.

No.

I didn’t want to want him.

No. I didn’t… I sighed. It was so damn exhausting.

I wanted to go back. Go back to seven months ago.

But then... something snagged in my chest. I would have never met him.

Emotion choked in my throat. I couldn’t trade any of our memories.

Couldn’t erase it from my mind. His soft glances, hot touches, dirty words. I wanted it all.

You know I always will.

You know you’re incredibly strong, right?

I didn’t want to replace any of it. Even the times he angered me with his lunacy. Especially those times. Because I’d rather have this marriage with fireworks than a dead-bolted one like I’d had with a prison guard. I buried my head in my hands.

You had to go and mess it up.

What a way to start my second marriage. The first one was a disaster, and it looked like this was sliding down the same path.

I didn’t even realise I was crying until the wetness pooled in my palms. My shoulders shook with emotion as I wept for a past that had traumatised me, but a future I wouldn’t have had, had it not been for it.

Minutes ticked while I sat there on the floor, then I decided I didn’t want him to find me like this. Didn’t want him to see me in tears. Not even him.

I removed my jewellery and pushed it away towards the wall.

Then I pulled myself up and dropped my saree to the floor on the way to the shower.

His bathroom was dark and moody. Black textured walls, dim orange lighting and black steel taps.

It fit him perfectly, just like it did my mood.

I flipped the tap open and walked into it.

I needed to set things right with him. My husband.

My husband.

I didn’t know how to manoeuvre on this new road. I was as lost as a baby bird trying to find its way in the new world.

I was still wracking my brains how I could warm up to him when he walked into the shower. His front brushed my back, and his palms clasped the wall, boxing me in. “You’re a fucking distraction. I was going to tear your saree,” he growled against my neck.

I didn’t even try to make sense of what he said.

He took the bottle of shampoo in his hands and squeezed it into my hair.

Instead of rubbing it in, he slid it across and yanked my hair back to cock my head to his.

His gaze narrowed at my red-rimmed eyes.

“If you want to bring the milk, you can do it later. You want an Indian wedding? We’ll do it.

You want a traditional first night? I’ll give it to you.

But we aren’t going to be the couple to follow traditions.

If you want, you can have this as the first night, I’m going to fuck you ten times sideways.

That’s going to be our new tradition, capisci? ”

And I don’t know why. If it had anything to do with the raw honesty in his words or the deep sadness whirling in his eyes, I found myself agreeing to building new traditions.