Page 84 of Mafia King: Matteo
Matteo, as he leans over me, drives his cock deeper into me and flicks the wrist restraints off. He rides me slowly at first. Then I hear his breathing change. I see his face contort as his head tips back, and his loud groan reaches my ears. He pumps me one last time, and he’s breathless. I never knew a man could come twice.
When he moves off me, he frees my legs and pulls me to his chest, where he cradles me in his arms and brushes my hair off my face.
“My Angel,” he murmurs. We fall asleep, and when I wake up, it’s dark outside. Even in his sleep, his arms are wrapped protectively around me.
The morning passes quickly after we eat breakfast. Federico flutters around, fulfilling my every need—espresso, lattes, breakfast, and the dinner menu for the week. Then Matteo whisks me out the door to the limo, where I greet Gio and notice another man in the front seat with him. I send Matteo a questioning look, and he ignores me. I assume he’s being overly cautious.
We arrive at a private dress shop where we are buzzed in, and inside, on a wall, is a neon sign with the name Mariuccia Cavallo.
“She’s in Italy now, but she’s making a wedding dress for you,” Matteo whispers in my ear.
“What do you mean, making?”
“You know, using fabric and beads and thread to make an article of clothing.”
“Matteo, that’s crazy. It has to be expensive.”
“It’s enough money to buy a few houses in Southern Italy, but I want you to have a one-of-a-kind dress. They will take your measurements, and occasionally, you’ll be invited for private viewings of her latest collections. She has clients, and you have a personal assistant here to help you.”
“Like the ones I’ve gone to in the city?”
“No. The store is closed for you. It’s by invitation only. Each piece is tailored to fit you, and what you buy won’t be sold in New York. She only sells to her clients. You won’t find her clothing in stores or on clearance.”
“Wow,” I murmur. I observe clothing on racks with shoes to match. This is more upscale than the little stores I took Izzy to.
“It’s not uncommon for jeans to cost five thousand dollars.”
I protest, but his lips silence me before my assistant for the day greets us with champagne.
The drink goes down quickly. A dress is brought out. I’m told it’s backless and made of wool. The bottom is wide and flowing. The fabric’s print is black with cream swirls. A tux with a jacket that matches the material of my dress is suddenly carried in front of Matteo, along with black pants.
We move into the dressing rooms to try on our clothes. A team of women has me raise my arms and check the dress’s length and bust. The bra is built into the undergarment with a hoop like the old-fashioned dresses to keep the shape of the dress perfect at the bottom. I have to kick the hoop so it flounces the dress out before I walk. I’m gobsmacked.
It’s exquisite. After our fitting, I was led around to pick out what I liked for day wear, and then they brought out a few options for a wedding dress. The dresses weren’t finished, but I was shown pictures of the sketches. Cinderella would be green with envy at the choices before me. I made my selection, and then we moved on to formal wear and walked the shop.
I select a few evening dresses, and we leave to return home. I fall asleep on the way. We enter the house, and I’m foggy but hungry. Federico coos over me as he provides us with a late lunch.
Overall, it was a successful weekend with my new fiancé. And, as life tends to go, it’s one step forward and one back.
Monday dawns with Vito driving me to work. It’s dark when I get up to fix my hair. Matteo left me a note he’s in the gym. I don’t have time to see him as I race down the stairs to eat in the kitchen and converse with Federico. He slides a stylish bag my way, and inside, I find it’s a lunchbox disguised as a large purse. There is a thermos, a bottle of water, and silverware.
My lunch. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. Besides, Matteo wants you to take care of yourself. So do I,” he adds before making my latte. I want to hug him as he’s so kind to me.
I eat, and Matteo breezes by on his way upstairs.
He kisses my lips and tells me our announcement was on page six yesterday.
I assume the wedding date is June.
However, a knife can cut the tension when I arrive at work. I locate Penny. “What’s up?”
“You never mentioned you are engaged to Matteo Borrelli.”
“And?”
“He was Sophia’s lover before she came here for this position last year. She envisioned herself as the one to wear that ring,” she states emphatically, pointing to the rock on my left hand.
