“Sweetheart, do you think I give a fuck about tradition?” He clasps his hand around the back of my neck. “We’re already past traditions, are we not?”
“You’ll see the dress when I walk down the aisle.” I settle my hand on his chest, and even though the weight in the room is heavy, I can’t stop myself from smiling up at him. “And you’d better cry tears of love.”
He chuckles.
Swear to God, he chuckles.
If I wasn’t in his arms, I’d pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“You and your smart mouth will be the death of you.” He nips at my lips.
His sternness has faded into playfulness—so unlike Cristian. I pull away to get a better look at him. His shoulders are relaxed, his jaw unclenched, and his face doesn’t contain a murderous expression.
Is he on the tipsy train too?
I take two whiffs to detect alcohol on this breath, but nothing.
“Oh my God.” I dramatically gasp and place my hand over my chest, similar to how Helena did in the living room. “Did I just make the Cristian Marchetti laugh?”
He digs a finger into my neck. “No.”
I nudge his shoulder. “You laughed … and it wasn’t your classic psychopath laugh. It was a regular person laugh. That gives me hope about the wedding-day tears.”
I’d expect meatballs to drop from the sky before Cristian shed tears of love for me.
His dark eyes lower to mine. “I’ve never shed a tear in my life, so don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.”
I raise a brow. “Never?”
He shakes his head.
“Not even as a kid?”
“We lived in a cry-free home—unless we wanted my father’s wrath.”
“A baby … surely, you cried as a baby.”
His face is indifferent, like his father’s actions didn’t affect him. “For as long as I can recall, I’ve yet to shed a tear.”
How sad.
For your father to forbid you from expressing your emotions.
He slides his hand from my neck before shoving his face into my shoulder, raining kisses along my neck. “Now, back to the dress. Let me see.”
I tilt my head to the side, providing easier access, and I’m thankful I pulled my hair into a ponytail earlier. “It’s being altered at the bridal shop.”
“Show me a picture.” He licks down my neck.
I shiver, my knees feeling weak. “I don’t have one.”
“Guess I’ll have to settle for you describing it to me then.”
He grips my waist and picks me up, and I wrap my legs around him. He returns to the other side of the desk and settles me on it. I whimper when he eases his hands up my thighs.
“How long is the dress?”
“To my ankles.”
Even with the simple touches he’s giving me, my body is already aching for him.
His touch drops to my ankles, and I groan, wishing he’d gone in the other direction. He raises my legs, pressing them to his thighs, and stands between my legs, the same way I did with him earlier.
“And will you be wearing panties?” He stares between my legs and licks his lips.
I groan when he rubs his erection against me. “Undecided.”
He flips my dress up. “I want this pussy to be covered and for my eyes only.” He pulls at my hair. “No other man will ever see, touch, or even think about what’s mine.”
The urge to tell him I’m not anyone’s is on the tip of my tongue, but it stays there. I don’t want him to stop touching me. Hell, right now, he could tell me I belonged to aliens, and I’d agree so long as he kept touching me.
I stare at him in anticipation, in need, in everything as he skates his fingers back up my thighs.
Higher and higher.
Underneath my dress.
Right where I need him.
But he brushes both thumbs over my pantie-covered clit before pulling at the hem of my dress and saying, “Take this off.”
I undress for him.
He roughly shoves his hands down my panties. “God, you’re so fucking sexy, Natalia.”
I grind into him and spread my legs wider.
“That,” I whisper. “Keep doing that.”
Holding one hand shoved down my panties, he moves his other to my chest, cupping my breast before lowering my bra to expose my nipple.
“And what will be here?” He feathers his palm over a nipple, and I arch my back off the desk.
“Scoop neckline. Thick straps. Simple.”
“Simple? There will never be anything simple about you.”
And in one swift motion, he tears my panties off and shoves them into a drawer. He plunges one … two … three fingers inside me, stretching me so wide I can feel my pussy expanding with each thrust into me.
He lowers his head to suck on my clit with his fingers still at work until I fall apart.
He wastes no time unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down to free his thick cock. And with one thrust, he’s inside me, and it feels like everything I’ve ever needed.
As Cristian fucks me, there are no wedding thoughts.
No Vinny thoughts.
Just us.
Him inside me.
Pleasuring me.
Two people who aren’t supposed to be touching each other.
I stare up at him, soaking in the vision and beauty that’s Cristian Marchetti as he wildly fucks me. His head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut while he bites into his lower lip.
He bows his head, as if he senses my stare, and our eyes meet—his on fire.
“You look so fucking sexy like this.”
He’s thrusting inside me so hard that my ass slips off the desk with each stroke. If anyone is outside this office, they’re getting a free vocal sex show.
I moan, and he cups his hand over my mouth to mask the sound.
“Do you want everyone to hear you?” His voice is low. “To know I have you spread open for me in here?”
I smirk. “We’re simply discussing wedding plans.”
A wicked smile spreads along his face. “We do need to go deep”—he withdraws before slamming back into me—“into wedding planning.”
I gasp when he loosens his tie, slides it off, and shoves it into my mouth. Rotating his hips, he hits my G-spot, and it’s over. I cry out his name, nearly gagging on the tie, and my body shakes beneath him as I come undone.
My orgasmed-out body fights for the strength to keep watching him until he finishes.
Two more strokes, three more moans, and Cristian pulls out. Releasing his cum over my clit. My breathing hitches when he slips a finger between my legs, coating it with our pleasure, and smooths it over his lips before running his tongue over them.
“We have a lot of nights to go over wedding plans,” he says between heavy pants.
CHAPTER 22
CRISTIAN
I’ve been called a monster for years.
That’s why I carry no guilt for fucking my daughter’s best friend. Just like there was no regret when I almost traded her to the Lombardis. Remorse isn’t in my vocabulary.
I hadn’t planned on fucking Natalia in this office. But Helena called, eager to inform me that Natalia had found the perfect dress, awakening my curiosity. That curiosity became full-blown need when Benny told me Natalia was coming to Seven Seconds. I allowed it because I wanted to see her.