8. Salvatore

Ican't say that I regret what I've done. Not when I believe that it is necessary for Gia's survival. For her future safety.

But for god's sake, does she have to make it so fucking difficult?

I hadn't expected her to be grateful, or even to fully believe me. It was clear from that afternoon when she came into my office that Pyotr managed to thoroughly make her believe he wanted her for herself. That theirs was some kind of forbidden romance. But I hadn't realized just how deeply that went until tonight.

It's a struggle to get my emotions under control as I go into the bedroom adjoining Gia's. I hadn't intended to spend the night with her—this isn't a marriage of love, or one where I expect us to share a room and a bed. The quicker it was over, and the sooner she saw this as the necessary arrangement that it is, the better.

Or so I had thought.

Things had spun out of control. I grit my teeth as I close the door behind me, rubbing the flat of my palm over my stubborn erection. I'm angry that I let an eighteen-year-old girl's taunts get the better of me. That I let her foolish fantasies about Pyotr make me jealous, as if I'm a deceived lover instead of her guardian and protector.

That, when it came down to it, I wanted her with such ferocity.

My cock throbs, refusing to ease. My pulse throbs along with it, beating hollowly in my throat, and I stride to the bar, pouring myself another shot of cognac. I down it in one gulp, and pour another.

A small part of me feels guilty for leaving her alone on her wedding night. She's no doubt confused and emotional, still angry from what happened today and frustrated with the way the night was so abruptly cut off. But with the proof of the consummation there, I couldn't bring myself to go further.

I'll have to, eventually. In order to get her pregnant, I'll have to finish what we started tonight. But I can't do it while I want her as badly as I do right now. The guilt will eat me alive.

I need to cool down first. When emotions have settled, and I have a clearer head, I'll be able to make it about the business of getting an heir, and nothing else.I'll stop as many times as I need to, I tell myself, if it means not fucking her in the throes of lust.

I'm a grown man, not an animal. I can control my own desires. And when I have myself under control again, I'll finish taking Gia's virginity.

I toss back the second shot, pouring a third. It's easier said than done. My head aches. My cock is hard to the point of pain. And I can't stop thinking about the woman in the next room—my wedded wife—lying naked in bed, still wet between her thighs.

Fuck. I undo my belt angrily, flinging it to the floor, jerking down my zipper. My cock pushes free of my briefs and trousers almost immediately, impossibly hard, nearly touching my abdomen. I wrap my hand around it, hissing at the contact against my sensitive skin.

I can still smell her arousal. Still feel her wetness on my fingers. Hear the high, mewling cries she let out as she experienced pleasure at someone else's hand for the first time.

My hand slides along my cock, my arousal heightening. I feel as if I'm going a little mad with how she makes me feel, visions of her naked and arching up to meet my touch flooding my mind no matter how hard I try to think of anything else as I stroke myself.

She's going to make my life a living hell if I don't get her under control. If I don't get myself under control.I should be turned off by her brattiness—that has never been my kink—but with her, every word she spits back into my face only seems to drive me wild with desire that I didn't think I could feel for her.

I would laugh at the irony of it, if I didn't feel so much guilt. Just a few hours ago, I'd been worried I wouldn't be able to physically consummate the marriage. And now I'm standing alone in a hotel room, feverishly stroking myself to lustful thoughts of my unwilling bride.

Except she wasn't so unwilling when your fingers were in her.

I suck in a breath sharply between my teeth, my hand tightening around my cock. Every inch of her perfect, naked body is burned into my mind; more beautiful than I could have imagined. I can see her shuddering with the realization of pleasure when I touched her clit for the first time, feel her hot, tight heat wrapped around my fingers. She sounded sweeter than anything I've ever heard when she cried out for me, when she came?—

I can see streaks of her virgin blood on my fingers, as I look dizzily down at the hand wrapped around my length. I should be disgusted with myself, but it only makes me harder.

Mine. My wife. Mine. My pulse throbs in time with the words repeating over and over in my head, my hips thrusting forward into my clenching fist, as I give up and give myself over to desire for a moment. I imagine her arching against my mouth as I teach her the pleasure of my tongue for the first time, her sweet, slick arousal on my lips, how good she would taste. The softness of her thighs wrapped around my head. I groan, stroking faster, letting myself think of what it would have been like to finish what we started, to sink into that tight heat, to give her my cock. To teach her what it feels like to have a man inside of her.

She's untouched, except by me. I could teach her everything. Every pleasure, every sensation, every single thing that can be done between a man and a woman. All of her is mine, if I want it.

If I let myself have it.

