Page 19 of The Mafia’s Bride (The Women of the Mafia #1)

LEX

T he silence of the hotel suite rings in my ears as I leave the chaos of the wedding downstairs.

Two rival families coming together with alcohol? It doesn’t make for kind words or warm handshakes and affectionate cheek kisses. It brings up all the old tensions, old grudges that a wedding between two families can’t end overnight.

By the third drunken fight, in which a cousin punched a brother for something they did as children, I knew it was time to go.

Nico and Maria were downstairs, handling the guests while Maeve handled the venue.

Somehow, Nico negotiated a large monetary deal for Sloane’s marriage in exchange for the contract.

A real-life dowry, paid for by her sister, another insurance that she’s provided for.

It didn’t matter to me. De Luca coffers ran deep just like O’Brien.

Placing my back against the door, it takes me a moment to realize my new bride is in the suite, already undressing for the night.

It would have been easy for her to disappear. If I didn’t take the precaution.

All the doors and windows had been sealed. Extra cameras were set up. And that gorgeous diamond wedding band—Maria’s engagement ring—was rigged with a tracking device. I didn’t trust my new wife not to flee the moment my back was turned.

Taking in the slip of skin I see through the cracked door, it’s easy to give into the fantasy that this is like every other wedding night.

A new bride waiting for her groom to attend her.

As a child, I always knew I wanted to be married, to be the man and husband my father never was for me and my family.

But this isn’t any normal marriage. Sloane is not a typical bride.

I’d be remiss not to notice how she entered the church, a total vision in her white dress, bright red curls a beacon in the dark. But it was the flashing in those green eyes—eyes that promised my ruin that kept my attention.

Her body deserves to be dressed in jewels, covered in soft silk, but those eyes? Mio Dio . They’ll break me, shatter me if given enough time.

Rubbing a thumb over my still sore lip, I smile in remembrance. It wasn’t enough for her to kiss me, she had to leave a lasting impression. What does it say that I enjoyed her abuse, because I knew it was that inner strength I enjoyed most about her.

Sloane’s fighting might be a normal drawback for others, perhaps a way to push those less deserving away. But it’s heated my blood with an intense longing I can’t rid. I still want to wrap my hands around her throat, but fuck if I don’t want to pull her close too.

Just the idea that she is mine—fully, legally—now makes my head spin. I’ve never been like this before, never this tied up over a woman.

Never have I been this pulled toward one person, all logic, all reason flying out the window whenever they’re concerned. It goes beyond the physical. I want Sloane in such a way that I want a piece of her heart tucked into my chest, kept with me so I’m never alone, never without her again.

She moves again, drawing me to notice the slope of her back, the dainty curve of her neck. I want to know my new wife, but there’s another reason roaring inside of me. A need to have her, feel her. Claim her as mine in the most primal of ways .

I can still taste her release on my tongue. See how her eyes rolled back into her head as I shoved my fingers into her mouth.

Would she let me do it again? Have her so completely that she’s at my mercy?

I need to find out.

I hide in the crook of the door, watching her. The fluffy dress falls to the ground and she steps out, still in those thin white spikes and the white thong that I could break with my teeth.

Everywhere else, she’s naked. Her full breasts hang free, her gold cross right above them reflecting the soft lighting from the beside table. Mio Dio . She’s a Goddamn fallen angel and I’m ready to fall to my knees for just one scathing word from her red lips.

My eyes travel further, taking in the glorious sight before me. Her skin is creamy, no marks beside the freckles on her chest and the small red rose on her lower back.

Like Sloane, a rose with thorns, only able to be picked by those daring enough to try.

My feet are moving before I can think, stepping up behind her. Her body reacts as gooseflesh breaks out over her arms.

She locks eyes with me in the vanity mirror. Those daring eyes, flicker between ire and desire.

A knife sits in front of her. I expect nothing less from Ferguson O’Brien’s daughter.

I should be a gentleman and give her privacy. But I don’t dare fight the urge as I drink in her form. Who knows the next time I’ll be given this simple gift?

Dusty pink nipples in full, heavy breasts. A dip down the middle with a belly cradled between two thick thighs. Long legs that would cradle my hips perfectly. A slip of white fabric hiding away what I really want to see. What I fucking need to see.

Christ . I clench my fists to stop from grabbing her thick hair and wrapping it around my fist. I want to bend her over this vanity and finally feel her pussy wrap around my cock. To have her in every way I can get—claiming her body, branding her soul with my ownership .

