Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

Is he crazy? Of course, I’m not going to stop. The last thing I want is to see him, after that very public humiliation when he left me.

I increase my speed, and his footsteps keep pace. Oh, hell. He is going to catch up with me, and that’s not what I want. I drag my suitcase behind me as I begin to run. His footsteps pound behind me and seem to get closer. My bag slides down my arm, and I yank it up and over my shoulder.

“Aurora, please wait; please give me a chance to explain myself.”

Isn’t that what I asked him, almost word-for-word? I should feel vindicated that I’m giving him some of the same treatment he gave me, so why does it all feel wrong? I dart down the corridor, swerving around a man with a suitcase, then past a family with the children engrossed on their tablets.

“Aurora! Flower, please stop!”

His voice sounds too close. Damn it, he’s going to catch up with me, and I … I’m not ready to face him yet. Where can I hide? Where can I conceal myself so he won’t find me? I glance around, and there… I spot the sign for the ladies’ room, shoulder open the door, burst inside. I pause in front of the row of sinks, my breath coming in pants. I slap my handbag on the counter as a woman finishes washing her hands. She shoots me a curious look before she brushes past me and out the door. The door snicks shut, only to open again. Heavy footsteps sound, and I whip my head around to find Christian poised inside the doorway.

“Get out,” I snarl. “This is the ladies’ room.”Têxt belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

He glances around the space to make sure it’s empty, then turns and locks the door.

“Hey,” I gape at him, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He merely walks over to stand behind me. I take in his reflection behind me in the mirror.

His hair is mussed up. Flecks of blood dot the front of his shirt. Other than that, he looks the same. Tall, broad, sex oozing from every pore. Damn it, it’s not fair that at the end of this gone-to-shit day, I feel tired and faded while he still looks hot. And so damn edible. His chest rises and falls; his gaze narrows as he holds mine in the mirror. Those blue eyes grow cold as he glares at me. A shiver runs down my spine. Damn it, I’m not supposed to find him so hot when he’s clearly pissed at me.

He folds his arms across his chest, and his biceps flex and stretch the fabric. The buttons of his shirt barely seem to be able to contain his muscled chest.

The silence stretches, and the tension in the air seems to rise with every second. I hold his gaze for a beat, another, then flick my eyes in the direction of the doorway.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says in a hard voice.

A ripple of anticipation shimmers over my skin. My nerve endings pop. Every last cell in my body seems to be alive and waiting, waiting for him to do something. For him to punish me for what I did. For him to show me who I belong to. For him to tell me he has forgiven me. That he has come for me because he loves me. Because he can’t live without me.

“You defied me,” he says in a casual tone. Oh god, that is not good. When he gets so quiet and tries to come across as unthreatening, that’s when I know he’s really angry with me.

I tip my chin up and force myself to meet his gaze again in the mirror. “I fail to see how you drew that conclusion, considering you’re the one who told me to leave.”

“And you conveniently didn’t get on the previous flight out, I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You wanted me to come in search of you, to chase you through the airport, and corner you and-”

“And-?”

“And,” his lips kick up, “fuck you, of course.”

“How dare you,” I say in a low voice. “You have some ego if you think that I missed my flight on purpose.”

“Didn’t you?” His smile widens. “Perhaps, it was your subconscious mind that wanted you to stay in the airport, so there was more of a chance for me to find you?”

“Fuck you,” I spit out at him, and the asshole laughs.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your spark, Flower.”

“No thanks to you.” I set my jaw. “After that stunt you pulled back at the house, I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I admit that my ego gets in the way sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I snort. “And I’m still not hearing the apology, by the way.”

“What if I show it to you instead?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Show it to me?” I narrow my gaze. “What do you mean?”

“My actions always speak louder than my words, Flower; surely, you know that by now?” He closes the distance between us, and the heat of his body envelops me.

“Stay ba-back.”

My voice trembles; damn it. I shouldn’t let him intimidate me like this.

“Stay away from me,” I say in a firmer voice, “don’t touch me.”

“You don’t tell me what to do. Have you forgotten that?”

“I may have let you dominate me in the bedroom, but that’s where it stops.”

“Is that right?” He chuckles, and the sound chafes across my skin. My belly flutters, my scalp tingles, and every part of me seems to be tuned into him. I watch as he steps closer, until his chest is flush with my back, his thighs cradle my hips, and that thick hardness between his legs pushes against my arse.

A shudder grips me, and I grip the edge of the sink even tighter.

He slides his hand around to cup my pussy through the fabric of my jeans.

“Oh, god,” I squeeze my eyes shut, “oh, my fucking god!’

“Open your eyes,” he commands, and I snap my eyelids open. I meet his gaze once again, and his eyes… They are burning into me with such intensity that goose bumps pop on my skin.

He pushes the hair at the nape of my neck to the side. I shiver. He bends, and without taking his gaze off of mine, he presses his lips to the curve where my shoulder meets my neck. It’s so sweet, so not like the Christian I know that a moan bleeds from my lips. He digs his teeth into my skin, and I yelp. My pussy clenches. My toes curl. He drags his tongue across the bruised skin, and moisture beads my core.

“Christian, please,” I whisper. “Please…” I want to tell him to stop, but I can’t seem to form the words. He lowers the zipper on my jeans, then slips his fingers under my panties. He brushes across my swollen clit, and a whine bubbles up my throat.

