Page 10 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
Based on her Pinterest boards—yes, I’ve done my homework—she likes modern architecture and bold colors. My house ismodern enough, and I’ll let her paint every surface hot pink if it makes her happy.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She crosses her arms, which does magnificent things to her cleavage and makes it obvious she’s not wearing a bra under that tank top.
My bold little wife, going braless while she argues with me. Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me? “Did you bring the annulment papers?”
I step closer. She tenses but doesn’t retreat. Brave girl.
“We’re not splitting up.” My fingers trace up her arm, and I feel her shiver.
“We aren’t in a relationship!” She backs up a step. I follow. “It was a drunken mistake.”
“I was stone-cold sober, and I don’t regret a damn thing.”
“Then you’re crazy. Why would you marry a stranger?”
The truth sits on my tongue. That she’s not a stranger, that I’ve studied every freckle on her skin, every expression that crosses her face. But that truth would send her running faster than anything else I could say.
“You’re meant to be mine.”
There it is, that spark in her eyes. The one that tells me she feels this pull between us too, even if she’s fighting it.
“I knew it. You’re certifiable.”
Talking isn’t working. Time for action.
I close the distance between us in two strides, threading my fingers through her hair. Her head tilts back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
“Is it crazy to want to fuck my wife?” I growl against her ear. “Because if that’s insane, then lock me up.”
“Let go of me.”
“You were eager enough last night.” My free hand finds her hip, traces the curve. “Your lips were so hot, the way you pressed against me...”
“I was drunk.”
“You wanted me before the alcohol hit.”
She won’t look at me, but I catch the flush spreading down her neck.
“You remember meeting me,” I say. It’s not a question.
“Maybe.”
“Shame you don’t remember kissing me at the chapel. Should’ve hired a photographer.”
Her palms shove against my chest, but I don’t budge. Won’t budge.
“You’re a liar.”
The accusation stings more than I care to admit. I lean down until our lips almost touch, until her breath mingles with mine.
“I might not tell you everything, Mia. But I won’t lie to you.”
Her breath catches. “Then tell me what you want.”
Instead of answering, I show her. My mouth crashes against hers, and she tastes like sunshine and coffee. Her tongue meets mine, and she fists my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing away.
My grip tightens in her hair. My other hand slides down to cup her ass, lifting her until she’s straddling my thigh. She moves against me instinctively, breaking the kiss to gasp.
