Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

“This is where we’re having dinner,” he murmurs as he lowers me into a chair. I take in the crisp white table cloth that covers a table that has been set with silverware for two. The alcove is sheltered from the breeze by a screen on one side. The view itself is undisturbed though, and I glance out at the sea that stretches out into the distance. A cool breeze tugs at my hair. I tuck the strands behind my ear, turn back to the table arrangement. There’s a vase in the center of the table with one single perfectly formed black rose, the edges of the petals a blood red. It’s a perfect bloom, unlike anything I have ever seen. He reaches for a blanket that has been placed on a stool by the side. He places it over my lap, then tucks it at the sides.

“How does that feel?”

“Good,” I murmur.

“Not too cold? Not too warm?” He nods toward the patio heater, “Should I turn that off?”

“No,” I pat the edge of the blanket, “I am comfortable, as is.”

“Good.” He reaches for a napkin, shakes it out, then places it on my lap over the blanket, before pushing my chair in, just so. Then he walks around to take his seat on the other side.

“What’s all this about?”

“Can’t I have dinner with my wife?”

“Hmm,” I frown, “not that I don’t appreciate it, but if you want to take me to dinner, why can’t we go out?”

He tilts his head, and I scowl. “You don’t want to take me out, is that it?”

He gazes at me steadily and I blow out a breath, “Since you found out I was pregnant you haven’t let me out of the house. In fact, you’ve barely let me out of your sight, and it’s really beginning to grate on my nerves.”

He merely reaches for the jug of water and pours out a glass. “Drink,” he orders, “you need to make sure that you are hydrated.”

I open my mouth to refuse and he gives me a stern look. “Drink your water, baby,” he winks at me, and bloody hell, when he calls me by that endearment, my heart seems to melt. I can’t refuse him anything when he looks at me with that mix of dominance and lust and tenderness all entwined in the depths of those hypnotic blue eyes. I raise the glass of water, sip from it, and his gaze falls to my mouth. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. I lick my lips, scooping up a drop of water from the corner of my mouth, and his throat moves as he swallows. His chest rises and falls, he leans forward, reaches for me, when the sound of footsteps approaches.

Momentarily distracted, we look toward Cassandra, who makes her way over to us to place a basket of bread between us. “The chef will be along shortly with your main courses. Enjoy.” She glances between us, then backs away without another word.

Steam rises from the bread. Whoa, have they been freshly baked? I mean, of course, they have to be freshly baked. Nothing but the best for Michael, after all. I reach for a roll, then gasp and pull back, “Ouch, it’s too hot.”

“Here, let me.” He reaches for a roll, breaks off a piece. Steam rises from it as he offers me a bite-sized piece.

I glance at the piece of roll then back at him, “It may be too hot.”

“It’s not.”

“What if it is?” I frown.

“And here I thought you trusted me, hmm?”

Well, he does have a point there. I open my mouth and he pops the piece of bread inside. I chew on it, and the strong, tangy, yeasty flavor of the freshly baked roll explodes on my palate. “Oh, yum!” I finish chewing, swallow the piece, then open my mouth again. He pops another piece of bread inside and I chew on that as well. “This is really good,” I admit as I swallow it down as well.

He butters the remaining piece, offers it to me and I eat that too. The flavors only seem to multiply, thanks to the butter. “I have never tasted anything like it,” I confess.

“The chef is the best in Europe,” he confirms to me.

“It’s not what’s-her-name, Marissa, is it?”

“You mean Larissa?” He smirks.

I frown. “Don’t flaunt your floozies in front of your wife,” I snap.

He raises his hands. “Scusa,” he murmurs, “mi sono sbagliato. I promise, I won’t speak of her again.”

“Or see her,” I add, causing him to nod in agreement. Wait a minute. What is he up to? I stare, “You are being awfully conciliatory?”

“I admit my mistakes when I am wrong,” he peers into my eyes, “but only for you, Beauty.”

My stomach flip-flops; I clench my thighs. Gosh, can he be any hotter? Especially when he’s being so nice to me? I push back my seat, rise to my feet, place my blanket and napkin on my chair, then walk around the table. His forehead quirks as I raise his arm then sink down in his lap.

His gaze heats as I twine my fingers with his, then reach up and brush his lips with mine. “This is nice, isn’t it?” I murmur, and his breath catches. I press tiny kisses down the sharp edge of his jaw, to the hollow at the base of his throat. I lick the skin there and his hardness stabs into the side of my thigh. I bite down and a low growl ripples up his chest. He wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and tugs. I tip up my chin, stare into those blue eyes that blaze back at me.

He rakes his gaze down my features, to my lips, then back up to my eyes, “The answer, Beauty,” he whispers, “is still no.”

I scowl, “I didn’t ask for anything.”

“But you were going to.”

“No, I wasn’t,”

One side of his lips curls, “Still lying to me, darlin’?”

I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip. Goosebumps pop on my skin, my pussy trembles, and moisture laces my core. Shit. Why is it that when he begins to get rough with me, my body responds with such ardor?

“Let go of me,” I say in a low voice and his grin only widens.

“That’s not the message you were conveying a few moments ago, Beauty.” He brings his hand up to cup my breast, and a moan bleeds from my lips. His gaze sharpens. “Your breasts are more tender, more sensitive than they used to be,” he murmurs as he brushes his thumb across my nipple. Heat races down my spine and I shift in his lap. His thickness seems to lengthen against my thigh as he leans in closer, closer…

He brushes his nose against my throat and inhales deeply, “You smell of moonflowers, with a hint of something deeper, more complex.” He sniffs me again, then glances up at me, “You smell the same, and yet, different.” He peers into my features, “Like you are changing, even while, at heart, you are the same girl you once were.”