I feel my cock stiffen in my hand, veins pulsing as my balls tighten, and I grab a bar napkin just in time to cover my cockhead with my other hand, my cum spurting out with a force that nearly makes my knees buckle. I lean against the wall, groaning, eyes closed as I erupt into my palm, the cum that was meant for my bride wasted.

Because after all these years of discipline, of duty, one woman has already begun to unravel my self-control.

Guilt fills me the instant the pleasure begins to recede, everything coming back into sharp relief as the lust abates. I go to the bathroom to clean up, anger mingling with the guilt. Anger with Enzo, for making the deal with the Bratva in the first place, when he should have known the danger he was putting his daughter in. Anger with myself, for not stopping him. All of this could have been avoided, if I'd tried harder to make him listen to me when the marriage was arranged.

Except, I had tried. He just hadn't listened, because he wanted to please Gia. And as much as it pains me to think of my late friend as too tender-hearted, too short-sighted—those things were true when it came to his daughter.

Who is now my ward. No. My wife.

I strip out of my suit and get into the shower, intent on washing away all traces of the day that's now behind me. Tomorrow, I'll take Gia to my home. She'll settle in, and we'll go about the business of finding a way to live together. She'll take on her duties as a mafia wife, and when her indignance about her ‘ruined' marriage fades, we'll be able to handle the problem of an heir. With any luck, she'll be pregnant after a few nights, and that will be that. If she gives me a son, I'll never have to touch her again.

My cock twitches, frustration filling me instead of relief. I don't really want her, I tell myself. It's an irrational reaction. But it's hard to mistake what I'm feeling for anything other than genuine desire.

A desire that feels as if it will only worsen, the longer I deny it.

My cock stiffens, throbbing, and I grit my teeth. It's been a long time since I've gotten hard again so quickly. What the hell is wrong with me? I should have eased it, and that should have been that. Is that all it takes? One forbidden young woman, and you're as horny as a teenager again?

I thought better of myself than that, but maybe I shouldn't have.

I let out a sharp breath, and resignedly wrap my hand around my cock, bracing my other hand against the tiles. And no matter how hard I try to keep Gia out of my head as I stroke, sharp, hissing breaths of pleasure escaping me with every pass of my palm over my too-sensitive cockhead, she fills my mind anyway. The woman who I should be lying next to in bed right now, taking my pleasure with her instead of jerking off alone.

When I'm finished—both with my stubborn cock and the shower—I dry off and change into a pair of soft black pants and a T-shirt. My bag is sitting next to the couch, delivered along with Gia's, when I asked someone to send her things, and I get out the book lying on top of my clothes, retreating to the bed.

Tomorrow I'll be home,I tell myself again, hoping that if I reinforce it enough, it will be true. Things will go back to normal. Gia and I will sleep apart, and I'll maintain the same routine I have every night, the one I'm doing right now. An hour's reading, then to sleep, before the business of the next day. Gia will go back to being a part of my life, instead of a disruption.

It was simple enough, living with her at Enzo's mansion, after I took over her guardianship. She could be stubborn, frustrated with my attempts to fill in the gaps in her education on how to be a good mafia wife, but she wasn't impossible. We managed well enough.

She'll settle down, and my head will cool. Tonight was a product of the day's near-violence and fraught emotions, that's all.

I have to believe that, because the alternative—that my fractious bride will continue to try to make my life a living hell and my desire will continue to drive me insane—isn't a future I'm willing to accept that I've created for myself.

That with one impulsive decision, I've shattered my own personal peace as well as the future peace between families.

It's hard to focus, as I try to read. My thoughts keep drifting back to Gia—if she's calmed down or if she's still angry, if she's able to sleep, if she's safe. The latter I shouldn't worry about—her room is very well-guarded, and Josef was instructed to make certain everything was secure. But it's difficult not to worry.

I meant it when I said I took my responsibility to protect her seriously.

Frustrated, I close my book and set it aside, resisting the urge to go and check on her. If she's still awake, there's the possibility of another argument. And if she gets under my skin again?—

I need to have myself fully under control, before I face my new bride in the morning.

I slide beneath the covers, switching off the light, doing my best to clear my head. The exhaustion of the day catches up to me quickly, and I'm on the verge of sleep.

And then, an all too familiar crack jolts me abruptly back from the edge.

Another, and another. I sit bolt upright, scrambling out of bed and instinctively grabbing for my gun. I know the sound of gunshots. Moreover, I know them well enough to know the difference between the guns that my mafia are armed with—and the ones that the Bratva use.

They've come for Gia. And I was a fool to leave her alone.