Page 13 of Satin Empire

But I’m also blushing because I’ve also been thinking about his hands on my body and the way he looked at me with that possessive snarl, half overcome with rage and half with dripping lust, and those few seconds with his hands on my tits were some of the most erotic of my entire life. Which is pretty sad, come to think of it, and I’m not even a virgin. Carlo managed to top all the awkward fumbling and crotch-bumping two horny teenagers could manage with nothing but a glare and a couple of big hands on my nipples. And an even bigger hard cock against my back.

“Can we not talk about that?” I say but that only makes his smirk deepen.

“It’s all I want to talk about. I have a thousand questions. Like, where did you learn those dance moves?”

“You’re just jealous I can shake it like nobody’s business.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “That wasn’t shaking it. I’m pretty sure you did the sprinkler at least twice.”

“The crowd loved it.”

“True, you somehow made cheesy Dad dance moves sexy.”

I feel my blush intensify. “I don’t want to get off topic, okay? I don’t want to marry you and that’s the end of it. So what do we do from here?”

He considers me. I wonder if he’s thinking about my problem or if he’s imagining our wedding night. I really hope both—actually, no, the former—okay, if I’m honest, I want him to picture ripping into me with that massive dick of his and making me scream.

“I’ll talk to my brother.”

I stare at him, surprised into silence for once in my life. “Really?” I ask, tentative, wondering if he’s going to turn this around on me somehow.

“Chances are it won’t matter, but I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t you have any say in it?”

His voice softens and he leans closer. “Do you?”

Okay, I get his point, but still. “He’s your brother. That should count for something, right? I’m the stepdaughter. My opinion means less than nothing in this family.”

He doesn’t seem to like that, but he shakes his head. “I’m the last brother left and Renzo needs one of us to make this alliance official and binding. Which means there’s nobody else to marry you except for me. Whether we like it or not.”

“But you said you’d talk to him.”

“And I will, only I need you to understand my situation. The Rossi Famiglia is everything to me, and even though I want this about as much as you do, I will perform my duty and walk down the aisle.”

I look away, trying not to picture standing in front of a room filled with people, Carlo’s hands in mine, while the priest intones the wedding vows. Sounds like an absolute nightmare.

“Just talk to him.” I turn away, back toward the restaurant. The guards are lurking nearby, dutifully watching everything but us. “We should head back.”

Carlo doesn’t move right away. I can tell he’s torn about something, but I don’t want to keep having this conversation. I want out of our marriage; he doesn’t think that’s going to happen. Fine, whatever, I can’t do anything about it right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It’s nothing personal to him—no matter who I was engaged to right now, I’d be struggling to get out of it, except for maybe Angel from the Buffy series, but I’m not sure marrying a deeply conflicted vampire would be much better than a macho asshole mafia guy.

Which leaves me few options. Carlo will talk to his brother, for all the good that’ll do, but I can’t sit back and let this just happen. I need to take some control back. If getting out of this through him isn’t going to work, then I need to come up with another plan before events get out of hand and I find myself kissing him in front of a priest.

Chapter 7

Carlo

I’m breathing hard as I run down a narrow garden path. An enormous butterfly bush looms on my left and colorful, wild-looking flowers sprout up on the right, everything lumped together and growing into the path. I careen around the corner, sweat dribbling down my skin, and I turn around to see if my pursuer is keeping up, a spike of fear when I see him hurtling after me with the most wicked grin on his little face.

“I’m gonna get you, Uncle Carlo!!!” Brando screams like a maniac.

I laugh, try to dodge him, but the little bugger slams into me like a freight train. Even at five years old, Brando’s a freaking tank, easily as big as kids three or four years older. I stagger and let him take me down, and then I’m trying to fend him off as he pretends to beat me, slamming his head into my chest and cackling like a creature from the pits of hell.

“You fool,” I shout and jab my fingers under his arms. “You fell into my tickle trap, and now you will pay!” I tickle the shit out of the kid and he screams with laughter. I roll him over onto the grass and he’s kicking and flailing, and even though I take some little kid feet to the chest, I keep on tickling him until he manages to squirm away.

“Okay, you two.” Maddie waves from the far end of the path, shaking her head and grinning. “Brando, I think you’ve done enough damage to poor Uncle Carlo.”

“Not yet,” Brando says, climbing to his feet. “He hasn’t been defeated yet.”

---