She’s My Queen

19. You were supposed to kiss me

19

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KISS ME

CRISTINA

F renchy, Severio, and I drank two bottles of wine between the three of us, which isn’t too bad for people who drink and dine regularly. They shared a glass of cognac, which I passed on. It’s now half past midnight, and Frenchy is telling us a story about Gio and my dad. It’s a story I’ve heard many times, but I don’t think Severio has, so I’m quietly chuckling as he laughs at the yacht incident when my dad and Gio both fell overboard and got lost at sea until Frenchy discovered them washed up on a raft near Sicily.

“We thought they’d died,” Frenchy says, laughing.

Severio laughs with him. “I wish.”

Frenchy laughs even harder.

Only mobsters laugh at these types of jokes.

“Where’s the yacht now?” Severio asks.

It’s a good thing he’s looking to Frenchy for answers, because he’d catch my reaction. I don’t want Severio to know about the yacht, because then he’d find out about the small boat moored in the marina next to it. Our getaway boat if we ever needed one.

“She’s at the marina,” Frenchy says.

Severio purses his lips. “Want to take her out tomorrow?” Blue eyes pierce mine, pressing for an answer. It was a casual question, but nothing about Severio is casual. Being near him sets my blood boiling.

Caught off guard, I mumble, “Sure. Um.” I twirl the bottom of the empty wineglass. “You do know that means you’ll have to put up with me all day long?”

“I must enjoy suffering.”

I avoid looking at him as I smile. In the absence of tequila, I blame enjoying his company on the wine.

Severio stands. “Thank you for the hospitality. It’s always the finest.”

We say our goodbyes, and I walk out of Frenchy’s, fully aware I’m on Severio’s arm. And I don’t mind. In fact, secretly, I like it. I squeeze his biceps. Rock hard. Okay, I’ll walk home and not think about his hard biceps, or abs, or other hard things.

The fresh air does me good, and I inhale the night’s cool breeze. “Do you want to hear something weird?” I ask.

“Mmhm.”

“It’s one in the morning, and we’re the only people on the street.”

“We are.”

“Don’t you find that odd?” This is usually a busy street at this hour.

“No.”

“No?” I look up at him and catch him scanning the street. “Well, it is odd. Where did the people go?”

“Elsewhere,” he says.

“You have an answer for everything.”

“I cleared the street.”

I stop and tug his arm, intent on telling him, “No way you can do that” and “How,” but when I tugged him back, he skipped a step. I remember he’s still healing from the gunshot wound. “Oh no, I’m sorry for pulling you.”

“It’s fine. Try not to do it again. I don’t want anyone who might be watching to notice that I’m hurt.”

I look around us, suddenly paranoid. “Someone is watching us?”

“Probably.”

“Who?”

Severio sighs, and it sounds painful. “I’ll tell you another time.”

We continue to stroll at his pace. While Corrado marches, Severio walks, regally, with his shoulders pulled back and his head facing forward, even though I have a feeling he’s scanning all the surroundings.

“If people are watching, it’s better to blend in, so a street full of people would be better, no?” I ask.

“You walked to Frenchy’s alone.”

I don’t tug him this time when I stop. He stops and doesn’t turn.

“You couldn’t have known I was going to Frenchy’s.”

“Hence the closing of the entire street.” With his back to me, he wiggles his fingers. “Come on.”

I put my hand in his. We shouldn’t be holding hands, but we are, and the feeling of doing something bad or forbidden secretly makes it that much more exciting. Maybe that girl who wanted to be a pirate is still inside me. It wouldn’t surprise me if Severio could bring out the baddy side of me. “Thank you for the gesture,” I say, “but I’ve walked this street alone a million times.”

“I know you have.”

“Then you know I’m safe.”

“Not tonight and not from me.”

“I don’t know what to make of that,” I say.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

We reach the house, and I stop at the steps before the door of the main house.

“This is where we part.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll walk around back.”

With a smile, Severio sweeps one arm under my knees and one under my back. I yelp and throw my arms around his neck as he picks me up and starts to climb the steps.

“Your wounds will bleed,” I tell him.

