Page 41 of Twisted Vows

I’m sure she expected a quick trip to the courthouse to sign a few documents, but I can’t do that to her. We won’t start our marriage in dirty jeans.

She may not believe me, but I’m marrying for keeps. Even if we’re eloping, I’m still going to give her everything I can.

When she tries to back out of my hands, I steal a quick peck on her forehead, truly sorry for aggravating her injury, and guide her toward the rack of dresses. She crosses her arms over herchest, obscuring my view of her perfect breasts, and stares at the clothes.

When she doesn’t reach out for anything, I press my front to her back and unbutton her jeans.

“Choose something before I bend you over and take you from behind right here, right now,” I growl into her ear.

She grabs the nearest item. I chuckle and lick her temple.

“That won’t work,mia caramellina. Choose a dress you want to wear, otherwise I’ll make you try on every outfit—and steal a taste of your curves each time.”

She sighs and shoves the hanger back on the bar with a metallic clink.

“I haven’t worn a dress in years. This is stupid. Let’s just—”

I tuck my fingers into her waistband and inch her jeans down her hips.

With an angry huff, she jabs her elbow into my wounded bicep and steps forward. I roll my shoulders and flex my hand as I enjoy the view. Her breasts wobble as she filters through the selection.

“Don’t you have something to do?”

Her annoyed tone has my balls in a vice grip. I run my tongue over my bottom lip and commit her beauty to memory before turning my attention to the other rack of clothes.

I undress and pull on a long-sleeve, slim-fit dress shirt, suit pants, black socks, glossy derby dress shoes, a sleek belt, and cufflinks.

When I turn around, I nearly drool all over my new clothes.

Perched on the bench lining the wall,mia caramellinaleans so far forward her ample breasts almost pop out of the low-cut square neckline of her dress. As she fixes the heel of her ballet flat and rises, the hem of her skirt rests just above her knee. With ruching around the waist, a tight bodice, and lacy, flowy sleeves,her dress accentuates her curves while giving her a classy, flirty air.

“I’m done. Let’s go,” she grumbles as she heads toward the curtain.

I lunge forward, wrap my fingers around her throat from behind, and halt her before she exits the room but leave an inch between our bodies so I don’t grind my cock against her ass.

“Sit on the stool. Over there. By the vanity.”

She broke me. Full sentences are too hard.

My cock is harder.

She’s sexier than a pin-up girl yet classier than a queen. My queen.

A flash of unease hits me as the thought reminds me of her reaction to being called aprincipessa. The information is important, but I don’t know why.

She plops down onto the stool. I open the curtain, wave the makeup artist and hairdresser into the room, and lean back against the wall to enjoy the showdown.

After a moment of eyeing the women, Mia rubs a hand over her face before accepting their attention, but as they launch into their expertise, she subtly convinces them to go easy on her. With a light coating of makeup on her face and her hair in a simple, elegant updo, she thanks them and rises from the stool.

My breath catches in my throat. Despite my release less than two hours ago, I fear I’ll have blue balls by the time I get her alone again. I don’t recall ever being this horny, not even during my teenage years.

She quirks a perfect brow and gestures toward the door with obvious impatience.

Wanting to wrap my arms around her and tease her about being overeager but aware of how thin my control has become, I snag her bag from the floor, retrieve her ID and phone, and motion for her to choose a new bag from the wall. She huffsand stomps over to the display. I wait, ready to butt heads with her, but she quirks a brow and makes a show of considering her options before selecting the one she wants.

I pay for everything with my personal card, not worried about the cost since I earn my keep protecting the Vivaldi family. I’ve also built a portfolio large enough to live off the investments for the rest of my life. In fact, I could support Mia and a couple of kids with ease as well, but mentioning that would probably only make her more angry and skeptical. Plus, Mia Rivera is not the kind of woman to sit around all day. From what I saw of her while I staked out the ER, she takes immense pride in her job. Asking her to quit would be the stupidest thing I could do.

She stomps over to me and holds her hand out, palm up, and gives a pointed look at her phone.

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