Page 48 of Princess of the Mafia

“I won’t know anyway if you did.” Bitterness laced her voice.

How am I to win this game? How can I prove I wasn’t cheating on her? It seemed it was easier to prove unfaithfulness.

“I guess you won’t, but I respect you enough to tell you if I did.”

She pinned me with her big blue eyes. “So, you cheated?”

I gritted my teeth. “That’s not what I said. If, God forbid, I cheated on you, I would tell you.”

She fidgeted with her hands, still looking unconvinced, and I was getting tired. I’d come home with one reward in mind. “I’d like to have another one of those cannolis.”

She obediently took one and offered it to me. I shook my head. “Feed it to me, Principessa.” She frowned as if I’d asked her to make it herself. “With your mouth.” And even though it killed me, I added, “If you want to.”

Her eyes flickered from the cannoli to me and back. She’d stepped just out of reach, and I willed her to step in between my legs. She threw a glance behind her.

“She’s not here,” I whispered hoarsely.

Come on Principessa. Fucking kiss me.

When she glanced at me again, I was sure she’d run. But I thought she surprised herself and me by stepping in between my legs. I stiffened my thighs and willed them not to close her in. It had to be her choice. Kiss me like you’ve been thinking of me the whole damn day.

Both our gazes dropped to the sweet in her hand. I hated Sicily. I couldn’t stand anything that reminded me of Mamma, and Sicily was all of that. But here I was, craving a childhood sweet like it was nostalgia pulling me in when it was nothing but her.

The crack when she brought it to her lips and took a bite was loud. Doubt crossed her mind. I imagined her wondering how she was going to do it. I ached to wrap my hand around the back of her neck and yank her to me. But instead, I kept my hands planted on my thighs in plain sight.

Then she leaned over and touched her lips to mine. Jesus, will I be punished? Because I didn’t wait for her and opened my mouth to the sweetness of the cannoli and her. Nothing could ever taste better than this. Except maybe her pussy. I groaned to banish that thought, and she was pulling away. Not today, Principessa.

I wrapped my hands around her sweet ass and pulled her up. I can’t remember the last time I’d wanted something as much as I did her.

Fuck! It felt good that she didn’t protest and wrapped her legs around me. Before I knew it, I was up to the clatter of the bar stool rolling on the floor. I pushed her against the kitchen island and deepened the kiss, letting my tongue run in her mouth, seeking all the crusts she might have hidden in her sinfully sweet mouth.

Her breasts grazed my chest, and I wanted to shred all her clothing and fuck her against the kitchen counter. I wanted her soaked in her fucking cannoli so I could lick every drop off her soft skin.

I sucked the soft whimper off her mouth, soaked it in my tongue, and sent it pushing right back in. I tried, I really tried, not to grind against her, but honestly, my heart wasn’t in it. She felt good. Even with her clothes on, her pussy felt like a million bucks against my dick.

Fuck! I wanted this woman. On top of me, underneath me, against the kitchen island. But with a groan and a million curses in my mind, I pulled myself off her fucking seductive mouth.

Her lips trembled, and mine burned with a fever. Our heated breaths fused, and her eyes hazed.

The vibration of her heartbeat rocked against my chest.

Oh, yes! My girl liked being lavished.

The thought skidded through me that I never wanted to see her like this with another man.

“Just wanted to leave an imprint on you, Principessa. You know, if you’re thinking of cheating on me, you’d have something to remember me by.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LORENZO

The gust of New York traffic grated on my nerves. I hated traveling by car, but worse than that was being driven in one. Illogical? Even the dickhead I was knew that. What happened to Mamma couldn’t happen again. But fuck if agitation didn’t line the walls of my stomach to have her in a driving blast machine.

My gaze stroked my wife. I didn’t care for the tension floating in here like a thick, tangible veil. Mine was nothing but fear and pent-up sexual frustration, but I had a feeling hers was something else. Or was it? She kept her thighs clenched to the seat and her back pasted to the door like she wanted to melt herself into the car as an accessory. Like I was a monster and not her fucking husband.

“I won’t know anyway if you did” had been etched into my brain for some time. So I’d found her licking off another one of those damn cannoli’s and ordered her to get ready to visit my offices. She’d looked at me like I’d blown my skull out.

She didn’t have to remind me it was not done to show the women where we worked. I knew that all too well. Still, I’d bundled her up in the car like a newly married man eager to show off his working premises to his wife. The only truth in that was that I was newlywed. Eager not so much, but even though it pained me, I was smart enough to know I would never break those damn walls around her unless I showed her I was a man who was intent on keeping my word.

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