Page 96 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

Marco waits, patiently, at the edge of the couch.

I prop myself up on my elbows, blinking down at him.

It’s a good thing that his lips turn up into a smile, because I’ve no idea what to say.

“No one else has made you come like that?” he growls.

Numb, I nod.

“Good. Because what I want to do to you Roisin, no one will ever do. Do you hear me? The way I’m going to fuck you, there will be no other man who can do that like I can.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I’m struck with another one of those stray thoughts.

Marco doesn’t lie.

I gulp. Does he mean right now? As in, we’re going to do this at the moment? Here? On the couch, this very second?

His eyes flash. “Do you want that?”

Of course I do. Inod.

His grin is sinful. “Good. But first, I think something is burning.”

I finally notice the scent that I thought was just my own post-orgasm haze. Scrambling up, I look at the stove, and shriek. “Help me get these out!” I say.

Marco laughs, coming up to cover me with a blanket. “There’s more food, love. We’ll figure it out.”

He moves into the kitchen, but one word rings through my mind like a bell.

Love.

18

MARCO

We end up making pasta.

It’s my default, something that I learned to cook as a child, and while Roisin is tucked back in her warm clothes, watching me warily from her spot at the small dining area table, it's good to make something easy.

Something that I can focus on instead of ripping her clothes back off and taking her like an animal on the small bed.

I want her. Again. I’m going to want her forever. Even if we never did more than this, if I just had her taste in my mouth every day, it would be enough for me.

One taste of her will never be enough.

That’s fucking clear as the ice dripping off the edges of the cabin walls right now.

I have no idea how to tell her. No clue what to do next.

Other than we have to figure out who the fuck is hunting her, and I’ll make them regret the fucking day that they were born.

Roisin is mine. I’ll move heaven and earth to protect her.

And anyone who gets in my way is going to be fucking wrecked.

“So this one’s new. Why didn’t you make this for me before?” she motions to the pasta, which is absolutely nothing special. Butter, cheese, noodles, and some lightly grilled chicken.

But it smells like heaven, I’ll admit.

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