Page 47 of Twisted Vows

“Mia, you’re—”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off, not wanting to talk while his seed drips from my pussy.

“No, you’re not, and that’s okay, but listen to me,mia caramellina.”

When I try to brush him off, he pinches my chin and pulls me tighter against him.

“I want to infect every part of your life, but this was too fast. I’m sorry. I won’t fuck you in the living room again until you’re ready.”

How in the hell did he know that was the catalyst for my mental break?

“But I can’t keep my hands off you for long. I’ll take you to and from work and give you every freedom I can during the day, but you’ll be in my bed every night.Capisci?”

Part of me wants to believe him, but I scoff and shake my head, needing to push him as far away as possible.

“Did you really just use the word freedom? That’s rich coming from you.”

He sighs and releases my chin. With a few smooth moves, he tucks himself away, fixes my clothes, and lifts me off the floor. I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to put my hands on him, and scowl when he sits me on the counter again.

Disgust and perverse delight war within me. My skirt does little to buffer how drenched my panties are. It’s gross. The counter needs to be sanitized now.

But I’m not ready to add another argument into the mix, so I sit with my arms crossed over my chest and a scowl on my face.

He pours a glass of water and hands it to me before pulling out his phone and leaning his hip beside my knee. I ignore the way my body wants to lean toward him and focus on drinking the water.

A knock on the door startles me, but after checking the peephole, Fiero opens the door and accepts my bag from the courier. With a pointed look, he demands I stay on the counter as he takes it to my bedroom. I swallow and eye the front door. He’s testing me.

I roll the empty glass between my palms and stare at the door handle until he returns. He takes the glass, refills it, and gives it back to me without a word.

A few minutes later, food delivery knocks on the door. I don’t move even when Fiero leaves the vestibule wide open as he pays and walks the delivery man back to the elevator. My stomach clenches at his cordial mannerisms. I set the glass down, grabthe edge of the counter, and white-knuckle the laminate when the mess between my legs squishes.

He feeds me with one hip propped on the counter as I sit on the chilly surface, then boxes up the food, shuts it in the fridge, and cradles me to his chest. I grind my teeth, aggravating my headache as he sets me on my feet in the bathroom and strips me naked. After turning on the shower and testing the temperature, he guides me inside but leaves the curtain and door open as he stalks down the hall. I sigh and step under the spray.

My mind shuts off as I move through my normal shower routine, and for a moment, I pretend it was all a dream, but when a massive, dangerous mafia man darkens the bathroom doorway, the illusion shatters.

I ignore him as best as I can, even when he joins me in the shower. He crowds the space, so I finish and stand in the corner. With nothing else to do, I can’t help but watch him as he cleans himself. It’s sexy as fuck. I hate him for being so attractive.

He turns off the water and dries me head to toe before using the same towel on himself. I lotion myself while he’s distracted and dress in the clothes he brought from my room before he can stop me. The disappointment in his gaze fills me with yearning, but I pick up my brush and set to work on my hair while it’s wet.

He tugs his underwear onto his hips but drapes the rest of his clothes over his arm and leads me to my room. As I plug in my phone to charge, he shuts the door and hangs his trousers and shirt on my rolling clothes rack.

I don’t fight other than to glare at him when he pulls me down onto the bed, but he lies on his back, pulls me against his side, and demands I sleep with a terse word.

I wake alone and disoriented in my bed. Delicious smells pull me toward the kitchen, but I trip on my sheets and land on the floor with a graceless thud.

A masculine curse and heavy footfalls clear the fog from my brain. Fiero’s broad frame fills the doorway.

I’ve never seen the shirt stretched over his chest or the jeans hugging his waist. Embarrassment streaks through me as I realize how dumb I must look. He squats and frames my face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I think so,” I croak.

I ache inside and out, but telling him will only stroke his ego, so I shift to a sitting position and push his hands away. He picks me up as though I weigh nothing and sits me on the bed. Before I can rise, he places a hand on my shoulder.

The pinching of my bladder demands attentionnow,so I huff and gesture to the bathroom. He carries me the few steps and leaves the door cracked behind him.

Not sure how to handle his courtesies, I take care of business and shuffle back into my room. I can’t recall ever feeling so stiff, even after years of all-nighters and endless shifts.

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