“Fuck,” he growls, “you are so wet, Flower.” He peruses my features in the mirror as he shoves his fingers inside of me. My pussy clamps down instantly on his fingers, and his gaze seems to intensify. He moves his fingers in and out of me, and my entire body bucks. I throw my head back against his shoulder, even as a part of me wishes that I could resist him. But I can’t. God help me, but I tried; all I have to do is see him, scent him, feel his skin against mine, and all thought seems to drain from my head. Damn it, I cannot give in to him like this, not after the way he treated me.

“Christian,” I burst out, “don’t. Please, don’t.”

He pauses. “You want me to stop?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, then nod.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that you want me to leave, and I will.”

I draw in a breath, force my eyelids open, then meet his gaze in the mirror. My entire body seems to flush with the intensity of his regard.

“Tell me,” he insists, “tell me you don’t want me.”

“I do,” I whisper.

“Then why are you resisting what’s between us?”

“You told me you loved me. Yet the first time someone tells you about a mistake I committed, you turn your back on me publicly. You believed him over me.” I hunch my shoulders. “And to some extent I deserve it, Christian. After all, I never did come clean to you about the details of what my deal with him was.” I shake my head. “We are not good together, you and I.”

“We are,” he says with vehemence, “we bloody well are.”

“You chose to believe the worst of me, Christian,” I remind him. “As soon as he told you what I had done, you found me guilty without giving me a chance to explain my actions.”

“I am sorry about that,” he admits. “I went against my instincts. I knew there was a reason for what you did. I knew that I was to blame as much as you, and still…”

“How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Are you?”

“I told you I’d show you how much I regret my actions.”

“By fucking me?”

“By making love to you.” He curls his fingers inside of me, and my hips push back and into the thick column between his legs.

“That’s … the problem,” I gasp, “it’s too easy for you to distract me. You only have to touch me, and I seem to forget everything wrong that you did to me.”

“I don’t see the problem with that.” His lips kick up.

“You don’t understand what I’m trying to say,” I snarl. “I want to be away from you long enough to clear my head, so I know exactly what I want.”

“You want me, Flower, you know that.”

“I know I want what you do to my body, but what about the rest of me?”

“The rest of you?”

“What about what my heart wants?”

“What does it want?”

“I don’t know, okay?” I cry. “I thought I might have fallen in love with you, but after the stunt you pulled earlier, I … I am not sure.”

“Ah,” he hesitates, “so, you’re telling me that you don’t love me?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” I huff. “I am just saying that I need time to think things through, okay?”

He stares at me a second longer, then he pulls out his fingers. He brings them up to his mouth and sucks my cum off of them. The heat flushes my cheeks. No matter how many times I’ve seen him do that, I’ll never get used to the raw eroticism in his gestures.

He steps back, and cool air rushes between us. Damn it, how can I already miss him? And why did I stop him from taking me one last time? Something to stay with me in the days to follow as I figure out what I really want.

“Okay,” he jerks his chin, “you got it, Flower. I’ll stay away from you if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.” I watch as he backs away from me.

“Fine.” He hesitates, then pivots on his heel, heads to the door, and unlocks it.

“Wait,” I call after him, and he turns; the look on his face is so hopeful, so unlike anything I have ever seen on his features before that I swallow, my guts twist, and I push away the ball of emotion that clogs my chest. “My family,” I force out the words, “you promise not to harm them?”

He draws in a breath, seems like he’s about to say something else, then nods, “I promise.”

“And when your brother wakes up?”

“Brother?”

“He looks so much like you that I assume there is a family connection?”

“Family…” He shakes his head. “He’s my triplet.”

“Triplet?” I blink. “So you, Xander, and this stranger…?”

He nods. “Triplets.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “Something my parents and Nonna knew, but none of them saw fit to tell us about his existence.”

“Oh, wow,” I bite the inside of my cheek, “that… that must have come as a shock, I imagine?”

“You can’t make this shit up.” His features grow hard. “I’m not sure if I can forgive Nonna for this.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“No doubt,” he snorts, “but it resulted in our brother turning against us. For so many years, we were unaware of his existence, and now I wonder if it’s too late to make amends for their actions.”

“I bet Nonna feels it worse than you. Can’t you forgive her for what she did?” Like how you forgave me and came after me?

“Do you want me to forgive her?”

I hold his gaze, then nod. “Yes,” I whisper, “yes, I want you to forgive her.”

“Done.” He peers into my features for a second longer. “Take care, Flower.”

He unlocks the door and walks out.

I stare after him.

So, he left me? He actually left me, just like that? I had asked him to, and he had agreed, which, in itself, is unusual. But he did it. He pushed his own needs aside and gave in to what I want. Whoa! I shake my head, then open the tap and hold my hands under the water. I spot the ring on my left hand. My wedding ring. I should have given it back to him. After all, this entire marriage is a sham, isn’t it? I rush to the door, yank it open, and call out, “Wait, Christian.”

He pauses not five feet from the door, but doesn’t turn. I walk over to stand in front of him, then pull off the ring and hand it over.

He glances at the ring in my hand, then up at my face. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours,” I murmur, “you should take it back.”

“It’s yours,” he growls, “You should keep it.”

“But… it doesn’t feel right.”

“I gave it to you; it belongs to you.” He brushes past me. “Keep it or toss it; do whatever you think is right, Flower.”