Page 36 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed. “You might be right.”
In that moment, I could have let her believe I was. I could have gotten what I wanted without ordering her not to wear that dress, something that would have caused a rift between us. And still, I couldn’t bring myself to let her think the same.
“It’s not that,” I said reluctantly. “The dress, you.” She turned her neck toward me, and I caught her hopeful gaze, her hazel eyes drowning me in their shade.
“I-?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
“You’re beautiful. That dress, it was made for you,” I whispered, in all honesty.
Time stood still, stretched, warped. I realized how close we stood, how luscious her lips were, how soft her skin looked.
“But—?” She whispered.
I took a step closer to her, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something so sweet and floral that it made me want to bury my face in her neck. “But that’s a dress designed for attention. Men will approach you. They'll try to buy you drinks, get you on the dance floor, take you home.”
“I know how clubs work, Gastone,” she said dryly. “I'm not exactly a sheltered virgin.”
That statement did nothing to cool my blood. In fact, it only made me wonder who she'd been with before, how many men had touched her, had made her moan.
“The clubs in this neighborhood can get rough,” I continued, trying to focus. “You shouldn't go alone.”
“I'm a big girl. I can handle myself.”
“Like you handled yourself when you managed to get yourself kidnapped the last time you went to a club?” I was being an asshole, and I knew it, but I couldn't help myself. The thought of her in danger—or worse, in another man's arms—was making me irrational.
Her eyes flashed with anger. “That was different. I wasn't prepared then.”
“And you're prepared now?” I moved even closer, invading her personal space. “In that dress, which will only invite trouble?”
“I think,” she said, her voice dropping to match mine, “that you're being ridiculous. What do you care if I go to a club? What do you care if someone hits on me?”
I didn't have a good answer for that. At least, not one I was willing to admit.
“You're my wife,” I said finally, the words coming out rougher than I intended. “Legally, on paper, you belong to me.”
I didn’t know where that came from, and I regretted the words the minute they were out of my mouth. What the hell did I just do, laying my claim on her like that?
As I expected, she exploded. She stepped even closer, until her body was flush against mine, and glared up at me, jamming a finger in my chest. “Oh yeah? I belong to you? Whatexactly are you afraid of, Gastone? That someone else might touch what you've claimed? Or that I might enjoy it?”
Something inside me snapped at her words. I caught her wrist before she could jab me again and pulled her closer, my free hand moving to the small of her back, feeling the bare skin exposed by the low cut of the dress. Her skin was warm, soft, and I had to fight the urge to slide my hand lower.
“You have no idea what I’m afraid of,” I growled.
She gasped, her pupils dilating as she stared up at me. “Then tell me.”
“The world out there, Elena, is cruel. A woman like you can find yourself in all kinds of trouble.” I lowered my voice, unable to keep the hoarseness from it.
“I can sense trouble for myself when I see it,” she whispered, unable to keep the quake from hers. “You have no right to tell me where I can go. Who I can see. What I do with my time.”
“Trouble could be staring you right in your face,” I hissed. “And you won’t know it.”
I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but her eyes widened at the innuendo. The energy between us shifted, the air growing thick with tension. I was suddenly acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched—my hand on her back, her wrist in my grasp, her chest nearly brushing against mine with each breath.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and my gaze locked onto the movement. “Maybe I like a little trouble.”
God, she was killing me. I released her wrist and brought my hand up to cup her face, my thumb brushing across hercheekbone. She didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned into my touch, her lips parting slightly.
I knew I should back off. This wasn't part of the plan. One wrong move and everything could change.
