Her shielded expression as she watches me clean her hands in the sink fills me with uncertainty, but my mind clears as I reach for a towel and my cock brushes against her ass.
She’s mine. Nothing else matters. She may fight me every step of the way, but I’ll protect, pamper, and wreck her for the rest of our lives.
With my silent vow reverberating throughout my entire body, I turn off the water and dry our hands. She’s tiny compared to me. I wonder how she survives in such a cruel world, especially as a nurse.
Noting the slight abrasions on her knuckles, I lift her hands over her shoulder and give each one a quick kiss before grabbing the lotion and moisturizing her all the way to her elbows.
She’s too tempting in only my shirt. We have too many things to do today for me to sneak another taste of her curves, so I lift her onto the counter by her hips and grab her panties and jeans—which are dry now, thank fuck—from the hooks on the door.
I thread both items onto her legs, pull her flush against me, and tug them over her hips, keeping my oversized shirt draped over her so I’m not tempted to take advantage. When she’s properly covered, I fill my hands with her ass and lift, forcing her to grab my shoulders and wrap her legs around my hips. With her breasts rubbing against my chest through the oversized shirt, I brace an arm under her ass and move through the apartment, tidying up the bathroom and warming food before sitting in the only chair, enjoying the angry, flustered blush on her cheeks as my half-hard cock grinds against her pussy.
Despite the renewed pain in my wound, the blood drying on my back, and the other various aches throughout my body, I feed her the last of the homemade food before tearing the wrapper off a protein bar with my teeth and eating what might as well be cardboard for how tasteless it is.
Whatever. Nutrition is more important than flavor. It’s worth it since I know mia caramellina ate well.
When I lean forward as though to stand, she elbows me in the sternum and reaches for another meal replacement bar. I quirk a brow.
She rips the foil open, breaks it in half with excessive force, and shoves the first piece in my mouth so hard I choke.
Before I can spit it out, she covers my lips with her palm and pierces my soul with a fierce glare.
Awe floods my veins as she dons an overly sweet and innocent expression.
“You’re going to need more calories if you’re going to protect me.”
She’s so beautiful my chest aches, and for a moment, I stare at her and chew like an obedient puppet. When my brain finally clicks into gear, I wrap my arms around her lower back and pull her tight against me. She stifles a moan as my cock mashes the seam of her jeans against her clit. My mouth waters, making it easier to chew, as her breasts flatten against my chest and her nipples harden.
She crams the second half of the meal bar into my mouth and pushes against my shoulders.
I rise, stalk to the bed, and drop her onto the mattress before tossing my last clean pair of socks at her.
“Get off the bed at your own risk,” I warn.
She grinds her teeth and glares at me but doesn’t move, so I stride into the bathroom and leave the door open as I clean and dress my wounds.
I trim my facial hair, dress in my least dirty pair of street clothes, and style my hair before taking my comb and a damp washcloth to the bed.
“Turn around,” I tell her.
She complies, but the set of her shoulders says she’d rather shove the comb in my eye than let me touch her.
I run the washcloth from her scalp to the ends of her hair, taming the static, and work my fingers through the worst of the tangles before gathering her hair in my fist and using the comb on the ends. No matter how careful I am, the comb snags with every other stroke.
“Just tie it up. My hair hates all brushes, especially when it’s dry,” she hisses.
I stop, release her locks, step back, and study the mess. Her hair looks so shiny and smooth, I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to brush.
When another attempt to comb it fails, I sigh and take her advice. She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her fingers against her biceps, obviously not impressed by my attempts, but in the end, I succeed.
I spin her around by her hips and guide her feet toward the floor but squeeze her thigh, silently instructing her not to move as I rise. I return with her shoes and loosen the laces before carefully slipping them onto her feet, mindful of her blisters. She doesn’t grimace despite how uncomfortable they must be.
I cup her nape and pull her to her feet. She glances at her bag under the table before meeting my gaze.
“Ready, mia caramellina?” I ask, even though we’re leaving no matter what her response is.
“No,” she says.
I quirk a brow and tighten my grip on her nape.
“You have two options: cooperate and walk out of here on your own two feet or fight me and leave the way you came—bound and over my shoulder. Either way, we’ll get where we’re going,” I challenge.
She lifts her sexy lips in a crooked sneer and rolls her eyes—literally rolls her eyes—before meeting my stare.
“That’s not what I meant. I need a bra,” she says.
I scoff and purposefully rub the muscular ridges of my abs over her chest, enjoying the stiff peaks of her nipples poking at me.
“No, you don’t. You’re perfect just like this, vulnerable and soft. I like the easy access.”
She shoves at me, but I squeeze her nape and cup her breast through her shirt.
“Besides, a bra will only get in the way. Now choose, mia caramellina. Over my shoulder or on your own two feet?”
“Fine. I guess if you’re okay showing my breasts off to everyone, then there’s nothing I can do to stop you, is there?”
I stiffen as pure rage streams through my veins. The thought of other men leering at her chokes me with jealousy, but common sense returns as I run through the day’s itinerary.
