Chapter Thirty-Six
Gualtiero
I’ve been awake for a while, enjoying Ella’s closeness.
We’re in bed, her legs draped over mine, her body tucked against my side. I slide my arm beneath her shoulder and draw her closer, careful not to wake her.
This isn’t new, her seeking me out in her sleep.
Since her vacation ended, she’s found her way to me like this almost every night.
The first time, I was the one pulling her close. Asleep, she didn’t protest, and I just needed to hold her.
By morning, I made sure to return her to her side of the bed. I didn’t want to freak her out. So I lay there watching her instead. I could have done it for hours.
She’s always so damn beautiful. I was captivated by the way her nose wrinkles and her eyes flutter beneath her lids. Her creamy white skin looked so inviting. All I wanted was to touch her, kiss her. But I reined in my desire.
Then she woke, and her displeasure at finding me in bed with her was unmistakable.
The next night, I came to bed late and kept to my side, my mind occupied. As if sensing me, she moved closer and curled into me.
It’s been the same every night since.
When her mind is quiet, when whatever stands between us falls away, she comes to me without hesitation.
It matters more than I care to admit. It tells me our bond isn’t broken.
She’s still mine.
And we will be fine.
Last night was no different. I kept my distance when I got into bed, needing her to come to me. Within minutes, she turned toward me, pressed into me, and settled there like she belonged.
She does.
And like always, I only hold her, forcing myself to be satisfied with having her wrapped in my arms.
Even as my body responds to her the way it always does.
She shifts against me in her sleep, soft sounds leaving her lips, her body molding to mine as if it knows exactly where it wants to be.
I feel every inch of her. The warmth of her skin. The way she fits. The subtle, unconscious movements that drag against my control and test it.
The heat she stirs coils low and demanding. I’m hard within seconds.
My hand tightens at her waist, fingers pressing into soft skin, anchoring myself, holding still when my instinct demands the opposite.
She exhales softly, her breath brushing my chest, and I grit my teeth.
It would be so easy to shift, to take more, to let my body follow through on what it wants.
Instead, I stay where I am.
Still. Controlled.
My need for her grows with every night. So does the effort it takes to leave her be.
But I don’t move.
I will have her on my terms. Awake. Willing… more than that, wanting.
Until then, I wait.
I pull her closer now, burying my face in her hair. She lets out a soft sound and nuzzles into my chest, her arms wrapping around me.
Something in my chest jolts. It’s unexpected and sharp.
For a split second, it feels almost… light. I ravel in it, knowing it won’t last. It hasn’t since I had to kidnap her.
Oreo, Milk, and Brownie are sprawled in their beds beside ours, snoring softly. They were a good decision. They keep her occupied, give her something to hold on to while she adjusts.
Ella stirs, and I watch her closely. She’s soft like this. Unguarded.
But the moment awareness returns, everything changes.
I brace for it. For the distance. The resistance.
It grates on me. I need it gone. I need…
… her love.
Given freely and not kept behind those walls she built around her heart.
The realization is sobering.
As expected, her body stiffens. Her breath catches. The softness disappears from her face and is replaced by tension. Her eyes meet mine, and the warmth is gone.
I smile anyway.
“Good morning, princess.”
She pulls away immediately, trying to put distance between us.
I don’t want that.
Not when she was just curled into me like she belonged there, and everything felt right.
“Not so fast, cuore mio.”
I catch her before she can get far, rolling over her and pinning her beneath me. Not to take, but to stop her from slipping away.
“Tiero… what are you doing? Let me go.”
Her breath comes uneven, her body betraying her despite the resistance in her voice.
Oh yes, my little angel isn’t immune to me. Perhaps she just needs a little reminder.
I lower my head, brushing my mouth along her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.
Our hips are perfectly aligned, my hard length pressing into her. I close my eyes for a moment to maintain control. The temptation to move, to lose myself in the friction while surrounded by her scent, is almost too much.
She tries to remain stiff, but I catch the subtle shifts of her hips, the way she clamps her mouth shut, biting her lip to stifle any sound that might escape.
It pleases me more than it should that she can’t fully suppress her response to me.
I press closer, testing the line between restraint and indulgence.
“Deny it all you want,” I murmur. “Your body is craving mine just as much as I crave yours.”
“You’re dreaming,” she says, her voice tight.
I don’t bother arguing. She wants me, but would never admit it.
“Let it happen,” I say quietly.
“No.”
Her hands press against me, pushing. “Tiero, you promised not to touch me.”
I hold her there for a second longer, our eyes sparring deliciously.
With a slow exhale, I release her and roll onto my side.
She’s out of bed in an instant, disappearing into the bathroom with the dogs at her heels. The lock clicks. Water starts running.
Is she having a cold shower to freeze out the heat I ignited in her? I sure need one.
I stare at the ceiling.
It would be easy to push her, seduce her until her resistance melts away.
But easy isn’t what I want. And a promise is a promise.
I close my eyes, willing control back into my body.
I wait until Ella reappears from the bathroom. Wrapped tightly in a bathrobe, her hair still damp, she looks as irresistible as ever. My body reacts instantly.
The surprise that I’m still here is written all over her face, but she says nothing.
I push off the bed, open the top drawer of the bedside table, and take out the credit card I placed there last night.
Her gaze follows every movement, suspicion sharpening her features as I hold it out to her.
She hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. Then she studies it, turning it over once, twice. The color drains from her face.
“What the hell is this?” she asks.
“Your new credit card. For when you want to go shopping.”
I could have given her one of mine. That would have been easier. But this… this makes a point.
“That’s not my name.”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. Any other woman would have lit up at the gesture. Not my angel.
“It will be,” I say, calm, certain.
She needs to understand where this is heading. That it’s inevitable.
“What the fuck, Gualtiero?” she snaps, and the card comes flying back at me. It hits my chest and drops to the floor. “What sort of sick joke is that? I will never be Mrs. Ella De Marco.”
She spits out the Mrs. like it burns her tongue.
“Princess,” I say evenly, stepping closer, “you know you’re it for me. I already see you as my wife. It’s only a matter of time before we take care of the formalities.”
Her mouth falls open, shock flickering across her face.
“Don’t you have to produce some kind of identification to get a credit card?” she asks. “How could you use a name that doesn’t legally exist?”
I just raise my eyebrows.
Realization settles in.
“Right,” she mutters. “I guess that’s not a problem for a mob boss. Fake IDs are probably child’s play for you.”
They are. Especially with Mateo’s latest venture. His “pet project” has turned into a highly profitable operation, producing identities that hold up under any scrutiny.
I close the distance between us, drawing in the scent of her vanilla shampoo. It clings to her skin, soft and familiar, and I want to lose myself in it.
She refuses to look at me.
I reach out anyway, tilting her chin up until her eyes meet mine.
“Cuore mio, don’t worry,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “This wasn’t a proposal. Just a statement of what will be.”
Her eyes widen at that.
“When the time is right, I’ll do it properly. The way you deserve.” The moment she’s fully returned to me, in fact.
She jerks away from me, twisting out of my hold as if my touch burns.
“Not going to happen,” she shouts, stomping her foot before turning on her heel. She marches back into the bathroom and slams the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
A laugh escapes me, and I drag a hand over my mouth, shaking my head.
God, I can’t wait to claim her again.