"Tell you what?" I whimpered. "Teo, please."
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours!" I shrieked, willing to admit just about anything in that moment.
"Tell me you love me." I froze, staring up at him in horror. "Tell me, Cara mia." His face softened, something in the beast receding as he stared in the face of my panic. "Tell me," he pressed.
"I love you," I cried, tears falling from my eyes to tickle my ears. "I never stopped," I admitted and hated myself for it. His thumb made a single circle around my clit, and I erupted beneath him to the sound of his arrogance.
"I know," he murmured, and after a few more slow, languid thrusts he flooded me with his heat.
Even after we both caught our breath, Matteo made no move to separate from me, pressing his chest against mine and cradling me.
It was like he knew my foundation had been rocked.
That he'd changed my world with three little words.
I just hoped they weren't lies.
Twenty-Five
Ivory
The smells from the kitchen made even my nose tingle with excitement.
The Ragu Napoletano was something I'd made occasionally, but never for a true Italian like Matteo.
Arms wrapped around my waist, Matteo's face nuzzling into the crook of my neck. "That smells delicious," he murmured, nipping at my skin softly. "But not as good as you."
I swatted him away playfully. "Get out!" I giggled when the scruff on his face tickled my jaw. "I mean it! You'll make me overcook the Strozzapretti."
"So make more." He shrugged, his shoulders jostling me as if he truly didn't care.
"Are you insane? No. Be gone, you slut."
"Your slut," he smirked, and one of his hands took mine in his. He turned me to face him, staring down at me intently in a way that scared me.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, biting my lip. His free hand left my waist, darting into his pocket. The thumb of the hand that held mine captive stroked over my left ring finger as he stared at it in fixation.
The smile he gave me when our eyes met again was breathtaking. A full, disarming smile that stole the air from my lungs. He held my eyes with his, and the cool touch of metal against the skin of my finger made my body freeze.
"What—what is that?" I asked, eyes darting down to the huge teardrop shaped diamond settled around my finger in two intricate, diamond studded bands of rose gold.
"Pick a date. I want to know by tomorrow."
"I—what?" I asked, feeling like my jaw was on the floor.
"A date, Angel," he chuckled. "I'd prefer a summer wedding, so we need to make arrangements quickly."
"A year is plenty of time—" I started to explain, because I had no need for a big wedding.
Wedding.
"You misunderstand me, Cara mia. I'm not waiting until next year to make you my wife."
"But it's already the end of May!"
"As I said, pick a date." He gave me that beautiful smile again, and I almost wanted to smack him for the way he enjoyed my floundering.
"You can't just put a ring on my finger, you know? You didn't even ask me if I would marry you!" I argued, shrinking back into the counter as much as I could.
"Asking would imply you have a choice." He smirked, giving me a glimpse of that dark possessiveness that always seemed to linger beneath the surface.
"Matteo," I warned. "I think we should slow down."
"I'll not waste another moment of my life without you as my wife, Ivory. Pick a fucking date," he growled, and I winced. With a sigh, I nodded. I was learning. Maybe I wasn't the fastest learner, but I knew well enough to know when to push and when not to. This was clearly one of those moments I shouldn't touch.
He smiled again, pleased with my concession. "Thank you. Don't overcook the Strozzapreti," he said, turning and striding back to his office like he hadn't turned my world on its head again.
Like marrying me had always been a foregone conclusion, and I suppose for Matteo it had. After all, he didn't care if I said no.
We were getting married.
His wife.
Ivory Bellandi.
Fuck.
Twenty-Six
Ivory
"Where are we going?" I grinned at Matteo as he swerved the Aston through the highway traffic just outside the city. We'd spent a few days in bliss, ignoring the world and getting lost in each other whenever we could manage. Matteo still worked, I had a feeling that would never change, but I'd finally set foot in his office long enough to work from the couch.
Offices no longer seemed terrifying.
Was he perfect?
Absolutely not.
He was dominating, controlling. He manipulated me to get his way and forced my hand when I didn't do something he wanted, but I realized that everything he'd done was to protect me.
Could I really be angry that he loved me enough to keep me safe?
He was all I'd never dared to dream for.
I didn't want to waste any more time.
He eyes met mine across the center console, his hand tightening around mine briefly. He glanced at an exit sign before moving into the right lane to take it. "Don't freak out."
I froze solid. "Why would I freak out? What did you do?" I'd only just come to terms with the last time; I did not need a new thing to be pissed about.
"We're going to my uncle's house for dinner," he admitted, and everything inside me tightened. I'd never met his uncle before, but I'd caught snippets of information from conversations Matteo and Lino had. I knew enough to know he wasn't a kind man.
"Say what now?" I asked, turning to him and feeling my eyes harden when he glanced at me in amusement.
"You had to meet him sometime, Angel," he laughed.
I glared at the corner of his eye, that spot where just the faintest trace of crow's feet were forming on his face. Even the tiny trace of aging only emphasized his dangerous features. "You're right. I probably did," I agreed, and the relief in his face was comical. He seriously thought he was off the hook. "But not today! Not without knowing what's coming. You blindsided me, you asshole!"
He barked out a sharp laugh, reveling in my growing comfort with him. In Matteo's words, it often grew boring having people just do what he said all the time.
I was anything but boring.
"Can you blame me?" he asked.
"Why was this necessary? Now I'm panicking!" I groaned, tearing my hand out of his grip.
"Which is exactly why I didn't tell you until we were almost there. I didn't want you fretting all day when you could be happy with me."
"That's almost sweet," I admitted. "But mostly selfish I think."
"It was completely selfish," he consented with a rogue grin. I smacked his arm, trying not to think about the time before we'd left the house where he'd ambushed me in the shower.
Where I'd gone to wash the sex off me.
That had been an exercise in futility.
"What if he hates me?" I whispered, and Matteo winced.
"He won't be your biggest fan," he returned, and I groaned.