She almost won, but not quite.
I slip my hand up from her nape and grab the base of her ponytail before pulling her head back.
“I don’t share,” I snarl.
She opens her mouth to retort, but I capture her lips with mine and kiss her so deeply we both heave by the time I lift my head.
“Is that your final answer, mia caramellina?”
She blinks glazed eyes up at me before her brain catches up.
“My feet,” she demands.
She digs her fingertips into the wells of my shoulders, not enough to hit the pressure points but enough to reawaken the throbbing in my face from her bite marks. I smirk, amused at her form of retaliation, and release her.
My arms feel empty without her in them.
I push my pathetic musings aside and swing her bag over my shoulder before grabbing my phone from the bedside table and stuffing it and my wallet into my jeans pocket.
With her taunting fresh in my mind, I drape my jacket over her shoulders before wrapping my arm behind her back and tugging her against my side. She doesn’t balk but also doesn’t hide her wary calculation as I usher her out into the hall. After ensuring the door locks behind us, I lead her to the elevator and position her in the far back corner so my body protects her from any newcomers.
We exit the building with no issues and saunter down the street as though it’s just another normal day in the city. When she studies every street sign as we pass, I tug her tighter against my side, demanding her attention.
Her eyes widen when I nod in approval. She furrows her brow and looks at me like I’ve gone crazy.
“Did you see the apartment number?” I ask just loud enough for her to hear me over the chaos of the streets.
She gives a reluctant nod.
“Good. It’s a safe house. Only three people know of its existence. I’ve already installed the app on your phone. You can unlock the door and control the thermostat through it. If anything happens, go there to hide out. Capisci?”
She shrugs. Her thoughts turn inward. When she doesn’t read the next sign at the crosswalk, I nudge her and tilt my chin toward it. She swallows and resumes her vigilance.
A bell jingles overhead as I push open the boutique door. Even though the store is tiny, the furnishings are lavish and the clothes hanging on the racks are top-of-the-line brands. It may not be the larger store Giorgio prefers to take Aurora to, but it’s perfect for my needs today, and I’m no stranger to the workers. The owner greets me and leads us into the back without question.
Mia stands with her feet shoulder width apart and her arms crossed over her chest. Her obstinance makes desire pool at the base of my spine.
After wheeling in two racks of semi-formal clothes—one male and the other female—the owner offers a slight bow before closing the curtain on her way out.
Without preamble, I push my jacket off her shoulders and whip my shirt off over her head. She yelps and grabs her hair.
Guilt sours my stomach as I belatedly remember the knot on the back of her head. I cup the base of her skull with both hands and wait with my heart in my throat until she stops wincing and cursing.
“That fucking hurt,” she snarls.
“I’m sorry, mia caramellina,” I say.
Her mutinous expression as she lifts her gaze to mine says she does not forgive me, but I let her cling to her anger, sensing her need to stifle her emotions.
I’m sure she expected a quick trip to the courthouse to sign a few documents, but I can’t do that to her. We won’t start our marriage in dirty jeans.
She may not believe me, but I’m marrying for keeps. Even if we’re eloping, I’m still going to give her everything I can.
When she tries to back out of my hands, I steal a quick peck on her forehead, truly sorry for aggravating her injury, and guide her toward the rack of dresses. She crosses her arms over her chest, obscuring my view of her perfect breasts, and stares at the clothes.
When she doesn’t reach out for anything, I press my front to her back and unbutton her jeans.
“Choose something before I bend you over and take you from behind right here, right now,” I growl into her ear.
She grabs the nearest item. I chuckle and lick her temple.
“That won’t work, mia caramellina. Choose a dress you want to wear, otherwise I’ll make you try on every outfit—and steal a taste of your curves each time.”
She sighs and shoves the hanger back on the bar with a metallic clink.
“I haven’t worn a dress in years. This is stupid. Let’s just—”
I tuck my fingers into her waistband and inch her jeans down her hips.
With an angry huff, she jabs her elbow into my wounded bicep and steps forward. I roll my shoulders and flex my hand as I enjoy the view. Her breasts wobble as she filters through the selection.
“Don’t you have something to do?”
Her annoyed tone has my balls in a vice grip. I run my tongue over my bottom lip and commit her beauty to memory before turning my attention to the other rack of clothes.
I undress and pull on a long-sleeve, slim-fit dress shirt, suit pants, black socks, glossy derby dress shoes, a sleek belt, and cufflinks.
When I turn around, I nearly drool all over my new clothes.
Perched on the bench lining the wall, mia caramellina leans so far forward her ample breasts almost pop out of the low-cut square neckline of her dress. As she fixes the heel of her ballet flat and rises, the hem of her skirt rests just above her knee. With ruching around the waist, a tight bodice, and lacy, flowy sleeves, her dress accentuates her curves while giving her a classy, flirty air.
“I’m done. Let’s go,” she grumbles as she heads toward the curtain.
I lunge forward, wrap my fingers around her throat from behind, and halt her before she exits the room but leave an inch between our bodies so I don’t grind my cock against her ass.
