“The house is more secure than the White House. Kane made sure of that. Your safety is my priority.”
“Really? Even though I haven’t popped out any little Di Rossi heirs yet?” Lorenzo’s threat echoes in my mind. “Your dad said he’d get rid of me if I didn’t get pregnant.”
“He said what?” Angelo vibrates with rage.
“Yeah. I said that perhaps you preferred guys, so it wasn’t my fault.”
There’s a long silence while Angelo processes this information.
“You told my rampantly homophobic father you thought I was into men?” To my surprise, he starts laughing. “Oh my fucking god, is that why he lost his shit with you?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Or it could have been when I called himold manand said it was too late for buyer’s remorse.” I glare into the darkness. “I sure lucked out when I got him as a father-in-law. Just like I did when I got Vivian as a stepmom.Fucking bitch.”
Angelo’s still too busy laughing to comment on that. It occurs to me that I’ve never heard Angelo laugh before. Probably because he doesn’t have much to laugh about, but I like it. The man needs more laughter in his life. Not at my expense, but still.
“Don’t ever change, Chiara,” he chuckles when his amusement finally fades.
“Not going to happen, bud. The tradwife aesthetic is not for me.”
His snort tells me he’s already figured that out.
We lie in silence while I try - and fail - to sleep. I assume he’s nodded off, but when he sighs again as I adjust my pillow for the millionth time, I realize I’m keeping him awake.
“Sorry.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“No.”
A hand reaches out and pushes some loose strands of hair away from my mouth.
“Maybe if you could relax you’d be able to sleep.”
“Easier said than done,” I grumble. It’s not like I haven’t been trying torelaxfor the last hour. Only my brain refuses to wind down.
“I could help you relax?” I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he’s suggesting.
“Or I could go wake Luka up…”
He growls, and before I can move a muscle, I’m trapped beneath his body.
“No. You’remy wife, and if my wife needs to relax, it’s my job asher husbandto help her relax.”
“You gonna sing me a lullaby?” I tease to distract my body from the sensation overload. There’s something hard pressing against my needy clit, and I bite my lip to stop myself from whimpering.
“No, princess, I don’t do lullabies.”
“That’s sad for our future kids,” I say without thinking, and he goes very still.
“Future kids?”
“Slip of the tongue,” I reply, desperate to correct myslip of the tongue. Or should that be Freudian slip? Seeing as how it sounds like my inner slut is desperate to be bred like an omega in heat. Damn me for reading too many smut books.
He rocks his hips against me, provoking a storm of lust, and I can’t help my reaction. A desperate moan escapes.
“Does that feel good, princess?”
“No, it feels terrible.” My pathetic little gasp makes a mockery of my words, and he smirks knowingly.
