Page 9 of The Mafioso’s Bride

For one, this beautiful woman is my wife.

I want this marriage to last. Divorces aren’t unheard of in the organization, but they’re rare. Frowned upon.

For two…

Giada stands rigid enough to crack. Her fingers dig into her palms. Like she isn’t offering, she’s bracing.

My cock aches. I want her under me. But…

“Giada, what are you doing?” I ask. “I mean, what is this?”

Her brow pulls together. “Preparing to consummate the marriage. That is the next step in the order of events.”

Her cold, careful answer kills none of my desire.

“I’m a virgin,” she says. “You’ll have to take charge. I haven’t done this before.”

Oh, goddammit-to-hell.

“Giada, do you want me to fuck you?” Her mouth tightens at the word fuck.

She lifts her eyes to mine. “We’re married. A husband and wife have sex after their wedding. It’s called consummation.”

“I’m familiar with the term. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I…I…umm…” A crease forms between her brows as she considers the question. Her shoulders pull inward. “Papa said my husband can do anything he wants to me.”

My molars press together. Antonio Rafinelli may have escaped the church, but he won’t stay hidden forever.

“Giuseppe made it clear that wives are required to provide sex.”

“Giuseppe Lombardi is not your husband.”

She doesn’t move toward me. She doesn’t cover herself either. She waits.

And it’s clear. This isn’t a seduction attempt. It’s a surrender. She’s attempting to fulfill what she considers a marital duty—to endure me fucking her.

“Well, we’re not having sex tonight,” I bite out. “We’re not having sex until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Her eyes latch onto the crotch of my pants.

“But your penis is hard.” Her chin angles toward the bulge in my trousers. “I believe that’s your penis.” She takes a half-step forward. “Is that your penis?”

I run a hand down my face as she points at the evidence. I swear to Christ this woman might be the end of me.

“It’s my penis,” I answer through gritted teeth.

“So you do want sex.”

I force my gaze down to the dress pooled around her feet. “Of course I want sex. But not now and not like this. You get to say no. You get to wait until you’re comfortable. Being my wife doesn’t change that.”

I bend, pick up the dress, and hold it out to her. “Look, this is your bedroom. Not ours. Yours.”

She accepts the gown but makes no attempt to put it on. She presses it against herself. “Am I allowed to lock the door?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you want to enter?”