Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
It wasn’t until we were inside the apartment again, and we were sitting in the living room together waiting for delivery since we’d both missed meals with all the craziness, that he pulled my legs over his lap and admitted, “I gotta warn you ahead of time that you’re gonna wake up alone tomorrow,” he said, voice tense, like he was expecting me to explode, thinking he was already walking back all of his promises.
“Because of whatever that serious thing is going down inside of that building?” I asked.
“Yeah, exactly that,” he agreed, fingers sifting through my hair, then moving down to rub my neck. I wanted to unfurl like a cat under his touch. But I was trying to focus.
“I’m not expecting you to be home all of the time,” I said. “I grew up in a mafia family. I understand how things come up sometimes.”
“Hopefully, when this shit is cleared up, I won’t be as busy.”
“Famous last words of a boss,” I said, giving him a knowing smile.
“That’s the fucking truth,” he agreed, digging into a knot in my shoulder that had me tensing, then relaxing, as it eased. “But I’m gonna be around more.”
“I know,” I agreed, not needing him to keep insisting over and over. Time would prove his promises true.
“Why did Nico sound so surprised that you would be cooking when he comes over?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t… I don’t really cook much,” I admitted. “But my brothers are always grumbly about it because they say I’m the best cook in the family.”
“In a family that big, that’s gotta be high praise. Why don’t you cook?”
“It usually makes me sad,” I admitted. “I used to cook with my mom all the time. So, it always brings back memories.”
“Don’t want you cooking for me if it makes you sad, mouse.”
“No,” I insisted. “No, I want to. The last time… when I cooked… that was the first time in a long time when I wasn’t sad, just… excited.”
“And I couldn’t even fucking come home to eat it.”
“You know better now,” I said, thinking of his words back at Nico’s place.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his hands starting to drift lower, making a low whimper escape me.
“Fucking missed that sound,” Renzo said, looking at me with fiery eyes.
And, no, we couldn’t fix our problems with sex.
But he was right, too, it was something that we had, something we shared, something we both loved.
So I leaned closer, tentatively sealing my lips to his, feeling those little cracks in my heart fuse back together as his lips responded, as he reached for me, pulling me to straddle him, as his hands started to drift over me like he couldn’t get enough.
“Renzo,” I said as I pulled back, feeling his hardness pressing against me, promising an end to the growing ache inside.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice thick with his own desire.
“I’m allergic to chrysanthemums,” I said, watching as his gorgeous face etched with confusion, then slow understanding, thinking of our wedding, of my lack of a bouquet.
“Noted,” he said, giving me a sweet smile.
“How’d you get this?” I asked, touching the scar that bisected his eyebrow, one of the two scars that took his face from male model handsome to intimidating mob boss.
“Running my mouth when I probably shouldn’t have,” he said, fingers sinking into my ass.
“And this one?” I asked, teasing the one on his lip, wondering if I would have a matching one forever as well.
“You want to talk?” he asked, using my ass to drag me against his hardness, making a low whimper escape me. “Or… not talk?” he asked, eyes blazing.
“Both,” I said, getting a dark chuckle out of him.
“That was my old man,” he told me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, heart aching for a younger version of him. My own father had never put his hands on me. I couldn’t even imagine that kind of cruelty from a person who was meant to love and take care of you.
To that, he shrugged.
“My kids will never know what that’s like,” he said, his words a solemn vow.
“So, you do want kids,” I said, heart leaping.
“Yeah. Like ‘em to have your eyes,” he said. “You want ‘em, right?”
“Yes.” With him? God, yes.
“But think we should just… practice for the time being,” he said as he dragged me against him again.
“Definitely,” I agreed, letting him lift my shirt off of me, leaning back to feel his lips and tongue on my breasts, taking the desire from a simmering want to a burning need.
He inched me out of my pants and panties, then pulled me over him again.
My hands were frantic on his buttons, reaching inside to free him, my mind and body all too aware of how long it had been since I’d felt him inside of me.
“Easy, mouse,” Renzo said as I stroked his thick length. “We don’t have to rush.”