Page 99 of Sweet Prison
“Satisfied?” I meet Zahara’s honey-brown eyes.
She tilts her head to the side, a small smile curving her lips. “You are incorrigible.”
“Without a doubt,” I smirk. Then, I lift her into my arms and fuse my mouth to hers.
It’s not our first kiss, but it feels as if it is for some reason. Maybe it’s because I’m not paranoid about someone walking in on us anymore. It’s no longer an issue since practically the whole of Boston Cosa Nostra is gathered in this hall, witnessing me devouring my angel’s lips without an ounce of shame or concern for their small-minded sensibilities. And what lips those are... Soft, like the petals of an exquisite flower, and sweet, like the ripest forbidden fruit. Zahara is my paradise garden, and I can no longer restrain myself. I surrender to the temptation to nibble the most succulent lips on this earth, enjoying the faintest panting breaths passing from her lips to my own.
A collective gasp detonates around us, and then the whispering kicks up. Soon enough, the rumble thunders through the room like an earthquake. And I… Don’t. Care. Don’t give a fuck about anything but my Zahara.
The pounding of my heart, however, has escalated to a breakneck beat. The sound is so loud in my ears that I feel like my entire body is pulsing from the inside out. God, I’m so crazy about this woman. It feels so damn good to at long last be able to claim her as mine in front of everyone. To make sure they all know who this woman belongs to, so no idiot will ever try approaching her again. Next time, I’ll kill whoever dares.
Zahara kisses me back, the bold stroke of her tongue leaves me without a doubt about the fervor of her passion. She winds her arms around my neck, her fingers raking through the short hair at the back of my scalp. I haven’t shaved it since the day she admitted she wanted to see me wearing it longer. I suck her tongue between my teeth, biting it lightly. She returns the bite. Hard. A metallic tang bursts in my mouth. The taste of blood—harsh and bitter. Such a contradiction to the fresh scent of jasmine enveloping me. The smell of peace that only she could ever give me.
“I need to ask you something,” I whisper into her lips.
“Okay.”
Reluctantly, I lift my hungry mouth off hers and meet her gaze. “Would you marry this crazy old asshole, Zahara?”
My lungs aren’t working. Someone must have shut down my respiratory system, because I can neither inhale nor exhale. The only thing I can do is peer into Massimo’s eyes, getting more breathless and lightheaded. The hushed whispers swirling around us explode into a cacophony of astonished shrieks. I barely register them. Am I dreaming? I must be.
“God knows you deserve better, angel,” Massimo continues, his tone grave. “But the thing is, I can’t let you go. You are mine, Zahara. You’ve been mine from the moment your knowing gaze landed on my imprisoned ass. There you were, mourning your father, and all I could do was struggle to breathe. Not a day since has passed when I didn’t need you. You are the very air in my lungs. I love you, baby. I’m being selfish, but you already know that about me. Please, say yes.”
My eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision and his face. I try responding but can’t get past the lump blocking my airway. I’ve fantasized about this moment for so long. I can’t believe this is real. Cupping Massimo’s rugged cheeks with my trembling palms, I attempt again to push the words out of my mouth. Only a breathless sound escapes me. So I just kiss him. Pouring everything I feel into that kiss.
“You need to sayyes, Zahara. ’Cause if you don’t, I’m liable to kill every man for a hundred miles, just to make sure no one else can have you,” he says into my lips.
A shaky laugh bursts from me. “And what about witnesses?”
“I’ll get rid of them, too.”
“No need for that.” I sniff. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Shocked squeals break out behind me, but they’re drowned out by Massimo’s hurried steps echoing off the hardwood floors as he carries me across the room. I lock my ankles behind his back and chance a look over his shoulder. The top echelon ofBoston’s Cosa Nostra has gathered in a semicircle at the center of the hall, gaping at our retreating forms in total stupefaction. Among them is Salvo, with a look of great bitterness sweeping across his face. Close by, a stunned Tiziano is practically supporting his wife. Her hands are covering her mouth, eyes blown wide—she’s horrified. It’s quite a sight.
The urge to laugh overwhelms me. For years, I’ve done everything I could to remain invisible to these people, never wanting to draw any attention to myself. But now, as I create a scandal that will undoubtedly be talked about for the next decade, for a moment, I’d completely forgotten they even existed. I try to muffle the fit of giggles bubbling up inside me and fail.
“If I’m being completely honest,” Massimo grumbles as he kicks a door open. “That’s not the reaction I expected to my marriage proposal.”
I snort and bury my face in the crook of his neck. “Sorry. You should have seen the expressions on everyone’s faces.”
“Well, they better get their faces under control before we get back.”
Massimo stops at the end of a dark hallway and kicks open another door. The room he carries me into is cast in shadows, a tall floor lamp in the corner the single source of light. Navy drapes obscure the windows on the far side, and all the other walls are lined with intricately carved bookshelves.
“Where are we?”
“Brio’s study.” Massimo deposits me on the large pedestal desk occupying the middle of the room.
“Why?”
“Because if I have to wait any longer, my cock is going to explode.” He seizes my chin between his fingers and leans in soclose his face is but a breath away. His eyes are fierce as they search mine so intently he can surely see the depths of my soul. “I’m going to fuck you now, angel. It’s going to be hard. If you think you can’t take that, you better tell me right away.”
I lift my chin. “Do your worst. Pound me on top of this desk and make me scream your name for everyone to hear.”
A feral growl erupts from his chest. His hand slides off my chin and wraps around the column of my throat.
“Zahara.” There’s a clear warning in his tone, a promise of the most sinful carnal pleasure. “Be careful. My control is hanging by a thread, and the last thing I want is to unintentionally hurt you.”