Page 35 of Stolen Vows
I mean nothing to him.He was upfront about playing with me like a toy, but I let my defenses down like an idiot.
I willingly cheapened myself.For him.
I stripped for him.Devoted my first orgasm to him.Fantasized about him.Played right into his devious plan.
I took what should be an intimate, pure experience and made it trashy for him.
Mario Luciano.
No wonder my mother left me.I’m disgusting.
I bite back a sob and choke on a curse when he grinds the heel of his palm against my sensitive clit.
With his eyes locked on mine, he smiles and squeezes my nape.
“You have the blue,” he says with a tug on the vibrator string.
A pathetic sound leaks from my throat.He lifts his hand away from my sex, licks his palm, and groans all while staring into my soul.His eyes darken as I shiver, my blood morphing to liquid desire as he cleans my arousal from his hand with his tongue.
“I have the borrowed,” he says with a light tap to his breast pocket.
“Now take the old,” he demands as he yanks out a knife I haven’t seen since he and my father walked out the front door on their last deal together.I stare down at my fingers wrapped around the weapon my father used to carry all the time until Mario pulls his suit coat open to reveal two sleek black pistols.
“And I’ll keep the new,” he says.
When I meet his eyes, my heart sinks even further.He isn’t trusting me.
He’s testing me.
Will I choose him or my father?
The thought of stabbing anyone makes me queasy, which is a horrible sensation with cool air wafting over my wet sex, but if I must stab one of them, it’ll be my father.
Mario chuckles, steps back, lowers my skirt, and lifts me off the counter by my waist as though I weigh nothing.When he sets me on my feet and takes the knife from me, I don’t object.
I made my choice already.
He tugs my arm down, studies where it brushes against my skirt, then slices a hole in the fabric and wedges the blade into the makeshift holster.
I don’t care about the dress.It isn’t my style.It’s Romeo’s.
Or maybe it’s my father’s.I don’t remember who chose it.
It doesn’t matter.Today’s expensive wedding isn’t real.
With a calloused finger, Mario pulls me from my spiral by tracing a line over my jaw, down the side of my throat, and over my shoulder.I hide a wince as he brushes against my bruised arm, but part of me thinks he notices everything.He knows I’m already wrecked.Whatever kindness he shows me now is to build me back up so he can watch me fall.
He lifts my wrist and nips my fingertips before licking my palm.
The palm I slapped him with.
I swallow at the threat hidden within his gesture even as delight fizzles up my arm.He smirks, pulls my veil into place, and pats my head before deserting me.
My heart quails, but I shove my emotions into the box with all the others from the last decade and turn off my thoughts.
The barrier of the veil blurs the world.My wedding attendant bustles into the room and chaos descends as the time nears for me to walk down the aisle.Someone hands me the bouquet.Even though I’m dressed and ready, the people around me scurry about with excitement and purpose, but I stand calm in the eye of the storm.
Until I glide into the narthex and meet my father’s eyes.Fear and disgust rush through me.He offers me his arm.
