Page 17 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

Chapter Ten

NEVIO

Dalila stomps off, her feet heavy against the stairs as she tries to get her anger out with each step she takes. I close my eyes, my heart feeling heavy. This is not the evening I had hoped for when we came back from the church.

I don’t know if I am supposed to give her space or grab her in my arms and hold her close.

I don’t know how the fuck to handle a woman. I’ve never had to deal with this before.

Why can’t she see that I’m just trying to do what is best for her to keep her safe, like her brother asked?

I can’t tell her what’s going on because I don’t fucking know.

I pick up a book, laying on the counter near me, and fling it across the room in anger. It hits a standing light and both smash to the floor.

“Fuck.” I shout.

I head into the living room where I have a bar built into the wall and pour myself a whisky, downing it, letting it burn all the way down my throat, searing against my skin and distracting me for an infinitesimal moment.

I’ll give her a little bit of time to cool down, then I’ll go in and talk to her. I need to explain that I don’t know enough yet. But I’ll find out. I’ll do anything for her. She is my wife now - my life - my everything. And I will do anything to make her happy. To keep her safe.

All I wanted on my wedding night was to lie in bed with her and feel her skin, explore her body, claim her properly as my own. I showed patience last night. Tonight I want to push my cock inside her and own her.

My cock stirs at the thought.

I try to ignore it.

Pulling my jacket off, I toss it onto the sofa nearby and pour another drink. My thoughts are running wild now. Just one momentary image of her beautiful, naked body, and now I’m losing control. She is my wife and I need to claim her.

I pull the top few buttons of my shirt loose as I pace up and down the living room. Glancing at my watch, I realize she’s been upstairs for an hour already. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve given her enough time and I have to make this right.

I have to make her mine.

She’s so angry with me, but I’m not the bad guy. Not this time. I climb the stairs two at a time, my long legs making it look easy. I push the closed bedroom door open and step inside.

“Dalila.”

The bed is empty. My heart leaps in fear. Where the fuck is she? Did she leave? How can I be so stupid?

But then I see the blanket on the sofa near the window in my room. It’s moving as she breathes, tucked safely under it. I shake my head. I already made it clear last night that she will be sharing my bed. Why would she think I’d let her sleep on the couch? Especially now that we are married.

I walk over to her, looking down at her - the way her waist dips in as she lies on her side, her legs curled up against her chest. I take the corner of the blanket and drag it off her, revealing her body, inch my inch.

She’s taken off the dress, and she’s wearing my shirt. The one I wanted to see her in.

My cock pulses.

I pull the blanket further off her body so that I can see everything. The way the shirt has drifted up over her back and her gorgeous ass is on display. I lean down and run my hand over her thigh, inside her leg.

Stop. What are you doing? She’s not even awake. This isn’t how you wanted it to be.

My mind and my body fight wildly. Both wanting to overthrow the other as my cock throbs and begs to my thrust into her.

I step away from her, closing my eyes to shut out the beautiful image of her soft skin and perfect curves.

Stop.

Pick her up.

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