Her body relaxes slightly against mine. “Can I keep my last name?” she asks next.
“No,” I say firmly. “You’ll be a Russo. But…” I pause, considering. “You can hyphenate if it’s important to you. Brewer-Russo.”
She nods, the movement small against my chest. “What else will this marriage mean? Besides sharing your bed and your name?”
“It means you’re mine,” I tell her.
I get she wants reassurance and clarity, but I feel like we’ve already been over this. Still, I keep my growing impatience intact.
“You’ll live here with me, sleep in my bed, attend family functions as my wife.” I let my hand slide from her waist to her hip, my thumb tracing slow circles through the thin fabric of her shirt.
Her reaction is almost immediate. I feel her suck in her stomach, holding it there until her breathing grows shallow. What the fuck is she doing?
A shiver runs through her, but she doesn’t pull away. “And the bakery?”
“Once I’m convinced I can trust you not to run, you can return to work there.”
“Will I be allowed to be on my own?” she questions.
“No,” I clarify, making my expectations clear. “Some of my people will always be close by to keep an eye on you.” I don’t bother softening the truth.
“So I don’t run,” she states dryly.
“So I know you’re safe,” I counter.
“Okay,” she relents. “I can live with that.”
She tries to turn, but my tight grip prevents her from doing so. When I don’t let up, she unexpectedly moves my hand from herhip to her thigh. Instead of leaving it there, I return the limb to its previous position.
“Please,” she begs as she tries to move my hand again.
“Tell me why,” I demand.
I might not get exactly what’s going on here, though something definitely is. She’s fine with my hard cock pressing against her ass, yet she draws the line at my hand on her hip. Her stomach’s still sucked in and her breathing’s still shallow.
And then it hits me.
She’s too fucking embarrassed by her size to let me feel her soft curves. Forcing my mind back to when I moved my hand to her hip, I find a place in my memory I didn’t even register. My hand connected with her stomach’s skin.
“Alina,” I growl, annoyance sharpening my tone. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
“I’m not,” she whimpers. “I’m right here.”
Despite telling myself I’m not a bastard like my dad because I give women choices, I’m about to take some away from Alina right fucking now.
I find the light switch and bathe the bedroom in light again. Then I roll Alina onto her back. Her eyes widen into saucers when I roughly spread her legs and kneel between them.
“W-what are you—”
“Be quiet,” I bark.
I reach for the hem of her shirt, but before I can lift it, her hands attempt to slap mine away. Another growl is ripped from my throat as I grab both her wrists in one hand and hoist them into the air, away from her body.
Tears gather in her eyes, making the orbs shine with despair. “P-please don’t,” she cries.
Ignoring her plea, I lift the shirt up to reveal her stomach. A sob builds in her throat, and she fights like hell to get me away from her. She pulls on her wrists and even tries to kick me.
Her pathetic attempts are like mosquito bites. Frustrating and inconveniencing, but feeble all the same.
