Page 21 of Dating the Don

He’s chosen a simple black outfit for the evening. He’s hosting a lavish engagement party for us tonight and I have to admit that I’m starting to get a little bit excited. Foolish, I know. It’s just a deal. It will be over sooner or later. But maybe it’s okay if I let myself pretend for just a little bit.

The makeup brush in my hand is momentarily forgotten as he fastens the jewels to his shirt before turning his focus back to me.

It doesn’t matter that the force of his attention is diluted through the mirror that I’m watching him through. I fumble anyway. He gives me a wry, easy smile as he starts to move toward me and I make a dramatic show of wiping my blush over the apples of my cheeks and hastily drop the thing back onto the vanity table in front of me. He seems so comfortable in his skin with every movement that it makes me almost feel jealous. I want to disarm him the same way. Yet, he’s so comfortable around me, it’s almost like he’s been waiting his whole life to be able to touch me so freely.

Even now, the moment he’s close enough to touch me, he does. His curled knuckles run down the bare skin of my back. The dress that I’ve chosen is black only because he requested it. He knows I would have opted for color otherwise. My short red hair is pinned back behind one ear and kept in place with a gold rectangular pin. And the dangling earrings I have on are adorned with large rainbow-colored diamonds. I like them because they reflect the light no matter what angle you look at them from.

Cristiano's knuckles follow the contour of my bare spine, just coming to a stop slightly below the curve of my back as they pass over the skirt's hem. Although the front isn't nearly as provocative, there is a small amount of cleavage shown because the tiny straps are fastened behind my neck. But what I like most about it is the thigh-high slit in the front.

“I like this.” Cristiano compliments as his hand flattens and turns over the exposed skin, and then back up until he can cup the front of my neck possessively. It’s such a subtle touch, but I feel the warmth of it everywhere. My eyes lift to his reflection and I fight to keep from leaning back into him as he stands tall behind me.

“Thank you,” I answer easily.

Though, why do I have to fight the urge? The door is locked, it’s not like we haven’t indulged over the last week together. I lean back into his body, and the grip he has on my neck shifts, claiming.

“Careful,” he warns.

My answering smile is devilish. “Or what?”

The challenge in my voice is instantly met. In a moment he’s spun me around and stepped closer, one of his legs parting mine as he looks down over me. “You know, I think you’re starting to like the struggle simply for struggle’s sake.”

“And what if I am?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply ask for what you want?”

Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m certainly not going to dignify that question with a response.

Cristiano bends at the waist with a knowing smirk. “Or would you rather I simply started taking what I want from you?”

His fingers shift, holding my jaw firmly, but not hurting, even though I know that he could if he wanted to. Instead, he lowers his face to mine, kissing me with such softness that I almost can’t stand it. I almost want to push for more, to challenge him into something that I don’t even know. But just like that, he’s gone.

My lips chase after his despite my best efforts and he chuckles darkly as he steps away from me.

“Tsk tsk. I wouldn’t want to smudge your lipstick.”

I bite my bottom lip. My pride tries to keep me in place. It tries to make me see reason but I can’t. That kiss wasn’t nearly enough. “Please,” I mutter, the sound barely a whisper.

Cristiano raises his brows. Surprise flits over his face for only half a second before he holds a hand out to me to help me to my feet. A gesture that I happily accept. Only, he pulls me so swiftly that my body collides into his, my breasts flattening against his chest as his one hand finds my ass and the other cups the back of my neck at the same moment. He envelops me, the oaky undertones of his cologne wrap around us both as he kisses me so soundly that I forget how to breathe.

Fuck the makeup. Forget the whole party, actually. It seems like a much, much better idea just to stay here like this. That’s what I really would rather to be doing anyway. Somehow, it’s started to seem like the only times that I don’t have to think about what’scoming or worry about anything is when we are here in his room together. Our room.

I pull him closer to me, a needy moan of hunger leaving my lips as I open for him. I let my mind turn off and just drift easily into the bliss of sensation. I only exist where he’s touching me. No worries or troubles, just the desire that he magically coaxes brighter and brighter inside of me.

I want the red of my lipstick all over him.

Just for tonight, I want to claim him. I want the whole world toseethat he’s been marked by me and me alone. I break the kiss only long enough to press a deep mark of red right on the side of his neck where the collar of his shirt won’t be able to hide it. My gaze is heavy and lidded as I look up at him. He doesn't smile. I can’t read the emotions on his face as he looks from me to the reflection of what I’ve done on his neck, and then back to me.

Something softens as his thumb runs over my bottom lip. Something between us shifts, lust no longer driving my actions but something more deliberate. I moved with intention. I wanted to mark him and I have no right to do that.

“Fuck… I didn’t…” Excuses are right there on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble off and into the air between us to rectify the awkwardness that I’ve caused when he shakes his head.

“Shut up,” he whispers and kisses me again. The command in his voice would have kept me from protesting, but this is exactly what I wanted in the first place.

He walks us back toward the vanity and spins me once more. Fast enough that I have to slap my hands down on it to keep from falling forward. Cristiano is right there, quickly wrapping an arm around me and keeping me upright so that my back is pressed against his chest. He cups my jaw again with the other hand and forces me to look at our reflection in the mirror.

“Look at us, Maeve,” he commands as if I could look anywhere else. “Do you see someone who needs to apologize for anything? Because what I see, is a woman who wanted something and took it.”

I let my gaze drift to his neck. He nods in confirmation.

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