Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I slump back in the seat and don’t argue with him anymore. Luckily, I finished my food before this conversation happened since it would have spoiled my appetite. And missing out on the food would have been a crime.
“I need some new bedsheets and pillows. The ones in my room are too cold for the winter. I’d like some flannel sheets,” I tell him, trying to move to more neutral territory. I don’t mind the sheets. Flannel sheets are nice for the New York winters, they help keep the initial chill away when slipping into bed. My biggest issue with the sheets is my not knowing their history. Nobody who lives in the Lombardi household is a saint. I prefer to sleep on bedsheets that somebody else’s bodily fluids, blood or otherwise, have not infected.
That exasperated expression doesn’t leave his face, and I can’t figure out what I said this time to piss him off. “Good thing I already have flannel sheets on our bed, since that’s where you’ll be sleeping from now on.”
I grab my glass of wine and drink the rest. There wasn’t much in there. For good measure, I pour another cup and down that one too. Probably not my smartest move, seeing as I so rarely drink.
“I never agreed to move into your room. I am perfectly happy staying in the guest room.”
“You agreed to marry me. That is the only permission I need.”
The audacity of this man. I swirl a third glass of wine, and the very vivid image of throwing it in his face pops into my head. It looks cathartic when I see women do it in movies. Women have so few defenses against the thick-headedness of men. An occasional glass of wine in the face would be beneficial for them.
“We’ve already had this discussion. It’s for your safety. Besides, I am not the type of man to go to bed at night without his wife by his side,” Enzo declares.
Choked laughter escapes my mouth. “That’s rich,” I tell him with a scoff. “You’re trying to tell me you will not be following in the age-old mafia tradition of toting around a posse of devoted mistresses? Or do you draw the line at spending the night in their beds?”
I’m baiting him for a fight. I don’t know why. They say misery loves company, and since being in his presence makes me miserable, I invite him to join in on the emotion.
Except, that isn’t true. Being with Enzo isn’t awful. I’ve enjoyed spending the day with him once I could get over my anxieties about Matteo. So, I can’t figure out why I’m taunting him.
“I don’t know what kind of man you think I am. The only woman I intend on bedding is sitting across from me.”
There’s a dark edge to his voice. My lips twitch into a small smile. The move is minuscule, lasting for less than a second, but Enzo catches it. His sharp face warps at the movement, first to curiosity and then to understanding. He hums to himself before leaning back in the chair. His black shirt stretches to its limit across his chest, and his shoulders and arms flex as he moves them behind his head. My eyes roam the terrain of his body before I process what I’m doing. When I snap my attention back to his face, he’s smirking at me.
“Emma, darling, why didn’t you tell me you’re feeling horny? There’s no need to be a brat.”
I choke on my spit, sputtering like a drowning fish. My cheeks are already flushed, thanks to the free-flowing wine, but they hear up at his accusation.
“Excuse me?” I say, ignoring the obvious effects my body is having to his presence. Enzo takes me in. My red cheeks and tight nipples, moving his eyes down to where I’m pressing my thighs tightly together. I have to keep myself from rocking to find friction.
“You heard me. Beautiful, you try to hide yourself from me, but I’m figuring you out. You like the fight. You want to defy me because you know I’m going to put you over my knee and spank the brattiness out of you.”
Sex isn’t something I think about often. I don’t have the time to. Occasionally, I’ll spend some quality time with a vibrating toy in the dark of my private room, or I’ll use the shower head to massage myself to climax. That’s been the extent of the sex life for years. The idea I get off on pissing Enzo off is…
Not that far off.
“Fuck, beautiful girl. If that’s all you need, you can tell me. I’ll take care of you.”
His voice is teasing, but darker than normal. Lower. Deeper.
“I don’t need anything from you.”
Even as I hiss the words out, I have to clench my thighs together. My face feels warm, and I know a bright pink blush has spread through my cheeks.