Page 48 of Marrying the Mobster
Sometime during the night, Diego moves me off his lap and lays me on my stomach. I remember the sting of him touching the flesh he struck with his belt, but then the soothing coolness of some kind of balm followed. The touch of the blanket against my naked, throbbing skin stings, but the edge is taken off by whatever Diego slathered over it. I slept like the dead, my dreams filled with Diego. Arousal plagues me in my sleep, despite the pain in my ass and the soreness between my legs from Diego’s ruthless claiming. Or maybe, because of them.
I hardly know pleasure from pain after what he did to me, taking me to some transcendent place I never would have thought to exist. I once had a friend who was a real life submissive, and her entire lifestyle was shaped around a relationship with a man she called her ‘master.’ At the time, I couldn’t understand how she could let herself be controlled, how she could take pleasure from pain. Now I understand, even if I haven’t decided how I feel about it. The combination of Diego’s dominance and sadistic streak with the pleasure he gives so well are like a drug. Even as I open my eyes the next morning feeling hung over and disoriented, I’m wet and pulsing, my body begging for more.
It doesn’t help that I find Diego sitting in a chair beside the bed, looking completely relaxed, as if last night didn’t happen the way I remember. He’s dressed more casually than usual, in sweatpants and a T-shirt that clings to his chest and biceps. The necklace I noticed the first night we met gleams gold against the black fabric, and I realize it’s a crucifix.
He’s such a contradiction, a mystery my mind can’t help but want to solve—even when the rest of me is determined to get away from him. His tattoos are a tribute to what I assume are deeply held beliefs, but the rest of him is hard and sharp like a blade. How the hell did he come to be this way? Is he this possessive with every woman he takes a liking to, or am I a special case—and if so, why me?
Trying to figure it out makes my head ache, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the bright morning sun. Diego’s big hand falls gently on my forehead, pushing my hair back and then stroking down my cheek.
“Wake up, Elena. We need to talk.”
Knowing he won’t be convinced to wait until later, I slowly rise up on my elbows. The abrasion of the sheets against my ass hurts, but not as badly as I expected. Last night, my butt felt like it was swollen to twice its normal size, and like he had lit it on fire. Reaching back with a tentative hand, I’m surprised to find that there isn’t a single mark left behind. Apparently, Diego knows what he’s doing with a belt. It makes me wonder what else he’s good at.
Annoyed with myself, I ease onto my side, not bothering to stop the blankets from slipping down to my waist. Diego has seen every bit of me, and after last night there’s nothing left for me to hide.
He reaches for a neat stack of folded clothes sitting on the nightstand. “Get dressed. I brought coffee. Would you like some?”
I don’t want to accept anything from Diego, or give him any reason to expect gratitude. I want to be angry over last night and lash out. But I don’t have the strength for either. Diego broke me last night, and I’m not fully myself just yet. I’m confused and exhausted, both mentally and physically, and coffee sounds heavenly.
“Yes, please,” I reply, leaving the bed and accepting the clothes.
My entire body aches, but I push through it to pull on my favorite loungewear set—a soft and worn-in tank top and matching, loose pants. Diego goes to the other side of the bed to where a tray sits on his nightstand, holding a silver pot and a set of cups, and containers of sugar and creamer. Diego pours the coffee, and I’m stunned he remembers how I prefer it. He also seems to have noticed that I like to wear this loungewear set when I’m not feeling my best. Knowing he’s been paying attention to such details only adds to the confusion tearing me up inside.
Diego lets me have the chair, handing me my coffee before settling on the edge of the bed with his own. He watches me with pensive eyes while I take my first few sips, sighing with appreciation of the taste. Mariana makes the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, and Diego added the perfect amount of sugar and cream.
“Thank you,” I murmur, staring down into my cup. Looking at him for too long is harder than ever, because when I do, I can see the truth of what happened between us last night. It’s in his eyes, his demeanor. Everything has changed, even if I can’t pinpoint exactly how. “You wanted to talk?”
He blinks as if coming out of a trance, then tastes his own coffee. “Yes. I didn’t want to disturb your rest, but this is important.”
I swallow past a knot of anxiety in my throat and force myself to speak. “About last night …”
Diego shakes his head, making my words die away. “All is forgotten,gatita. I won’t mention it again if you don’t. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I want us to move forward from here. Wipe the slate clean.”
I wrinkle my eyebrows. “You honestly think we can do that—thatIcan do that after everything that’s happened?”
Diego shrugs. “I figure it’ll be better if we at least try. We had an agreement, Elena, and that agreement hasn’t ended because of our engagement. But once we’re married I want us to come to a new arrangement … one I think you could be happy with. Are you willing to at least try?”
Do I have a choice? I think the question to myself and take a moment to consider the answer. As of now, my best option of survival is to give Diego what he wants. I refuse to believe that some chance to escape won’t come up down the road—a chance I will take without hesitation. For the time being, I have no choice but to give in to him, however temporary it might be. At least I’ve been with him long enough to know that my complacence will be rewarded. If I hadn’t ruined everything with my desperate actions last night, I wouldn’t be in this position. Now, we’re starting over at square one.
“I think so,” I hedge, not willing to agree to anything just yet. “What did you have in mind?”
Diego seems more relaxed now, taking slow sips of his coffee and easing his posture. “First of all, I want you to know I have no intention of keeping you from your business. Since you’ve been here, I’ve come to see how important it is to you.”
“It’s my entire life,” I admit, hope making my stomach lurch at the possibility of getting back to work.
“I know, and I want you to be successful. So, you will be allowed to return toBellezaand resume your normal schedule—but,” he adds, holding up a hand when my lips split into a wide smile, “not without a driver and two guards. This isn’t just so you don’t try to run, but also for your protection. I won’t pretend that being my wife will be easy, but one thing you can always depend on is your security. You will not go anywhere alone, ever. If you aren’t with me or Jovan, another one of my soldiers will be with you.”
“Are you serious?” I argue, throwing my hands up. “What the hell am I supposed to tell people when they ask why I have a squad of thugs with me wherever I go?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Tell them your husband is rich and overprotective. Tell them something your idiot of a father did has led to you needing to hire security. I leave that decision up to you, but my requirements will not change. You will not go anywhere alone. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I say quickly, not wanting him to take it back. I don’t know if Diego is giving me this because he feels guilty, or because he knows it’ll make me cooperate, but I don’t care. I want my business back.
“Good,” he says. “I own a building near the Design District, so if commuting back and forth is too much for you, we can stay there during the week and come home on the weekends.”
I frown, sitting up straighter. “We?”
He chuckles. “Yes,gatita.Did you think I would let you be away from me for so long without wanting to be near you?”
