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“I suppose you would know what’s healthiest.” She drops her hand to her side.
Letting out a slow breath, I will my cock to behave itself. I’m the one in charge. And I’m aware how important this moment is for Brioni. As far as I know, she hasn’t opened that recipe box in twenty-two years.
She’s strong, my Brioni. Stronger than she realizes. And her strength extends well past this cruel, sentimental little box.
She’s proved she can handle my darker side. Hell, I think she might even like my darker side. At least the danger of it.
I envision the two of us driving wildly through enemy territory. Brioni at the wheel of the Nav while I shoot out the tires of our pursuers. Their SUVs screeching, swerving into their own business fronts. Showers of glass raining down on their mangled bodies thrown from the car.
Brioni would be panting. Her breathing insane, but her hands steady while speeding us away from the scene. Out to a safe house, any safe house. Or, hell, even a parking garage, where we’d climb into the back of the Nav and I’d fuck her senseless. Our combined adrenaline rushing from the danger. Me, pumping my cock into her as she thrashes beneath me. Brioni giving herself to me over and over again, proving how much she can take it.
Maybe later, I think to myself. I don’t want to put her in any real danger with our enemies, but I’m sure I can come up with something to rev her up.
For now, we make sweet potato pie.
* * *
At dinner, we sit next to each other. Like true man and wife. She fits so well as another member of my family, she always has. Even in the past, when we’ve kept her away from our darker side, she’s been part of the O’Sullivans.
She, Cora, and Mam talk wedding details. I couldn’t care less. All that matters to me is that I’ll be marrying Brioni.
I don’t know what I would do without him, she’d written all those years ago.
Now, she’ll never have to find out.
“Liam?” she asks, squeezing my knee.
It’s the same move she uses in church to keep me awake. And it goes straight to my cock each time. I shift in my chair, which she notices with a sly grin.
“Would you like to go registry shopping?” she asks innocently.
Not in the slightest.
For some reason, all conversation on our side of the table has stopped. The women look at me expectantly. Brady hides his smirk by shoving colcannon in his gob. And when I glance to Da, he only shrugs.
I know I ought to say yes. But if the women run our lives, then we aren’t really the bosses, are we?
Brioni’s hand is still on my knee. Slyly, she glides her touch higher up my thigh. It takes everything in me not to adjust myself at the table.
As I take too long to respond, she tilts her head at me. Batting her eyes like some naive ingenue. There’s that naughty streak of hers. There’s a certain darkness in my deeply layered Brioni. Maybe not as strong as mine, but they fit together so well.
“Sure,” I grit out.
“Great!” She slides her hand even higher, until she’s brushing the outline of my cock.
As subtly as I can, I grab her wrist under the table. Squeeze hard in warning. When I let go, she drags her hand back to her own lap. The way she casually leans toward me, it’s like we’re any other engaged couple sharing a family meal.
But we’re so much more.
Yes, we’re mafia. And yes, I’m the firstborn son. But there’s also a current that runs between us. Our darkness carries an electrical charge, and I feel it sparking between our bodies. Beneath my shirt, the hairs on my arm prickle, but only on the side that’s next to Brioni.
When my fiancée serves her sweet potato pie, Mam’s compliments to her are full of pride. Mam’s smart. She knows what it means that the dessert isn’t a neatly latticed apple pie.
I’d never given much thought to what Mam would think of my arranged wife. But the fact that my wife-to-be is Brioni brings advantages no alliance bride could. She’s already so aligned with everything. My family, my responsibilities.
My darker side.
So goddamn perfect, and perfect for me. Mine.