“Sit on the stool. Over there. By the vanity.”
She broke me. Full sentences are too hard.
My cock is harder.
She’s sexier than a pin-up girl yet classier than a queen. My queen.
A flash of unease hits me as the thought reminds me of her reaction to being called a principessa. The information is important, but I don’t know why.
She plops down onto the stool. I open the curtain, wave the makeup artist and hairdresser into the room, and lean back against the wall to enjoy the showdown.
After a moment of eyeing the women, Mia rubs a hand over her face before accepting their attention, but as they launch into their expertise, she subtly convinces them to go easy on her. With a light coating of makeup on her face and her hair in a simple, elegant updo, she thanks them and rises from the stool.
My breath catches in my throat. Despite my release less than two hours ago, I fear I’ll have blue balls by the time I get her alone again. I don’t recall ever being this horny, not even during my teenage years.
She quirks a perfect brow and gestures toward the door with obvious impatience.
Wanting to wrap my arms around her and tease her about being overeager but aware of how thin my control has become, I snag her bag from the floor, retrieve her ID and phone, and motion for her to choose a new bag from the wall. She huffs and stomps over to the display. I wait, ready to butt heads with her, but she quirks a brow and makes a show of considering her options before selecting the one she wants.
I pay for everything with my personal card, not worried about the cost since I earn my keep protecting the Vivaldi family. I’ve also built a portfolio large enough to live off the investments for the rest of my life. In fact, I could support Mia and a couple of kids with ease as well, but mentioning that would probably only make her more angry and skeptical. Plus, Mia Rivera is not the kind of woman to sit around all day. From what I saw of her while I staked out the ER, she takes immense pride in her job. Asking her to quit would be the stupidest thing I could do.
She stomps over to me and holds her hand out, palm up, and gives a pointed look at her phone.
I cup the back of her hand with mine and place her phone, ID, and my credit card on her palm and wrap her fingers around them before she can balk. She slips them into her purse and turns toward the front door.
I tuck her against my side and request they deliver the rest of our belongings to Mia’s apartment. A muscle ticks in her jaw when I rattle off her address without looking it up.
After a few blocks, her gait changes, so I shorten my stride and study her feet. They seem fine, but the lines bracketing her eyes prove she’s in pain.
“I’m fine. If you pick me up in the middle of the busy sidewalk, I’m going to stick my finger down my throat and vomit all over you.”
Good goddamn, my woman is vicious.
I wouldn’t have her any other way.
Although it isn’t a dangerous threat, it’s potent. She’d rather earn my ire and ruin my attempts at a nice ceremony than have me carry her down a busy street.
I pull her tighter against my side, shielding her from several people speed walking with their phones in their faces, and continue to protect her through rush hour traffic.
She falls silent when I guide her into a jewelry store, and despite my pride telling me to buy the biggest rock they have, I purchase a simple set of bands. The lady behind the counter measures our fingers and retrieves my order, and in less than ten minutes, we leave the store without even trying a single ring on.
When I open the door to a suite of businesses, Mia gives me a suspicious side eye, but I guide her to the elevators and through the hall to Mrs. Tamsin’s office, the lawyer who performed all of Giorgio and Aurora’s legal proceedings for their union.
Within minutes of walking in the door, we finish signing the necessary documents and stand in front of the wall of windows to exchange rings. I slip the simple gold ring onto her finger and marvel at how delicate her hand looks in mine.
“Never take this off. Capisci, mia caramellina?” I demand.
She swallows and blinks before meeting my stare.
“And if you ever find a new profession, I’ll buy you a bigger ring. Something flashy. The biggest rock in New York City. Whatever you want.”
Her eyes turn shimmery, but no tears form on her lashes. She gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment before taking a deep breath. I watch in stunned awe as she pulls her defenses around herself again.
“You chose this ring just so you could tell me to never take it off, didn’t you? You’re such a controlling jerk, you know that, right?” she says.
I smirk and bite back a groan as her delectable lip trembles.
She works my ring over my knuckle, the gold in stark contrast with my tattoos, and by the time I finish devouring her mouth, Mrs. Tamsin returns with our marriage license.
With our names locked together in legal matrimony and our lives forever entangled, I drape my arm over her shoulders and ferry her out of the office.
Once I sort this shit with Narciso, I’ll introduce my wife to the boss, boss lady, and her kid brother. If she hasn’t already by then, she’ll fall for me when she sees I’ve chosen to serve a trustworthy family.
Then we’ll have a proper wedding ceremony. I’ll show her off to the entire world. Everyone will know she belongs to me.
I can’t wait to see her curves in a white gown. Peeling the fabric off her will be even more fun.
My mouth waters. Mia crosses her arms over her chest and looks everywhere except at me as we walk with my arm over her shoulders and our sides plastered together, but even her profile turns me on.
The feisty, stubborn woman has stolen my heart.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She’s the only woman strong enough to survive the dangers inherent in my lifestyle. No matter what happens, I vow to protect, cherish, and pamper her for the rest of our lives.
