4. The claiming
4
THE CLAIMING
CRISTINA
T iki moved here from America. When I told her I’d never had sex, she didn’t believe me. She couldn’t believe twenty-eight-year-old virgins existed. But I explained how I grew up on an island with Father Thomas looking over me and at me.
I never got to thank the boy who broke Father’s nose, but I’m fairly certain I have him to thank for Father Thomas never touching me. Hence, I grew up protected from groping men, and I learned early on that the attention of a man made me feel gross. I didn’t like feeling gross, so I avoided it.
Until three years ago, when I visited Hungary for a cooking convention and ended up in bed with a gorgeous German man who slid his tongue between my legs, but couldn’t complete the evening’s shenanigans because we were also getting high. Apparently, smoking marijuana made his penis soggy.
Or at least that was what he claimed.
Given his interest in another girl the very next evening, I regret nothing other than the effort I spent that year losing some weight, trying to build my confidence back so I could slip into the bathing suit again and flirt with tourists. I didn’t like any of the tourists I met, so that was a waste. I gained back the weight I lost and added two more kilos for good measure.
“It’s my first time,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry,” Gordon says. “I’ll numb you.”
Severio sits with an elbow on the bar, thumb absentmindedly tracing his bottom lip. His blue eyes give away nothing, but they’re slightly narrowed, his head tilted as if in confusion.
“I’ve never heard of numbing before. Is it a kink?” Maybe a fetish?
Gordon’s tenor voice booms from right behind me, and I tense as I feel his breath on the back of my neck and something cold like gel between my shoulder blades.
“I don’t know what you think we’re gonna be doing, little one,” Gordon says, “but I’m here to tattoo a serpent around your neck and then get on with my night.”
My breath catches. My heart skips a beat. Hope blossoms in my soul. “Is that true?” I ask Severio.
“Yes.”
“He will not claim me as in…you know, claim me?”
Understanding of what I thought we’d be doing shows on Severio’s shocked face. “Most definitely not.”
The perpetual weight of my worries and terror slides off my back, and my soul soars. I throw myself at Severio and hug him tightly, so tightly I think I might smother him. He smells of bergamot with a hint of lavender. Combined with mercy, it’s a great scent for him.
“Thank you. Oh my God, thank you.”
“It was never an idea I entertained,” he says. “No need to thank me.”
The rigidity of his body tells me I overstepped boundaries when I hugged him. He’s not a panda bear. Panthers don’t hug unless you’re invited into their space for mating. And Severio wouldn’t invite me for mating, that’s for damn sure.
When I try to retreat, his palm presses into the small of my back and stops me. Severio yanks my dress back up and closes the zipper with violent speed before he pushes me away with a hand on my hip. Gordon can access the area he needs to tattoo with my dress on since the top is only a corset.
I sit on the chair with renewed purpose. It’s as if he’s allowed me to live. He has. I don’t know what version of me would’ve returned home tonight, even though I prepared for the claiming. I kept telling myself it was a one-night stand.
“Sorry about the hug,” I tell him.
Severio nods. “Don’t mention it. Can we get started now?”
I nod and reach for the glass of wine he offered me. I swirl the cabernet, bring it to my nose, and inhale.
“Tell me,” Severio says, leaving me to guess what he wants me to tell him.
“Blackberry, a hint of plum. Oak. No vanilla.”
Behind me, Gordon chuckles. “No vanilla.”
Severio ignores him and swipes a thumb over his lower lip before licking it.
I follow the movement of his tongue, and all the alcohol I’ve consumed seems to heat up my body at that very moment.
“Taste it,” he orders, then sips his.
I take a single sip and barely swallow it. “It tastes rich and spicy,” I tell him. “Like you.”
Seemingly pleased, he tips up the corners of his mouth a little. “You have a great palate,” he compliments me. “Nothing less to be expected from a chef.”
With him so close and alcohol cruising my veins, I start to notice the beautiful curve of his full lips, the cleft chin, the hard cheekbones, and those big, cold, blue eyes. “You and your uncle have the same color eyes.”
“Begin.” Severio’s order feels like a whip.
I turn my head to see Gordon slipping on dark gray gloves.
“You’re not allergic to latex, are you?” he asks.
“I am,” I lie, wondering if that could delay the claiming. How big is the tattoo? Will it show if I wear a V-neck T-shirt, or is it lower on the front? Is it like a collar around the neck? I don’t want to ask for fear I’ll run. It makes no difference. I’m getting one either way. I can get one by force, or I can get one while sipping a five-figure glass of wine.
Severio tsks. “She’s lying. Begin.” Two fingers close over my chin and move my head so I’m not watching Gordon’s prep. Severio wants my eyes on him.
“Lying will get you in trouble with me,” he says.
“I’m already in trouble with you.”
“How so?”
“The claiming is a punishment for my father joining the order without your approval.”
“I’m going to numb the area now,” Gordon says. “It’s an injection, but the needle is tiny, so you shouldn’t feel much besides cold spreading over the skin. I’m told this numbing drug feels like a blanket over the area. I’ll start working with the ink right away. Please don’t move.”
A hand on my shoulder steadies me as Gordon’s needlework starts prickling. My skin isn’t as numb as I expected, and I feel most of the pain as a buzzing between my legs, particularly my clit area. Oh boy.
