Page 82 of Thorns of Death

She attempted a smile but failed. “How about you just call me Isla?”

Enzo grinned like the troublemaker he was. “I think I like Mom. OrMatrigna.”

Amadeo chuckled. “Matrigna. But a good one.”

Isla rolled her eyes. “You can call me Mom, but I won’t answer. And I have no idea what ‘matrigna’ is.”

“Stepmom in Italian,” Enzo answered. “Mia matrigna. Ormia mamma.”

Both boys liked her; otherwise, they wouldn’t be teasing her.

Enzo told me what they talked about in the safe room. It only affirmed my decision to marry her.

In those twenty minutes or so that Isla was in the safe room with them, she gave them more attention than their own mother had since the moment they were born. It wasn’t much of a comparison, but I knew Isla was nothing like Donatella. I knew she’d protect Amadeo and Enzo, as well as our future children, like the lioness she was.

“Okay, boys. No more teasing.” I wrapped my hand around my young wife’s waist. “You will go with Manuel. I’m taking the driver with Isla.”

They grumbled and complained but followed Manuel to his car nonetheless. Once they drove away, I ushered my wife into our own car and slid in right behind her.

“Take the long way to the house,” I said to my driver in Italian before shutting the partition.

I grabbed her tiny waist and lifted her, bringing her to my lap.

“Whoa,” she squealed, her small palms pressing against my shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“You left me without a word.” I spread my legs wide, my cock rock hard for her already. “My balls have been aching for you.”

Her porcelain skin flushed pink. “I’m sure you had a line of women just ready to ease that ache in your balls.”

I spanked her ass lightly, the silk of her wedding dress obstructing my access to her skin.

“I don’t want those women.” I pushed my hands to the nape of her neck and tightened them into fists around her fiery curls. “I want you. My wife.”

She shrugged her slim shoulders, her hips swaying. “Unzip my dress, then,” she murmured, watching me through hooded eyes.

“Little one, it’s the wrong time to tease me.”

The sound of the zipper sent a seductive echo through the car space. Her dress slid down her body and pooled around her waist. My nostrils flared as her breasts came into full view.

Dio, she was so fucking sexy.

I pulled her dress over her head and let it fall to the limousine floor with a soft ruffle. My hand roamed her hip, then inside her thighs. I reached her panties, noting the fabric was soaked. I stroked over her seam and heard her breath catch.

Every muscle in my body was rigid, fighting the urge to pin her down and thrust into her tight, hot entrance. The city streets blurred through the tinted window, but none of it mattered. Nothing did, except this woman sitting on my lap.

The need for her was so overwhelming, so animalistic, I thought I’d lose my mind. I wanted to grind into her, shoot my seed into her.

Her tits were in my face, her small waist perfect under my palms.

“I want answers,” she murmured as she leaned forward, her nipples brushing against the material of my suit. I slapped her ass again and she whimpered, her thighs squeezing me as she straddled me.

“Didn’t I tell you to wear a dress when you came to see me?”

Her brows pinched. “Does that really matter right now?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t,” I agreed. Stretching out on the seat, I pulled her with me. “Sit on my face. Right now.”

“What?” she said, and I slapped her ass again.