“I’ll plug them back up.”

“You’ll undo all the days of rest and have to start healing again.”

Severio pushes the door, but it’s locked from the inside. Before we wake up Drago, I dig into my purse and produce a key. Somehow, I find the lock, and we stumble into the foyer. I expect Severio to put me down, but he keeps walking.

Right past Drago.

“Hey,” I call out to the man. “You could’ve opened the door for us.”

“No fun in that.” Drago closes the door and, locks it, then shuts off the foyer lights.

The darkness is starting to make me apprehensive. Severio heads for the guest quarters at the front of the house.

“That’s not the west wing,” I say.

“I know.” Severio walks into the room and drops me onto the bed. I look around and recognize the guest master bedroom. It already smells like him.

He pulls off his shirt and starts to unbutton his pants. In seconds, he slips them off and stands there in boxers, with patches over his bullet wounds.

Severio prowls over me.

I place a hand over his chest. “I’m a virgin.”

“I think it’s time you stopped being one.”

I suck in breath as he lowers his weight onto me.

I’ve never felt as small or cute or as feminine as I do now under this man. His long, elegant fingers part the hair on my forehead, and his eyes lock with mine as he dips his head, tilting it slightly.

I’m sure he’ll kiss me.

Butterflies in my belly unfurl their wings as if hovering over the flower they want to land on, and I close my eyes, waiting, anticipating.

When nothing happens, I open my eyes.

Severio appears serious. Deadly so. Then he sits back, kneeling between my legs. His gaze roams my body, and I become aware of what he might be seeing, namely my thick thighs, since the dress has ridden all the way up to my waist.

Swallowing, I try to push the dress over my thighs.

He taps my wrist, making me stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

My face burns. “Nothing.”

“Covering yourself while lying in my bed is not nothing.”

I go on the offensive. “You were supposed to kiss me.”

“I changed my mind.”

Ouch. Wha… Damn, I don’t know what to say to that. “Why?” I wince. I really don’t want to know.

“What’s with all the questions?” Now he’s on the offensive.

“Why the change of mind?” I slide farther down the rabbit hole. “If you didn’t like what you saw, you shouldn’t have brought me here.”

“What?” He narrows his eyes. “You think I don’t like what I see?”

“I don’t look like one of your fuck toys.”

“Correct.”

“Come on, Severio.” I try to sit up, but he won’t let me move. “Fine. You’re a perceptive man. You must know I’m self-conscious about my body. Especially around you. You’re so…so annoyingly well sculpted.”

“You think I’m well sculpted?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him playfully because he’s a flirty jerk who disarms me in seconds, and I’m helpless. Knowing all this, I should leave. Yet I remain because I can’t not want him. And I don’t want to talk about my body or talk about anything at all. I just want him to kiss me. Or tell me to get out. Or something, anything besides stare at me the way he does.

As if he’s debating whether he wants to do this or not. It’s unlike him to look indecisive, which makes me nervous and self-conscious.

I try to fix my dress my again, and now he clasps my wrists and holds them in one hand.

“You try covering up again, and I’ll hog-tie you and make you spend the night with your ass in my face. You understand me?”

I picture that. For an insane moment, I consider not keeping my hands to myself.

“I would never comment on your weight,” he says. “I take offense knowing you think I would. Such petty cruelty is beneath me. If you are in my bed, I want to fuck you. Is that not enough?”

“I was in your bed on my wedding night.”

“I wanted to fuck you then.”

My breath catches in my throat.

Severio pushes my left knee, bending it, spreading me. His gaze drifts between my legs. An elegant finger moves my underwear to the side. Cold air brushes over my slit.

“I’m not petty and cruel, I’m greedy for the taste of you. I’m aware that my time with you tonight is going to be short because you drank, and the last time you drank, you crashed the moment your head hit the pillow. It’s mindboggling how you lie down, close your eyes, and sleep. For that reason, I’m kneeling between your legs, trying to decide if I want to make out with you or your pussy.” He swipes a finger over my slit, looks right at me, and slides said finger into his mouth. “I choose pussy.”