It’s as if the buzzing of the tattoo gun vibrates over my clitoris, and each tiny pain prick turns me on. This is unexpected. Is it normal? I wish I’d researched these things before I came here, but I’ll search the net right after I leave.
It doesn’t help my arousal that my view is a tall and brutally handsome man who gives off those dominant bedroom vibes I imagine I’d easily enjoy. Also, I’m sandwiched between two men in a dark room, it’s late, and I’ve got tequila in my veins.
Abruptly, Severio moves behind the bar. He returns with a glass of ice, which he presses against my heated cheek.
I stare up at him, finding his blue eyes hooded. I think he knows I’m turned on.
“Thank you.”
He puts the glass in my hand. “Tell me what you thought about your wedding.”
Trying to think of what to say, I look up at the ceiling. Severio Mancini scrambles my brain. One minute, I’m overthinking; the next, I’m a blank slate.
“I thought it was… Well, the reception was wonderful. People seemed to have enjoyed themselves. Did you enjoy it?” I ask. Oh no, why would I ask him that when I’m sure he hated every minute of it? I brace for the answer.
“No.”
Ouch, but also, I probed, and now that I broke the ice, in a manner of speaking, I might as well push on with what I’ve been dying to ask. “I noticed you didn’t eat. Was the food not to your taste?”
“I don’t know. I never tasted it.”
“We served a variety of dishes. You could’ve ordered anything you wanted.”
“I ordered revenge. Here you are. A dish served”—he leans in, a smirk on his face—“very hot.”
Hot how? I want to ask, but I bite my tongue. If I ask him if he finds me hot, I’m setting myself up for humiliation. I’m sure he’s referring to the actual heat he probably sees on my face. It’s from arousal, but also tequila. Yet, his face is so close to mine that it’s considered inappropriate. Unless he’s flirting.
Which is absurd. Severio’s definitely not flirting. It’s more likely he figured out that the tattooing ignited my arousal, but I’m hoping he hasn’t figured it out so I can blame the tequila. It’s always tequila’s fault, isn’t it?
When Severio doesn’t pull back and my body starts leaning forward, I press my palm on his chest and push him away.
“No moving,” Gordon says.
“Why can’t I lie down?” I ask.
“Because he said you must sit,” Gordon answers.
Severio looks down at where I touched his chest and unbuttons his crisp white shirt, showing tanned skin under a golden chain with a seashell pendant hanging from it. I follow the movement of his hand, wondering if he’ll remove his shirt. I mean, the man does have a gorgeous physique.
He catches me watching, smirks, and takes a sip of his wine. “I’m curious about your relationship with my uncle. Before you tell me, and you will tell me, lying to me about how much you like him and want to marry an old piece of shit nearly three times your age will only make me want to slice his throat with a dull knife.”
“Why dull?” I ask.
“Because it takes several tries to slice through the skin and tendons, prolonging the pain.”
Oh. “You’ve painted a disturbing image. Thanks,” I say, projecting sarcasm.
“You’re welcome,” he says. Also sarcastically. “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asks, cold blue eyes almost cutting into me.
Jesus. This man is intense. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I have nothing to hide.”
Severio seems pleased. “How did you end up marrying my uncle?”
I lick my lips. “Let’s see. Where do I start?” I chuckle nervously. “After my father died, his lawyer and Gio informed my mother and me that my father left everything to Gio. It took some time for me to understand the underlying message. Which was that my mother and I are basically penniless.” I pause because another kind of heat crawls up my cheeks. This time, it’s humiliation. I don’t want to talk about money or the lack thereof with a wealthy man like Severio. I grew up with men who respect power, and in their world, money means power.
“Go on,” he says.
“My mother suggested I marry Gio, and the marriage was arranged.”
“The terms of the arrangement. What were they?”
“Gio would share my father’s wealth with us. We would be taken care of.”
“Where is the contract?”
“The contract?”
“The arrangement contract.”
“Oh, right. It was verbal.”
He looks at me with pity in his eyes. Or at least I think it’s pity and not a you poor dumbass who didn’t make Gio sign anything look. It’s probably the latter, though, so I continue in my defense. “I’ve known Gio my entire life. He wanted to help us, but my mother wouldn’t accept charity, and neither could I. Marriage was a fair option. Gio’s always been single, and so…” I shrug.
“Did he ask for heirs from you?”
“No.” We agreed on some other things, but Severio didn’t ask about those specifically.
The narrowing of Severio’s eyes freezes me in place. “Are you lying?”
“No, I swear.”
He’s deadly still, glaring at me, and I think the room might’ve iced over.
I part my lips to explain how I’m not lying, but Severio presses his thumb over my mouth. “Shhh, I get the idea. Moving on to the Order business now. Who is this lawyer who came with Gio?”
“Our family lawyer.”
“Nicholas, the Greek?”
I nod. “We trust him. The day after Gio and I made the arrangement, he seemed anxious about putting anything on paper. He told me my father’s position in the Order had been leaked and that I should leave. Back then, I thought he’d lost a few marbles, speaking nonsense. I didn’t know what Order he meant or anything.”
“And what do you think now?”
“The man tried to warn me.”
Severio smirks. “About what?”
“You. He was trying to warn me about your arrival.”
“Ah. And what do you think about my arrival?”
I contemplate not telling him the truth, but I get a sense that if I lie, he’ll know. “It’s most unfortunate.”