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Marriage for love is for princesses in the fairytales, not princesses in the Mafia.
“I can’t believe you remember that.” “I remember every second I’ve spent with you.”
“Every part of you is going to belong to me by the end of the night,” he whispers into my flesh and begins to undo my jeans with his teeth. Fuck if I’ve ever seen anything hotter than this man on his knees for me.
“I have one question before we begin—” “What’s my safe word?” I guess. “No.” His voice is shockingly cold, detached and starkly different to the tone he’s used all night and dread sinks into me. “What the fuck are you and those French bitches planning?”













































