Page 91 of Dangerous King
I hate the Giordanos for what they did to her, and I find myself wishing I could kill Giovanni all over again. A first for me. When I kill, it's clean and done with, no need for theatrics, but with Cat… for Cat? I'd flay every single Giordano if I could, and I'd enjoy every second.
I walk toward her, set on cleaning her. "Hell no." She snatches the warm, wet towel from me and does the job herself, all the while muttering in Italian, making my lips curve into a smile. I like women with fire, and it seems my Piccolina has plenty of it.
When she's done, she washes her hands, glaring at me. "I don't know if I should be mad at you or grateful to you for caring for me…"
I turn to the toilet to relieve myself.
"You're not going to… dammit, Enrico!" She stomps from the room, leaving me chuckling and already half hard again, making peeing a bit more challenging. But I can't stop myself from teasing, "Did you just curse?"
The only answer I get is something that sounds likeharrumph. I smirk and return to the bedroom, where she lies curled up on the bed.
"Are you sore?" I ask, concerned.
"A little," she admits. The sheet is pulled to the side, enough to expose a bright, red spot in the center where I took her virginity. Fuck, I shouldn't be turned on and proud. I should be a lot more concerned about her right now, which I am, but hell, how cana man not be proud of the obvious sight of having claimed his woman for the first time? The only man who willeverclaim her.
I return to the bathroom, where I find samples of Motrin and fill a glass of water for her. Careful, I sit down at the edge of the bed beside her. "Here."
Without hesitation or question, she takes the offered pills and water; her trust in me touches another deeply buried part in me. "It'll get better," I promise.
"Yeah," she says softly, a flush creeping up her neck as she drinks down the pills. A small, dazed smile curves her lips, lips that are still swollen from my kisses. She looks at me, too tired to be guarded, "I didn't expect it to feel like… that." She bites her lip, then adds in a whisper, half wonder, half boldness, "I didn't know something could hurt and still feel that good." Her gaze holds mine. "But if that was the beginning… I can't wait to find out what comes next."
Fuck me. If she weren't tired and sore, I'd be all over her, showing herwhat comes next. As it is, though, her head falls back on the pillow, her eyes close, and I sit there, left to stare at the perfection of her beauty. Her heart-shaped face, the long, black lashes casting small shadows over the thin skin under her eyes. The full lips, which are even now curved up in a satisfied smile. A smile, I realize, I brought to her face.
She's so young, nineteen, I remind myself. I'm thirty-one. A tempting, pushy part inside me tells me that it doesn't matter, that any woman I'd marry would hardly be past twenty, and that the longer I wait, the larger the gap will become.She has her whole life ahead of her—my dormant conscience decides to make a zombie appearance.She's already suffered so much; shecould live a normal life, have children, a family, with a normal man.
I barely suppress a growl. Fuck anormalman. The thought of her with someone else makes me… feral. I could never stand by and watch her marry anormalman. I can't. I won't. I'm not only too selfish for that, I'm already too possessive and protective of her. She was taken once; it could happen again. The only man who can stop that is me. I'm the only man who will be able to protect her.
So then what?
I'll marry her! The answer is crystal clear. I chuckle at how easy it is. In my world, people marry for various reasons, mostly excludingloveor mutual attraction, so the suddenness of my decision won't surprise anybody. Those in my business don't date for long periods of time, unless they're convinced their partner isnotbride material. Any person we show affection to is in danger, a danger that can only be minimized by giving Cat my name.
From the bathroom, I get a towel to put over the spot on the bed, then I get in and curl Cat into my arms, resting my chin on her head, listening to the soft sounds coming from her, reveling in her body heat. I close my eyes, inhale the scent of her, and begin planning. Tomorrow I'll speak with Edoardo. I force my eyes to stay closed at the thought. It irks me to have to ask the man for anything, but he is our Don. The Capi dei Capi. Tradition dictates that I ask his blessing, no matter how much it makes me want to put a bullet between his eyes.
To push the rising anger in me down, I take a deep inhale and picture my Piccolina in all white, walking toward me over a bed of flower petals. Shit, now I'm hard again.
The next morning…
I wake with his scent in my nose, it's warm, dark, and all male. It reminds me of cedarwood, smoke, and something spiced that clings to his skin no matter how long he's been out of the shower. I shift just slightly, the soft sheets brushing against my bare skin, and wince. Every part of me is sore in the most delicious, impossible way.
The ache between my thighs is a sweet reminder. A quiet hum of what he did to me. What we did together. I feel stretched, marked, thoroughly ruined… and I've never felt more whole.
Enrico's arm is heavy around my waist, his body curved against mine like a fortress. I'm tucked under his chin, our legs tangled. I stay still, eyes closed, trying to memorize everything about this:the way his chest rises behind me, slow and steady. The weight of his thigh over mine. The soft grumble he makes in his sleep when I shift too much.
Last night.
Dio mio.
Last night was…
I don't have the words for it. Not even in my head. He was everything. Gentle and demanding. Worshipful and possessive. Rough in a way that made my body tremble, but always careful.
No one's ever looked at me like that before. No one's ever touched me like I was sacred and possessed all at once. I smile into the pillow, giddy and shy and sore. And just like that, my heart does this stupid, fluttering skip.
If I could stay in this bed forever, I would. But even bliss has its shadow. Because then I remember her. Eliza.
Her soft voice as we sat on the edge of her vanity, surrounded by silk and perfume and old jewelry boxes.There are expectations. One day, he's supposed to marry a mafia princess.I bite my lip, and her words cut deeper now than they did then. I respect her too much to go against her, to want something that would upset her. She has been good to me and kind. She took my family in when she didn't have to. She's been treating me like her daughter.
She didn't say it unkindly. She didn't even say it to warn me off. But itwasa warning, wasn't it? A gentle reminder of what Enrico was born into. What kind of woman he's expected to build an empire with.
