Page 53 of Marrying the Mobster
Elena’s breath hitches and she grows heavier in my arms, as if her knees have gone weak. “Goddamn you, Diego,” she hisses, her breath warm against my ear.
I’m shaking with laughter now, struggling to keep the timing of the music. “The offer stands, dear wife. All you have to do is say yes.”
The rest of the day seems to drag by, when all I can think about is getting Elena alone—getting mywifealone. Everyone wants to talk to the bride, dance with the bride, make toasts in her honor. I hold my jealous instincts at bay, knowing I’ll have all the time in the world with her after this day. My patience wears thinner by the minute, but I manage to wait until enough time as passed that it wouldn’t be rude for us to make our escape.
Elena looks anxious when I offer her my arm, but she lets me lead her from the ballroom. Her veil was removed hours ago, but her train rustles on the stairs. She still looks as perfect as she did this morning despite all the dancing, eating, and drinking.
Once we’re in our bedroom, I pace away from her and start loosening my tie. I need some distance between us until Elena indicates she wants that to change. I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. As I shrug out of my jacket, then sit on my side of the bed with my back to Elena, I can’t hear any movement. It doesn’t sound like she’s undressing or even sitting down after hours on her feet. My entire body is wound tight, so many urges pulling me in opposite directions I don’t know which to act on. I want to kiss her senseless. I want to tear her out of that dress and tie Elena to the bed so I can have my way with her. I want to fuck her until she screams.
Taking a few short breaths, I wait until I have a handle on myself before turning to face her. She’s standing as still as a statue with her head lowered. Worry pulls me to my feet, and I go to her. Is she having regrets? Has that mind of hers already started formulating a plan of escape? Something ugly and fierce twists my stomach in knots at the thought. If she left me, I don’t think anyone could stop me from leaving destruction in my wake in a quest to get her back. Having her where I can see and feel her makes me feel only slightly better. She might be physically here, but the rest of her could be hundreds of miles away.
I rest my hands on her shoulders and pull her back into me. “Are you all right,gatita? It’s been a long day. Maybe some sleep—”
“Will you help me out of my dress?” she asks, the words tumbling out so fast I almost miss them.
Going completely still, I tighten my hold on her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
I need to be certain before I make a move. I need her to willingly submit because she wants to, not because she feels she has to. Everything about our arrangement has changed, and her new place in my life affords her a level of respect not reserved for a prisoner.
She looks at me over her shoulder, and I don’t see a trace of doubt on her face. “Yes.”
Relief rushes through me, easing some of the suspense putting me on edge. My hands are steady as I slip the tiara free of her hair. Letting it fall to the floor, I go to work on the row of buttons going down her back. Inches of her skin appear with each unfastening, and I press my lips to the base of her neck to inhale her scent. Ever since I allowed her to retrieve personal items from her apartment, she’s started smelling like a mouth-watering perfume that makes me want to lick her from neck to toes. Her breath grows uneven when I let my lips travel across her bared shoulders and slip my hands into the opening of her dress. I trace the lacy fabric of a white bustier across her belly, then up over her breasts. The dress sags down to her waist and she slips her hands out of the delicate sleeves.
Urgency has me moving faster, pushing the dress to her feet, and attacking the strings of her petticoats. So many damned layers that I would see as a nuisance if they hadn’t served to make her look so stunning today. Still, I’m grateful petticoats aren’t an everyday occurrence, unable to imagine how the men of the past used to manage it without going insane.
Finally, I turn her to face me. Her eyelids are heavy, and her lips part on labored breaths as I look her over from head to toe. She’s still wearing her pearls, and I decide they’ll be the only things she keeps on once I get her into bed—that, and the diamond I slipped onto her finger at the altar. Only her bustier, stockings, shoes, and a pair of lacy white panties are left.
“So perfect,” I whisper, trailing my hands up and down her arms. “You made a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her mouth curving into a soft smile.
God, that smile is my kryptonite. I’m losing my mind, developing a serious soft spot for this woman. I had sworn to never let this happen and was certain I didn’t have any warm places left—except for the part of me that belongs to Marcella. But Elena is cracking me open and burrowing deep. I don’t know if I like the feeling but have come to see there’s no need to fight it. As long as she is mine this new, possessive part of me will be satisfied.
I go to my knees and help her out of her shoes, then kiss my way down both her legs while slipping off her stockings. By the time I’m finished, Elena is panting and whimpering, the scent of her arousal making my mouth water. I can’t take it anymore. I’m on my feet one second, then sweeping her off her feet the next and carrying her to bed. She gasps and clings to my neck, looking startled.
“What are you doing?”
“Being romantic,” I tease, kissing her forehead before dropping her on the bed. “I’ve never done it before, but the movies make it look easy. How am I doing so far,gatita?”
She snorts and rolls her eyes, but parts her legs when I climb over her. “Not bad for a rookie. But … it’s unnecessary. It’s not our first time, so you obviously know I’m not … you know, a bride in thetraditionalsense.”
And thank God for that. I don’t think I have it in me to initiate a virgin. Elena is coming to me ready for all I have to give, and she’s strong enough to meet me on equal ground. She proved that the night I lashed her delicious ass with my belt.
“It’s absolutely necessary,” I tell her while unbuttoning my shirt.“It should be this way on your wedding night. Let me give that to you.”
Elena’s face is creased with confusion, as if she still hasn’t quite figured me out. Not that she’s alone. This person I’m becoming—the things she makes me feel—none of it is familiar. It makes me unrecognizable even to myself.
No more thinking. This decision is final, and Elena is mine for life—for better or worse, no matter what.
I go to work on the fastenings of the bustier running down her front, then parting it to reveal her tits. Kissing my way down her neck, I cup her breasts and squeeze, then roll her nipples between my fingers. She responds with a soft moan and arches her back, offering herself up to me. I tongue one of her nipples, making her shiver and squirm beneath me. Elena parts her legs farther, letting me fall flush against her. The heat of her radiates through my pants, making my cock twitch and strain to get into her. Not yet. Not until she’s begging me for it.
Now that I’ve tasted her, I can’t seem to get enough. I let my lips and tongue explore every bare inch on my way down to where I most want to nibble and lick. I find parts of Elena that make her buck and moan and drag her fingers through my hair. By the time I get to the waistband of her panties, she’s raising her hips and making little pleading noises in the back of her throat.
I wrench her legs farther apart, splaying her wide for me. Elena watches me with desperate eyes, her breasts heaving and trembling with every breath. She’s tense with anticipation, her thighs trembling in my hands. I press my mouth to the fabric covering her pussy, groaning to find her wetness has soaked the fabric. She sighs and pushes against my mouth like the greedy little kitten she is, demanding her pleasure. I give it to her, sucking and licking at her through the lace, so impatient that I can’t tear my mouth away to remove her last bit of clothing. She’s just as impatient as I am, raising her hips and yanking the panties downward. I kiss my way up as they come down, lapping at smoothly waxed skin. Unable to wait for her to wiggle out of the panties, I grab at them and yank, ripping the lace to shreds. Then, I press my tongue into her slit and drag it up over her folds and the nub of her clit.
“Oh … fuck,” she cries out, her voice raspy.
Oh, fuck is right. Her skin is satin-soft against my tongue and the taste of her is driving me wild. My intention to go slow and be gentle slip out of my hands as I start to devour her. I suck at her tender flesh and circle my tongue against her clit in rapid circles, producing more of her juices and more of those sexy-as-hell moans from between her lips.
