Page 54 of Stolen Vows
He adjusts his hold on me, shifting his arms to free one hand, and moves the sliding door to reveal the back half of the closet.I swallow in disappointment and relief as he tugs a tank top off the hanger and grabs a pair of shorts from the drawer.
After closing the drawer with his knee, he settles on the built-in bench beside his shoe tower with me in his lap.
Fear, uncertainty, and annoyance war within me.He hasn’t said a single word since I finished my spiel.I want to believe the modest clothes are an olive branch, but I wouldn’t put it past him to use them to lower my guard before he lures me into some diabolical trap.
He sets the clothes on the bench beside him, wraps his long fingers around my waist, and slides my ass more firmly onto his thigh.Embarrassment heats my cheeks as the movement smears my arousal on his pants.I slip my arm out from around his nape and add it to my breast-covering attempt.My hard nipples press into my arms.
Grey sweatpants on muscular, tattooed mafia men should be banned.It’s not fair.
He cups my hip with the arm braced behind my back and lifts the tank top.I reach for it, but he extends his long arm, and I’m not willing to wiggle my ass on his lap to retrieve it, so I cover my breasts again.
He grabs my waist—again—and pivots me so my knees bracket his and my back presses against his front.I stiffen as chilly air wafts over my sex, but he slips the tank top over my head and holds one arm hole open for me.I obey his silent command and thread my arm through the material.He repeats the motion for my other arm and tugs the hem over my breasts and down to my hips.
I gasp as his knuckles brush against my bare flesh and make the mistake of looking down to grab his wrists.The sight of his scarred hands so close to my pussy wreaks havoc on my libido, and the monster tenting his sweatpants fills me with yearning.
I’ll die if he puts that thing inside me again.It doesn’t matter how horny I am, I won’t survive if he fucks me right now.My sore insides give a weak squeeze.
I grimace.The throbbing deep inside my abdomen feels too much like period cramps.Dread dampens my arousal as I realize I still haven’t had a proper period since before I left San Francisco.
Nausea grips me, but I push it away with the knowledge my father won’t be there.This will be my first menses without my father hovering over me, and since it’s been several months since my last really, really bad one, I should prepare for the worst.
Mario releases my shirt and grabs the shorts.I long to close my legs, but his are much longer than mine.Plus, doing so would close my thighs around his cock, and I doubt he’d ignore that even with his sweatpants in the way.
He lifts me over his cock by my hips, sets me further down his legs, and leans forward before tugging me back to lean on his shoulder.With a flick of his wrists, he opens the shorts and holds them for me.I slip my feet inside and swallow as the stubble on his jaw scratches the side of my face.
He nudges me off his lap.I stand.He shimmies the shorts up my legs, over my hips, and onto my waist before lifting me off my feet again.I squeak.Annoyance spears through me.
“I’m not a doll.At least warn me before you toss me around,” I snap.
His chuckle sends shivers down my spine.
“You’re right; you’re not a doll.You’remia paperotta.You imprinted on me from the first time you set eyes on me, and now I can’t stand having you out of my arms.Seems only fair,sì?”
I sigh.His deep voice gives him an unfair advantage.
“That’s not fair.You can’t say something like that without addressing the previous topic,” I say.
“I dressed you.That’s my answer,” he quips.
I growl and poke his shoulder.
“That’s a copout and you know it, Mario.I poured my heart out, and your response is to haul me around like a sack of potatoes?”
He stops in the closet doorway and engulfs my hand with his much larger one.I stiffen.
He closes his teeth around the finger I poked him with.Lightning shoots up my arm and arrows straight to my core even as fear kickstarts my heart.
I gasp as he runs his tongue along my trapped digit and whimper when he closes his lips around my knuckle and sucks.He pulls his head back until my finger pops out of his mouth.I stare at his lips.
“Is that enough of an answer?”he asks.
I nod before my brain catches up.
“No, it’s not.Words.Communication.Didn’t we mention this already today?It seems like you believe me, but I don’t know for sure if you do or not.”
He grunts, nips my fingertip, jostles me around as he adjusts his pants, and prowls into the bedroom.
I cling to him with my heart in my throat and uncertain tears in my eyes as he stalks around the foot of the bed.Exasperation builds in me until he leans down, opens the bedside table drawer, and pulls out a familiar knife.
