Page 16 of Claimed By the Werewolf Boss
“I don’t ever want to hear you sound so dismissive of your talent or yourself again.” I can’t keep the snarl out of my voice. “You are fucking amazing, Cheyenne. I know we just met, and this is fucking crazy, but I am very, very interested in you and I want to be with you. Nothing’s going to stop me from having you. You could tell me to go fuck myself right now, but I’ll still want you, still look out for you.”
“Is it wrong that doesn’t scare me?” she asks.
A knock at the door stops my answer. We are definitely not fucking on this table despite how amazing that would be. Probably for the best, I’m going to end up with my knot locked in her cunt while we fall asleep. She’s not scared of the intensity I’m laying out and that gives me hope. I kiss the slightly stunned expression on her lips.
“Let’s get you dressed and finish thismeal.”
It doesn’t escape me that Cheyenne finishes her glass of prosecco and then switches to sparkling water. She also eats more, like the orgasm I gave her finally opened up her appetite. Or maybe it was me hinting at how fucking obsessed I am with her. I like this, I prefer this. There is no more weird first-date shit happening. She’s allowing me to see her in her nearly most relaxed state.
Would it be too pushy to have some of the boys at home move her into my house now? That’s probably something to do after I claim her.
“Okay, so what do you do then? Andrea says it’s some family shipping business.” She looks me pointedly in the eyes. “Cause ya know… this whole thing feels like a very specific sort ofbusiness.”
She gestures a bit wildly with her fork, a small piece of rabbit clinging to it for dear life. I love that she’s asking, love what she’s implying to me because it means she’s not scared. Cheyenne can ask me as much about my business as she wants. But again, it’s probably something that should happen after my teeth sink into the soft meat of her shoulder and we are supernaturally bound to each other.
“It’s shipping, the Benettis have been in the business of moving nonperishable goods for a very long time.” Since the first ships sailed from Sicily to the mainland, we’ve been hauling illegally traded goods to those whoare happy to pay for them. Just no people, ever. “I’m the head of the North American branch of the business, based out of Tolson.”
“Oh, I bet you live in that new Seaport development, don’t you?”
“Right by the airport? Fuck no.” I grimace. “I live near Peters Park.”
“Alright Mr Fancy Pants, no need to show off to the class.”
“But I like it when the teacher pays attention to me,” I tease. “She’s my favourite.”
Cheyenne’s cheeks turn an adorable shade of red. The waiter quietly knocks and then appears with a full tray of tiramisu. They cut fresh slices, place them artfully on new plates, then gently lay flecks of gold leaf on top. I’ve never seen the point in that shit, but she looks enthralled with it.
My girl nods and doesn’t even wait for them to leave before she’s digging in. Her little moan of pleasure as the cream- and espresso-soaked ladyfingers hit her tongue shoots right to my dick. Man alive, how did I get so fucking lucky?
“This might be on par with the orgasm, Valentino, not gonna lie.” She grins.
I take my own bite of dessert and have to politely disagree. Nothing is better than watching her comeapart.
“Do you like talking about your books or writing?” I ask. “Or is that something you’d rather talk about over breakfast?”
She opens her mouth to respond, and then I see the light in her eyes sparkle. So she likes that as well, the insinuation of more, the promise that tomorrow I’ll still want her. Little does she know it’s the rest of our lives. There won’t be anything between us once she is truly mine.
“I don’t mind talking about them to people who aren’t judgy,” she says. “Junelle listens to me whine about them almost every day.”
“Whine?”
“I’m about to publish my final MC story for this series. It’s basically all done and dusted, the date just needs to arrive. I’m supposed to be announcing a new one with this finale.” She sets her elbow on the table and leans her cheek into it. “I had to force most of this last one. I’m not sure I’ve got any more books in me.”
“Are you writing while you’re here?” I ask.
“I say I am, but then I scroll on my phone for hours and do nothing,” she admits.
“So maybe it’s time to take a break, you’ve got a fancy new Italian boyfriend to hang out with.” I smile cheekily. “Maybe some sightseeing can help with the burnout.”
She groans loudly. “You sound like Junelle and Andrea.”
I laugh. Clearly, the reason she doesn’t go out and do anything is because she’s working herself into the ground. That explains the little oddity in her file. After the wedding, we can get into the nitty-gritty of her work-life balance. Our trip here should only be about living.
“Do you want to go to a market or something before we head back up to the villa? Souvenirs and shit?”
“I think I’d rather see them after breakfast, if you’re free,” she says, wearing a hopeful, pleading look that I know is going to have me bending over backwards for her in the future.
“Let’s get out of here then, sweetheart. I wanna see you out of this dress.”
