Page 25 of Caught By the Kingpin
“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath. “Can I have one more thing?”
I wait.
“A kiss,” she finishes awkwardly, eyes darting away. “A proper first kiss.”
“First?” My mind goes full of static. We haven’t kissed? No, she’s right.
“When you… Put your mouth on mine last night. It was my first kiss,” she confesses in a rush.
“Oh cara. I’m sorry.” Not that I was the first to kiss her. I’m positively gleeful about that. But she’s so perfect. Her first kiss should have been all sweetness and—yes—love. Not a tumultuous mixture of desperate lust and the need to keep her quiet.
I surge up and onto the seat beside her. Then I steady, focussing on her. I want us both to remember this. I skim my fingers through her hair deliberately until I reach the back of her head, then plunge them into the silk. I draw her forwards until our lips almost brush, so close my skin tingles in anticipation. For a few breaths I relish this moment.
“Let’s try that first kiss again, shall we?” I whisper, and she whimpers and nods.
The first brush of our lips is a shock, even though I’m expecting it. Her lips are plush and soft but there’s electricity between us. I’m leisurely. Gentle presses and catches, not deepening the kiss until I hear her breath hitch and she reaches for me. Her hand finds my shoulder and grips tight. An anchor in the storm of our kiss.
Her lips fall open and I take the invitation, sliding my tongue into her mouth. She lets out a mew of delight as I stroke the inside of her lip.
Our hands are still joined, and as I hold her head I rub my thumb over the place where her palm and fingers meet, feeling my ring there. She’s wearing this sign of our commitment, and even though no words were said, I know she understands the significance. Pride seeps through me, feeling that band of metal—a sort of collar of ownership—as I kiss her. I take her first kiss and make it mine.
And when the kiss gradually goes deeper, wilder, dirtier, I can’t help but grin. Because my clever girl is a quick study. No sooner as I’ve shown her something that feels good, but she tries it on me. To devastating effect.
I touch my tongue to hers, she copies and arousal unfurls in my groin. I suck her lip and graze it with my teeth and she retaliates with a nip.
“So perfect. You’re being such a good girl for me,” I growl as she tries thrusting her tongue into my mouth. Her hand on my shoulder has begun to wander. No longer looking for just support, she’s stoking our desire by kneading the muscles and pressing her thumb along the roughness of my unshaven jawline.
I kiss her with all the longing of weeks of wanting her by my side, and the intensity demanded by my aching cock. I’ve thought so many times of this moment, of her in my arms, my ring on her finger.
I have to have her, and she has to be mywife.
“Cara,” I say, drawing back. “Marry me.”
Her eyes go wide. “But…”
12
FELICITY
I’m drunk on his kisses and his presence. And that ring. But yeah, it feels too good to be true. I’m struggling to believe it. “You really want to be married?”
I thought men avoided marriage, tried to not get trapped.
He cups my jaw, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
“Given your parents’ story, I thought this would be important. I’m showing you in the best way I can think of, that I’m in this. You’re it for me. I didn’t spend weeks of my life obsessing over getting you into my life and bed to walk away afterwards. When we met, your soul tugged on a thread to mine I hadn’t ever seen. That thread reeled me to you, and I’ll never let you go. I love you.”
He feels that too? My heart bursts.
“If you didn’t want to be mine, you shouldn’t have run and made me chase you. You should have said no. It’s too late now, I’m keeping you.” He grins wolfishly. “And that means that we’ll be married today.”
I gape. I didn’t believe him when he said I was his, but he’s serious. All my doubts melt, insubstantial as rice paper.
“I love you,” I whisper back. And it feels momentous to confess that, and also enough. I trust him. I did last night when he rescued me, and when we played chase. When he caught me. “We don’t have to get married, so long as we’re together.”
This thing that’s been part of my dreams I suddenly have clarity about. Marriage wasn’t what was missing for my mother. Love was. All that matters is my being with Marco, and that we love each other.
A smile as warm as a waft of vanilla from an oven spreads across Marco’s face.
