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It amuses me to no end how grumpy she can be sometimes.
“The Chicago Bratva’s pakhan,” I say. “His wife painted it. She has one piece on offer at each auction, and he’s been buying all of them, no matter the price. Everyone else stopped bidding on her paintings some time ago.”
Hihihi
“Why”—he buries his fingers in my hair, pulling my head lower until my mouth almost touches his lips—“did I buy the bracelet, Milene?”
“Because I liked it?”
“Because you liked it,” he says as he presses his mouth to mine.
“I told you, I can’t sit here all day.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I can call some of my men, so you can insert IV needles and such.”
HAaaah
“Kurt has diarrhea. The article I read said to feed him boiled chicken.”
I love this girl
I find her insistence that there is no attraction between us rather amusing. Like she thinks it’ll disappear if we pretend it’s not there.
She hung up on me. No one fucking hangs up on me.
Hihihi
“She’s completely screwed up my brain. I’ve started acting irrationally.”
“I’ve already taken away all of her choices in life,” I say. “When we do, eventually, sleep together, it’ll be because she’s decided to take that step.”
“I’m not jealous.” I take a sip of coffee. “I just have an uncontrollable urge to kill any man who even looks at my wife.”
I’ve never seen him leave the penthouse in anything other than an immaculate suit or without his prosthesis, but now, he’s wearing only his sweatpants and leaning on his crutches. Based on the surprised expression on Pasquale’s face, this is not a normal occurrence.
“I was looking for you, and you weren’t there,” he says through his teeth. “You do not leave the penthouse without informing me first.”
“You can try running,” he says and tilts my head up, “but I will catch you every time, Milene.”
“You’re safe with me because I’m the worst it can get, cara. And no one will dare touch what is mine.”
Finally, my little hellcat has succumbed. I rarely feel satisfaction, or any kind of excitement, but this, having my wife under me, can’t compare with any other sensation I’ve ever experienced.
“Smile. At. Me.” I pound into her—once, twice, three times. It’s like air to me, her smile. I need to see it. If I don’t, I’m going to lose my mind. “Smile, you stubborn woman.”
Milene squints her eyes at me, and then she smiles. It’s like the first ray of light after a thousand hours of a long night, piercing the darkness inside my chest and filling me with warmth.
“I want you to smile at me every day,” I say next to her ear and slam into her again. “Every.” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “Day.”
Because I need it. Because every time she does, something happens inside my chest. Because it breathes air into my lungs and makes my heart race.
“I hope I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,”
“I will carry you around with me if necessary.”
“Piggyback?”
“If you insist.”
“You are such a contradiction, Tore.”
“Does that pose a problem?”
“No. I kind of like your strange ways.”
Yes, such a contradiction—my husband. Ordering four innocent men to be executed, then offering to carry me around the apartment because I’m sore.
“You don’t have to worry about the hitmen, Salvatore,” I snarl, winding my legs around his waist and grabbing at his throat with my hand. “Because I’m going to be the one to end your life if you don’t get your cock back inside me.”
“That sinister streak of yours is sexy as fuck,”
slams back into me so hard, I unintentionally squeeze his neck. His eyes flare, and a growl leaves his lips. I tighten my hold on his throat a little more, smiling. Hawkish eyes watch me from above as he pulls out, only to thrust back in even harder, making me moan.
“No more mentally defective animals, Milene,” Salvatore grumbles. “One is enough.” “Well, he’s a little grouchy,” the lady says. “Not very good with people.” “Sounds exactly like you, Tore.” I place a hand on his arm. “Can we take him?” “No.” “But look at him! Isn’t he cute?” “No.” “Tore!” He looks at the cat, then moves his gaze to glare at me. “You said we’d come here to look.” I cock an eyebrow and smile. “I lied.” Salvatore watches me, his eyes glued to my lips. He does that a lot. He always studies my mouth when I smile. “Just take the damn thing, and let’s go home,” he grumbles.
“We met a handful of times. I’m pretty sure he was stalking me. We even went on a date. A kind of date, anyway.” She stares at me. “Salvatore doesn’t do dates.” “He told me.” I snort. “Also, I’m not a 100 percent certain, but I think he broke into my place and filled my refrigerator with food.”
“I think he . . . likes you.”
“Salvatore doesn’t like people, Milene. He respects them, or not. But he doesn’t like them.”
“Who”—he slides the tip inside, but so very slowly I want to groan in frustration—“owns you, cara?”
“You,”
“And do I own you, Tore?”
“I’m afraid you do, Milene.”
“It’s all or nothing with me, Milene. You should have figured that out by now.”
“You have no idea what you do to me, Milene,” he whispers when he reaches my shoulder, and I tremble. “No fucking idea.”
“You’re so beautiful.”
I’ve never gone down on a woman before and never had the desire to do so, but with Milene, I want everything.
“It starts as a slight unease—nothing special, a little discomfort, but it quickly transforms into a restlessness that’s hard to control,” I say. “Then, I become distracted. Edgy. I can’t concentrate. My brain constructs different scenarios, each worse than the last, and it’s all I can think about. I can’t block it out.”
“I don’t care about people.”
“I am people, too, Tore.”
“You are not people.”
“Oh?” Tremors rock my body so hard I can barely manage words. “And what am I?”
