Page 59 of Secret Mafia Daddy

I feel like I can finally breathe when my parents take Chelsea home and everyone starts to leave the reception. Angelo and I do the traditional leaving of the reception, jumping into the limo and waving goodbye to everyone even though we’re staying at a hotel in town a night before leaving.

The hotel, of course, is the swankiest one in Chicago, and I’m not unused to fancy places, growing up a DeLuca, but it’s even above my standards.

Angelo is oddly quiet on the limo ride, although he keeps his hand on my thigh, under my dress, thumbing against my skin and making me flush.

When the hotel room door shuts, Angelo snaps into action, pressing me up against the wall, his right hand in my hair as he kisses me passionately, my mouth and then my neck, fluttering kisses along the base of it.

“Angelo,” I breathe.

I’d expected, of course, that we’d sleep together, but this is the most passionate, the hungriest he’s ever been for me, and I’m not sure how to handle it.

“Catarina,” he says, not “kitten” or some other pet name. My name in it’s true Italian pronunciation.

It makes my breath catch in my throat, my belly contracting with heat. His mouth on my neck isn’t owning, just kissing sweetly and softly.

“We’re married,” he says, talkative somehow now when he’s been mostly barking orders and action before.

I hum in the back of my throat and he’s unzipping my dress, letting it pool on the floor. I’m wearing a set of white and pink lingerie that I’d gotten during my wedding shower.

He growls in the back of his throat when he sees how translucent it is, showing my nipples peeking against the fabric.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, skimming his fingertips down my waist, to my hip where he grabs and picks me up.

I jump into his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him back as fiercely as he’s kissing me. After such a stressful day, it feels good to let loose and let myself go.

“Look at you,” he says with a low groan as he pops open the front clasp of my bra, letting my breasts free.

He’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before, and my skin feels hot all over. I almost feel light-headed, even though I’ve only had a couple of glasses of champagne at the reception.

“Angelo,” I say again, shocked as he slides his hands down my body, cupping my breasts, pressing them together and putting his lips around one of my nipples, and then the other.

“Keep saying my name, kitten,” he moans against my skin. “Love the way it sounds.”

I let out a long moan, my back arching. I want more, want him inside me, but I can’t deny that I’m enjoying the attention he’s giving me.

He always makes sure that I am satisfied, but somehow, this feels different, more intimate.

He leads me to the bed and I lie down, spreading my thighs instinctively.

Angelo lifts up to slide my panties down and off my ankles, throwing them carelessly on the floor, and then he unbuttons his shirt. He’s discarded his suit jacket already at the door, and I bite my lip at the sight of his honeyed skin.

He’s up on his knees between my spread legs and as he unbuttons his slacks, he slides his hand down my body to my lower lips, teasing my clit with his thumb.

I gasp out a moan and lick my lips.

“Angelo, please, don't tease," I plead.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” he assures me. “I can’t wait to be inside you, not tonight.”

“Thank god,” I whisper, and Angelo chuckles low in his throat before spreading my thighs further, removing his hand from my sex and guiding himself into me with a low groan.

I expect the sex to turn rough here, because that’s his M.O., but that’s not what happens.

Angelo drops down on his forearms, just moving his hips to pump in and out of me, cupping my face and looking into my eyes.

“Those eyes of yours,” he breathes. “They’re something else, Catarina, you know that?”

I make a whining noise as he slowly fucks me, wanting more, wanting it rougher because my heart is doing backflips in my chest.

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