“Wow,” I swallow, “you can sense all that?”

A crease appears between his eyebrows. “Only with you, apparently.”

He leans in, nuzzles my cheek, “You smell like you are mine.”

My stomach flutters and my toes curl. Oh, my God, if anyone could bring me to orgasm just by his words, it would be this man. I turn my face toward him and our lips meet and… It’s unlike any of our previous kisses. It’s soft and tender, with just a hint of that unleashed dominance that is so very Mika; and yet, he’s holding back the full force of his personality, which thrums in the background. And that only turns me on further.

I lean into the kiss, but he tightens his grip on my neck and holds me in place. He proceeds to leisurely nibble on my mouth, lick my lips, brush his mouth over mine again and again, until our breaths mingle and our chests rise and fall in unison, until the evidence of his arousal seems to grow so solid between us that I am sure his shaft is going to stab through his pants. My core clenches and moisture trickles down the inside of my thigh. I grind my butt into his thickness and a groan vibrates up his chest.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, “you are killing me, Beauty.”

“You are doing it to yourself, Capo,” I bite down on his lower lip and he visibly jerks.

He pulls away, stares into my features, “You’re tempting me to break my self-imposed abstinence.”

“Why don’t you?” I scowl at him, “This entire no-sex thing is ridiculous.”

“You’re cute when you are angry,” he chuckles.

I open my mouth to tell him off, only he’s already there. He kisses me. I part my lips and he sweeps in, thank god! He sucks on my tongue, sips from me, consumes me, devours me like he is hungry and I am his last meal. My head spins and my toes curl; he pulls away from me and I slump.

I hear footsteps behind me but don’t turn.

“You okay?” he murmurs as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture that is becoming familiar to me.

I hear the sound of plates being placed on the table and the spicy scent of food tickles my nose. I turn to find two steaming dishes placed on the table.

“Come va, principessa?” a familiar voice asks.

“Paolo!” I cry in delight. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“And you.” His rosy cheeks widen in a big smile.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was asked to come and cook my favorite dishes for you,” he nods his chin toward the plates.

“So, you left your restaurant and came over to cook dinner for us?”

He jerks his chin toward Michael, “What the Capo wants, the Capo gets.”

Of course, he does.

I shoot a sideways glance at Michael. “There was no need to have Paolo shut down his restaurant and come here to cook for us. We could have gone to him.”

“And you know my thoughts on that already.” Michael tilts his head. His gaze clashes with mine and those blue eyes of his-damn! It’s like they can see my deepest thoughts, suss out my innermost fears. Like they are aware that underneath all the protests, I am secretly flattered that he did this for me. My cheeks heat and his smirk widens. Gah, can I not even glance at him without getting turned on?

I flip my hair over my shoulder, turn to Paolo, “Well, I, for one, don’t take your coming here for granted. I hope the Capo, at least, compensated you for the lost business.”

He laughs, “He did, and even if he hadn’t, I promise you, it would have been my honor and my pleasure to cook for the both of you. Someone in your state needs to eat well, signora, and I have made sure that my dish is perfectly balanced, with all the nutrients you and your growing child need.

“Oh,” heat sears my cheeks. Guess I am still not used to the fact that I am pregnant, especially not when someone else mentions it to me.

“I told him; I hope you don’t mind?” Mika whispers. “He’s like family.”

“It’s fine, “I murmur, then turn to Paolo again. “Thank you for coming out to cook for us.” I hold out my hand and he takes it, then kisses it on the knuckles, before stepping back.

He glances at the food, then at Michael, “You need to eat the food before it grows cold.”

“Oh, we will.” Michael gestures to the plates, “Could you place her plate in front of me before you leave? I plan to feed her.”

Paolo moves the plate over so it’s front of us, then he retreats.

I turn to protest and Michael shakes his head. “Indulge me, Beauty,” he implores in a soft voice and my heart stutters. It bloody stutters.

This man… All he has to do is glance at me with tenderness and I’ll throw myself down at his feet and be ready to do his every bidding. Oh, who am I kidding? When he orders me, it turns me on even more. But there’s something about Mika being so attentive to my wishes which is simply…completely…arousing, and which also makes me giddy with happiness.

My heart begins to thud in my chest and my pulse rate ratchets up. OMG, the way he’s looking at me… It’s as if he loves me, and like he’s beginning to realize it himself.

“Beauty, I…” he searches my features, then hesitates, “I…”

“What is it?” I whisper, “Tell me, Mika, what do you want to say?”

He seems to get a hold of himself, then reaches past me for the fork. He twirls some of the pasta, then offers it to me, “I think you need to eat.”

“But-”

“Later,” he murmurs, “let’s enjoy our food first, hmm?”

I want to push it, but something in his gaze warns me that it’s time to give in. I nod, allowing him to feed me. The pasta is a simple dish made with vegetables and a sauce that is absolutely flavorful. Mika insists on feeding me, and I tell him he needs to eat as well. We compromise when he agrees that I can feed him too.

When both of our plates are empty, I lean into him with a sigh.

“Now what?” I murmur.

“Cassandra,” he calls out, “make sure that we are not disturbed.”

Cassandra pops her head through the doorway. She nods, then shuts the door on us.

I turn to him, “What’s that all about?”

“That,” he smirks, “means it’s time for dessert.”