Page 73 of Sweet Prison
Bang.
I want to make her mine. Ignore the fucking scandal. I never gave a shit what people think about me anyway. I’d put up with their contempt and disdain. I would. But in doing so, I’d open her up to stigma for the rest of her life. The Family is ruthlesswhere these types of things are concerned, and Zahara is too pure to deserve their scorn.
Bang.
I need her!
Knowing it’s wrong. Knowing she is worthy of better. Doesn’t change that I fucking need her! It was easier to resist her before I tasted the forbidden fruit. Now, I can’t hold back no matter how hard I try. It’s like a beautiful madness has gripped my mind. Tightening its hold on me without mercy. She is all I can think about. My hands on her. My lips on her glorious pussy. I can’t get those images out of my mind. I want to, but can’t!
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The door swings open, revealing my angel, bathed in soft light from the floor lamp near the door. So radiant. Dazzling. Gleaming bright. As are the specks of reddish-gold among her luscious strands that have fallen over her lace-covered shoulders and arms. Her hair is the same shade as her knee-length nightie, and the silk clings to her delicious curves. Other than last night, I’ve only ever seen her in pants and full-sleeved tops.
“What’s going on?” she asks, sleepily, and rubs her eyes with her hands. Such an innocent, simple gesture. Jesus fuck, she’s so damn young.
“Nothing,” I grunt.
“You’ve been knocking like a maniac, as if the house is on fire, and you say it’s ‘nothing’?”
Yeah… I wouldn’t call that knocking. “Sorry I woke you. I’ll go now.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is that blood?”
I press my fingers to my brow, just at the edge of my temple. They come away wet and red. I must have split my skin while “knocking.”
“It’s nothing. Head back inside. And lock the door.”
“Why?”
“You know why. Please, angel. I won’t be able to walk away until you do.”
“Then don’t.”
My mind blanks. I can feel the tethers of my restraint snap, shredding like an age-worn thread. I grab at the doorframe, squeezing as if it will help anchor me to my spot. Keep me from stepping into her room.
If I do, I won’t have the strength to leave.
“Zahara,” I whisper. “Shut the door.”
“Why?”
The wood cracks under the pressure of my grip. “Because if you don’t, I’m coming inside.”
Not even a full step. That’s the distance between us. A wild storm rages inside me as I take in Massimo standing just outside my door. His whole body is tense, leaning forward with his hands braced on the jamb. I have a feeling that’s the only thing keeping him in place at the moment. Every single line of his face is drawn taut as if etched in stone, yet he’s staring back at me with eyes that reflect the same tumult I’m feeling.
“You didn’t have a problem coming in last night,” I say. “But after, you seemed afraid for my mortal soul and acted like what happened between us was a huge mistake. Well, you’re not prone to making mistakes, Massimo, and God forbid you shouldever repeat one. So no, I’m not closing this door. You’ll have to turn around and leave on your own.”
Massimo’s nostrils flare and he takes several deep breaths through his nose. “Salvo asked me for your hand in marriage.”
I stare at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”
“He did. I’ll be letting him know tomorrow that I’m… in agreement.”
I reel back as if I’ve physically been punched in the gut. He’s giving me away? To Salvo? Like I’m some fucking object he no longer needs? What the actual fuck? Peppe was right; he said Massimo would do anything to keep me from himself. I just never expected this. Not this… thisbetrayal. That’s the only word for it. How could he do it? Hurt me like this?
Unless…
I tilt my chin and meet his gaze. His eyes are practically glowing—anger is burning in them. And anguish. Jealousy.