Page 55 of The Mafioso’s Bride

"I will tell you where I am next time."

"There will be no next time you have to flee after I refused to speak. You can always leave. I won't lock a door or order a guard to stop you."

"That sounds controlling."

"I said you can leave. I didn't say I'll let you go without asking what I failed to give you."

She catches my lower lip between her teeth. "Then give me a reason to stay."

I drive into her until the headboard knocks again. "This house belongs to you. My name belongs to you. Every hour of my life belongs to you."

"Your cock belongs to me."

"Especially my cock."

Her laugh breaks into a cry. I reach between us and rub her clit with two fingers.

"Keep fucking me."

"I couldn't stop now if the house burned."

Her body closes around me. She comes with my name against my mouth. I thrust through each contraction until my control breaks. I bury myself inside her and come, holding her against the mattress while every pulse fills her.

I remain over her until my arms threaten to fail. "Pressure or room?"

"Pressure."

I turn onto my side and take her with me, keeping her wrapped against my body. Her leg stays over my hip. Damp hair sticks to her forehead.

"Water," she says.

I reach for the glass on the bedside table and hold it while she drinks. She takes it from me after two swallows.

"I can hold a glass."

"I am relearning the border between devotion and being irritating."

"You crossed it."

"I suspected as much."

She finishes the water and sets it down. I clean us both with a warm cloth, return to bed, and pull the blanket over her legs.

"This is your room," I tell her. "Your house. Our marriage. None of it is mine to grant you. It belongs to us."

"Your office too?"

"If you want it."

"Your work contains confidential information."

"You are my wife and my partner. I trust you with my life. A financial report is not more valuable."

She runs one finger down the center of my abdomen. "I want to work with you. I do not want a position created to occupy me."

"You found a payment pattern three men missed. I would be an idiot not to use your mind."

"You are not an idiot."