I exhale and sit back. “I’m not avoiding you. There is just too much happening right now.”
I’m not lying. There are a lot of things occupying my mind. Some of them are connected to Cosa Nostra, and some are connected to her and how she’s taking down my armor and making me feel strange things, even those I never felt before.
She laughs. “Figures. Admit it. Admit that you're avoiding me.”
“Why does it matter?”
She stands. “You know what, it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. I’m not leaving. The only way I will leave is unwillingly, and you’ll have to carry me. Now, excuse me while I go and have a good time.” She slips past me toward Marco, who is intimidating Carla. She moves between them and takes Carla’s hand, leading her toward the VIP dance floor.
Defeated, I shuffle down in the seat and inhale deeply, trying to calm myself. Marco slides beside me, a smirk on his face. “This is going to be fun.”
I watch my wife dance and drink with Clara. There isn’t a man who hasn’t looked at them, but with the two bodyguards by their sides, they’re keeping their distance. I take a sip of my drink as my wife throws her head back and laughs while she's dancing with Clara. She says something to her and then walks toward our booth, where a pole is placed.
She wraps her hand around it and twirls around before resting her back on it, and she spreads her legs and moves her hips. She bites her lip and slowly lowers herself to the floor.
I catch a glimpse of her lace-covered pussy under the fishnets, and a growl escapes me. My cock, hard since the moment she reminded me of our wedding night, is now begging for release. I look at Marco, but he is busy watching Carla, who is dancing by herself.
Valentina stands and turns her back to me, hugging the pole, pushing her ass in my direction and slowly lowering her upper body down, giving me a perfect look at her now exposed ass.
I reach her in two strides, take her upper arms, and pin her to the pole. “Having fun?”
She bursts into laughter. “I haven’t even started.”
“I think that’s enough for tonight. You've had too much to drink.”
She tries to get out of my grip, but she's too intoxicated. “I’m not done yet. I was supposed to give you a show.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What kind of show?”
“I need to strip. Isn’t that why you have a pole here?” She leans into me. “So you can watch women strip for you and shake their asses? She purses her lips. “I wanted to do that for you, so I can take you home with me.”
I don’t answer her accusation; there’s no need to discuss what I did or did not do before this marriage. Besides, she is out of her mind if she thinks I’m going to let her strip in here where anyone can see her.
“You're not doing that.” I shake my head. “You’re too drunk.”
“I don’t want any other woman to do that for you.” She grabs my shirt and pulls herself onto me. “I’m your wife. You're mine and mine alone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that so?” A slow, aching warmth blooms through me, so consuming it almost feels like fire.
“Yes! I wanted to carve out the eyes of that redhead and blonde earlier.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating?”
“No, you're MINE. I don’t share.” She lets go of my shirt and starts moving her hips as much as she can. “I want to dance with you.”
“I don’t dance. You know that.” On our wedding day, I did one dance, an obligatory one, and that was it.
“Do it for me.”
I shake my head. “I think it’s time for me to take you home.”
“No! I don’t want to go home.” She fights against my grip.
“We are going home.”
“No!” She pulls herself from me, and I close my eyes. Inhale, exhale.Calm down, I say to myself, but when I open my eyes and see her back at the pole, moving her ass, I snap, “Fuck!”
I move one step and then a second, bending down. I wrap my hand under her knees, throw her over my shoulder, and make my way out of the club.
