Page 22 of Forced Mafia Bride
I traced the smooth junction of her hip, letting my hand glide to the perfect curve of her ass. When I squeezed her soft mound, I could barely control the harsh pounding of my heart orshort intake of breath. I leaned in to smell her, fighting to reign dominance over the insane urge to fuck her hard right then and there against that wall.
“Kiss me, Niko,” she pleaded, and I pulled back, stunned at the desperation in her voice. “Please, kiss me.”
Rosalyn didn’t know it, but she didn’t have to beg twice.
I cupped her chin, tasting her breath, before devouring her mouth hungrily. She sighed into my mouth, and my nails curled against the wall behind her, a futile attempt to grasp the sliver of control slipping away. I licked her tongue, nipped on her lips, and tasted the faint tinge of berries on her breath. Our teeth clashed, breath mingled, and when her fingers slid into my hair, I lost it.
My hands slid to her thighs, almost hoisting her from the ground, when a zap of bolts shot up my arm. I hissed, and my eyes flew open to see her waving a black Taser in front of my face. Her brows were drawn in an angry scowl, and she glared at me before shoving me aside.
“I don’t need anyone teaching me how to protect myself, especially you.”
The locks turned, and the door slammed shut behind her. I swiped the taste of her lips off mine with a smirk, feeling strangely satisfied by her display of anger.
Well played.
But it left me wondering just how genuine the feisty princess was. One day, she couldn’t stand Tristan Gomez, and the next, she didn’t pull out a Taser on him when his hand smacked her behind.
In the end, maybe Timur and Anatoly were right. Wherever Ronan was involved, our actions and decisions became a game of chess, and Rosalyn could just turn out to be another pawn in his crooked game.
Chapter 9 – Rosalyn
Father was not just a strict parent. He was a total disciplinarian, and to some, maybe a terror. He was a no-nonsense perfectionist who dedicated hours to making sure the expected results were as excellent as he wanted. But even with that tough exterior, he allowed me to dream beyond the life he had. He never restricted me to the walls he built or tried to kill my hope when we joked about careers, family, and having friends.
I was six when he told me he wouldn’t allow me to get close to boys until I was twenty. He was that protective. After his death, I imagined what he would have said to the man who managed to win my heart. Knowing Father, he would have threatened him before agreeing to give him my hand. There were some nights when I was holed up in my room, and I’d picture myself in a flowing white dress, a flower tiara, and white sparkly heels in Father’s arms as we walked down the aisle.
In those imaginations, the sun shone down on me, the wedding guests cheered and whistled, I had a huge grin on my face, Father smiled down at me with overwhelming love, and I could feel my insides almost bursting with happiness.
Today was my wedding day.
Father’s remains had become a part of the Earth six feet under. There was no flower tiara, flowing white dress, or sparkly shoes. As a result of my disobedience, Ronan picked out a frumpy, lacy wedding dress and matched it with a dull pair of unfashionable heels. “A man like Tristan wouldn’t give a fuck,” he said when I protested against his pick. “What he really wants lies beneath the clothes anyway.”
Since the beginning of the procession, I raised my head up for the first time and stared at the side profile of the manwho should have been my brother. The man who should have protected and defended me at all costs like Father would have done. Instead, he was the one gladly leading me to my death.
He didn’t look at me or so much as blink, but his hold on my arm tightened as we walked down the aisle, communicating that he would be ready if I pulled a stunt. He hissed from the corner of his mouth, his jaw clenching.
“I’m not the fucking groom. Wipe those fucking tears off your eyes right now, Rosalyn, and look straight ahead. Don’t you dare ruin that makeup.”
Reluctantly, I lowered my head and touched the teardrops on my lashes, fighting to hold them back from falling. I’d been crying all morning and hadn’t realized that, even now, in this living nightmare, the tears refused to stop. The guests, a few from Tristan’s side of the family and more from us, were eerily quiet, and outside the church, even the sun had better things to do than shine down on this sham of a marriage.
By the time we got to the altar, I was already praying for the ceremony to end.
Tristan made a suggestive smile at my clothes, and my skin crawled. Who said the beast had any reverence for the sacred ground we stood on?
A tiny flicker of hope that had been burning in my chest waned off when the realization thathehad abandoned our plan hit me. I shocked him with a Taser. What did I expect? I had spent almost all night waiting up, expecting something to happen. Maybe bombs, gunshots, angry shouts. But the night had been too peaceful.
The priest started with a short message about marriage and soon got to the part where Tristan and I were to exchange vows. Tristan jumped on the opportunity, and my eyes scanned the crowd. Ronan was glaring. He mouthed in Irish, ordering me to look at my husband while he was talking, but I ignored himand zeroed my concentration on Hannah. As always, she looked like a femaleJohn Wick,but today, she had an encouraging smile.
It did more harm than good.
More prickly tears sprang to my eyes, and I quickly tore my eyes away.
“It’s your turn,” Tristan offered.
I wanted to snap at him, scream, and scratch his face for ruining my life. But…who was I kidding?The sooner I accepted my fate, the better.
Deeply, I inhaled.Exhaled.Hannah helped me check through conventional wedding vows that I memorized, and now it was time to say it. To speak those meaningless but powerful words that would seal my future to this old man for the rest of eternity. Or until he died.
That’s an option.