“Get a good view now, husband,” she purrs though it’s dipping in malice. “Because you won’t get to see it again.”

My eyebrows rise in challenge.

“Really?” I trail a finger over her shoulders, loving how she instinctively wants to lean back against my touch. I’m not the only one affected by our chemistry. “You don’t think you and I will ever sleep together?”

“No.”

I tsk lightly, berating a disrespecting pet. “Remember what I told you, Sloane? You can’t escape me.” I lean closer. “You’ve already had my hand between your legs. You’re going to want to repeat that, but with my cock inside of you.”

She snorts, but her cheeks brighten. “Unlikely.”

“You and I both know what needs to happen in order to consummate the marriage and be seen as a successful match.” A barbaric custom but no less important in the family.

Granted it was done when the bride was a virgin, giving the bloody sheets to the Capo as a way of proving legitimacy. It’s rooted in patriarchal bullshit that Maria cursed out the night she married Nico. We’ve never forced the issue since.

I know Sloane is not a virgin and I don’t care either way. I want a woman who knows her body, enjoys the pleasure it can feel and can handle my type of intensity. Only someone experienced can enjoy that.

I’ll also be the last cock she has, so there is that soothing my ego.

We don’t need to show evidence of our arrangement, but I don’t tell Sloane that. I want to see how she responds, hear those words, feel that fire lash out. Maybe, I am a masochist.

One day, we’ll discuss what should come from our marriage, but talking of heirs is not something I’m going to broach with my wife. Not when she’s within striking range.

Quickly, she grabs the knife, holding it to her chest like a shield. “We both know I’m not a simpering maiden. If you’re looking for a bloody bed, I’d be happy to cut you and spill your blood all over it. All in the name of duty. ”

“You always this murderous, my menace? Or is it just me that brings out that side in you,” I drawl, fingers curling into her hair.

I tilt her head forcefully as we lock eyes in the mirror.

I’m not truly upset—in fact I enjoy it. “Get on your knees, wife , and I’ll gladly let you slice into my skin.

I’ll let you do anything to me the minute you admit that I’m your husband and agree to never leave. ”

Just to hear her call me her husband, to gain her word that this marriage was binding, I would give her the world if she asked.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She recovers quickly, chest heaving. “I’m not the type to submit. Not to you or any other man.” She tries to tug away, but I wretch her closer. “I don’t want any part of you near me. Ever .”

“That’s not what you said on the night of our engagement dinner.

” I roll my tongue, enjoying how she shakes in my arms. “You wanted to fuck me the first night you saw me. If I had whipped out my cock, would you have taken it like the greedy slut you are? How wet are you now, little menace? I’ll bet you’re fucking dripping for me. ”

She rolls her eyes but her cheeks flare to a fine crimson. She’s most definitely turned on.

Without thinking, I slid my free hand around her waist, massaging the flesh on her sides. She’s soft and giving, and I would give my left arm to touch her skin directly.

But I won’t. Not yet. I’m not willing to broach my scars with her yet.

She stumbles into me, and I barely hold it together. She fits there. Her head rests just under my chin in her heels, ass cradling me like it’s made for me.

Because, fucking hell, of course she is. She’s made for me.

A woman so unlike me, who can turn me on and see red all at once, fits against me so well. Fate has a cruel sense of humor.

“Well, that’s over now.” She scoffs, allowing my hands to explore her body while her eyes track the details in the mirror. I don’t mention how she lets me support her body, giving in to the caresses, arching to have more. “I’ve moved on from you. ”

“Obviously.” Daring her, I graze the underside of one breast watching as she trembles. She’s all grace and wanton lust rolled into a perfect body.

She might hate me, loathe me. But she certainty wants to fuck me.

Lowering my mouth to her ear, I whisper, “Do you like to watch?”

Licking her lips, green eyes catch mine and hold. Her breathing halts and I smile deliciously slow. “You do. Have you ever watched before? Watched someone fuck you, so you could see the pleasure covering your face?”

She snorts, but she doesn’t confirm. Maybe this superficial, attention-seeking party girl is really just a woman starved for something? Starved for love, for real attention, for acceptance.

There’s a large part that knows my main concern should be fulfilling the contract—making sure she’s safe and cared for while securing Ace’s shipments.