Page 69 of Born into Mayhem
“You’re adorable,amore mio. One-hundred percent wrong, but still so fucking cute.”
I give him a look that makes it clear I’m not happy, but he just laughs, gives my cheek another smack, and then sets me down. Reaching out, he runs his finger over one of my nipple piercings. “You might want to get dressed. If my mom sees those, she’ll probably have a heart attack and call the priest over.”
“I’m more than okay with your mom never knowing about any of my below-the-neck piercings,” I tell him.
He grins and picks up his shirt while I do the same and start getting dressed. I have no doubt I’m blushing when he opens the door, but I force myself to keep my chin up as we walk down to the formal dining room that could rival any five-star restaurant in the city. It’s gorgeous. The vaulted ceilings make it appear bigger than it is, and the bay windows offer an amazing view of the sea. The sun is setting, and it’s in that beautiful in-between stage of day and night. I suddenly feel very underdressed when I see the lit candles and the fine china we’re about to eat on.
Shooting a quick look to Dario, he immediately rests his hand on my lower back and tucks my body in close to his. I’m still getting usedto enjoying this feeling, of having a big, strong man next to me and wanting his comfort. I don’t feel like I need to prove myself to Dario. He knows I can handle myself, and he’s never once treated me like I was something frail or someone who couldn’t get herself out of a mess. He’s always had confidence in me, and that’s always meant the world to me.
We both look over when his parents walk in. Maria runs her eyes over us, and I can feel the judgement from ten feet away. She’s not crazy about this, but she also thinks I’ll be leaving her precious son alone as soon as this is all over. Poor woman is in for one hell of a shocker.
Dario pulls a chair out for me, and after we’re all seated, I look around and ask, “Where are Sasha and Sandro?”
“They went out tonight,” Salvatore says.
I share a glance with Dario, both of us wondering why in the hell we couldn’t also be excused from this family meal. There’s still an unsatisfied ache between my legs, and as much as I love Italian food, I’d much rather be feasting on the man next to me. His hand finds me under the table, resting on my thigh in a possessive grip that I’m quickly growing to love.
Servers come out, each of them carrying a dish of something that’s no doubt amazing, but all I can focus on is the way Dario is lightly caressing my inner thigh. I wonder if he can still taste me on his lips, and I’m surprised by how badly I want him to always be covered in my arousal and scent. If any woman ever dares to get close to him again, it’s going to be my pussy she tastes on his lips and it’ll be my scent that covers his cock. The mere thought of another woman touching him has me gripping the knife next to my plate. He notices, and when I look up at him, he just raises a brow and gives me an amused look. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he can read my mind. He always seems to know what I’m thinking.
When the table is full of dishes, each one smelling and looking better than the last, Salvatore grabs his glass of wine and raises it.
“To our firstborn son and his beautiful wife. May they have alifetime of happiness and enough babies to fill this house,” he says in a loud enough voice for anyone in the hall to hear.
Maria grunts and takes a healthy drink of her wine while I do the same, taking full advantage of being old enough to drink while in Italy. Even though I know the toast was all for show, the thought of popping out kid after kid has me finishing my glass of wine in seconds.
Dario eyes my empty glass but wisely keeps his mouth shut. As we start eating, his dad fills us in on local news. Even though I know neither one of them would ever pick me as a wife for their son, I still can’t help but like them. Salvatore is as boisterous, at least after several glasses of wine, as Maria is stoic.
The meal is much more structured than I’m used to, and there seems to be a set order in what we’re eating and how we’re supposed to go about it. Not wanting to offend, I keep a close eye on Dario and just mirror everything he does. When dessert is brought out, I’m seriously doubting my ability to put one more bite of food in my mouth.
I look over at him for help, but he just grins and says, “You’re going to love this. It’s fichi ripieni al cioccolato, stuffed figs with chocolate. A local specialty andMamma’s favorite.”
I don’t miss the subtle warning in his tone. He’s giving me a sound piece of advice—eat the damn dessert or risk pissing off his mom who already hates me.
“You’re going to love it,” Salvatore says, reaching one arthritic hand out to take one of the figs and bring it to his mouth. He lets out a moan of appreciation while Maria’s mouth tightens, obviously not approving of the noises coming out of her husband.
When she holds the plate out to me, I take one of the figs and bring it to my mouth. Everyone stares at me as I take a small bite, and even though I know Maria likes things to remain proper and refined, I can’t help but echo her husband’s exuberance. The bittersweet chocolate mixes with the sweetness of the fig, and when I bite harder and feel the crunch of the walnut that’s hidden inside, I close my eyes and savor the combination of flavors. I forget how stuffed I am and take another bite.
It’s Dario’s fingers digging into my thigh that breaks me frommy food trance. Popping my eyes open, I look over at him while I continue to chew. There’s a world of emotion in those dark eyes, but the two that are really coming in strongly are lust and a warning for me to stop having a mouth orgasm or this family supper is about to get really awkward for everyone.
I smile around my bite and quickly reach for another while he grabs one for himself. His mom seems to appreciate my healthy appetite, so I’ve at least got that going for me. I resist the urge to grab another fig for the simple reason that I honestly don’t have any room left in my stomach. I’m treading the line between comfortably stuffed and painful, and I have a feeling Dario’s going to have me doing cardio later, so I show some restraint and keep my hands off the remaining figs.
When a woman comes through the doorway again, I almost groan thinking she’s bringing more food, but when I see it’s a tray of espressos, I let out a relieved breath. I can handle a drink, especially when served in such tiny cups. The rich scent fills the air, and I think I’m quickly becoming addicted to this tradition.
The first sip is just as delicious as I remember it, and while I finish mine, Dario’s fingers slide further up my thigh. He doesn’t stop until he’s pressing against the seam of my jeans, giving me just enough pressure to make sure all my attention is squarely on him.
“Supper was amazing,Mamma,” Dario says, and I almost smile at the way he’s trying to gently get us out of here and back to his bed.
“Yes, it was delicious, Maria. Thank you,” I add, trying not to blush as I meet his mom’s eyes while her son presses harder against the piercing that I hope she never finds out about.
She gives a slight incline of her head in acknowledgment before turning her attention to Dario. “You’re trying to leave already?” she asks, even though I feel like we’ve been sitting here eating for hours. “Since when do you go to bed so early?”
“Don’t forget it’s been a long day for us,Mamma,” Dario reminds her. “We just flew in this morning. We’re both still getting adjusted.”
“Sandro doesn’t seem to be having an issue with it,” she says.
“Maria, leave him alone,” Salvatore says. “Of course they want tospend time alone. Don’t you remember what it was like after we got married?” He grins at her, but she refuses to return it. My gut reaction is to feel sorry for Salvatore. It can’t be easy being married to someone who’s always wound up so tightly.
Thankfully, one of the servers is still in the room so she can’t say anything about our fake marriage. With what looks like a fair amount of effort, she smiles at her son and says, “Of course. We hope you both have a,” she pauses and turns her brown eyes to mine before saying, “restfulnight of sleep.”
