Sold to Mr. Giordano

Arielle

When I wake up Antonio and I are still pressed up against each other, I must’ve moved in my sleep because I’m facing him, my arm resting over him with my palm flat on his back, and him doing the same to me.

I flutter my eyes open to see him staring down at me. I pull back slightly. “Sorry,” I rub my eyes. “I know cuddling unsettles you, but the—uhm—body heat was nice,” I scratch at the back of neck and mentally swear at myself.

 The body heat was nice. God, I’m an idiot.

 “It’s okay, Arielle,” he dismisses it like it’s nothing. It didn’t feel like nothing though. It felt like something.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Drink some water,” I smile up at him.

The side of his mouth twitches and I think for a moment that was a smile. Slight, but still a smile. He grabs the water bottle at his side and takes a sip. His lips slightly curl in disgust. “Warm,” he comments.

Right, they were sitting out all night.

“I’ll get new ones,” I throw the blankets off my body and before I can hop down Antonio grabs my wrist stopping me.

“I’ll get them, you stay here.”

“Nonsense. You have stitches, I just have nausea.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” he gives me a stern look and gets out of bed anyways.

I use this as my opportunity to watch his backside and also look at the stitches on his abdomen to see if they’re holding up well.

From the foot of the bed he crawls on top and hands me a cold water bottle. He lays in the middle, his elbow propping him up as he watches me.

“Better?” He asks softly.

“I think so. How are your stitches?” I hand him the water bottle for him to take his own sip. He sits up and I move down so I’m level with his stitches. My hands brush the skin around the wound.

I can’t stop myself from leaning in and leaving soft kisses on his warm skin. I pull back, lust dilating my eyes and making my breathing shallow. Antonio is staring down at me with his mouth parted. Heat blooms in my cheeks and I shy away.

I get out of bed, grab my robe and point over my shoulder toward the bathroom. “I should get ready.”

“Why?” He grabs my wrist. “Stay. We both should be resting. There’s nothing to get ready for.”

“You aren’t going to work?” I sit on the edge of the bed.

“No. I’ll have Vito take care of my business today.”

“So, we’re just going to lay in bed all day?” I bite my bottom lip and try to contain my excitement.

“That’s the plan,” he pulls me flush against his chest and holds me. “Tell me, what tattoo did you end up getting yesterday?”

My ear is against his heart listening to the steady rhythm. The best music to my ears. His warm skin keeps me warm and the closeness gives me comfort and a feeling of security.

“I wanted to get a bee.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I got sick again. I think you’re right, I have the stomach bug.”

“Why did you want a bee?”

“My grandfather,” I smile. “My mom’s father, he died when I was seven but he was the nicest man I’ve ever met. He would always take care of me when my father didn’t want to bother with me. He called me his little bee.” His hands rub up and down my back. “Tell me about one of your tattoos,” I run my finger down his arm and across various designs of flame, daggers, a woman. “Who is she?”

It’s the side view of a lady’s face. She has a long button nose, red lips, long dark lashes along with a mane of thick wavy black hair.

“It’s my mother,” he sighs. “Three years ago, my father had told everyone it was cancer but in truth The Bratva got their hands on her. They had raped her and brutally murdered her. They mutilated her body by chopping her into pieces. No one in the mafia was told. My father threatened that if Rocco or I told anyone he’d kill us himself.” My heart breaks for him. “Mainly he didn’t want anyone to know because it would look weak, weak that the Bratva somehow got their hands on the capo’s wife. He also didn’t want to let on that he in his own way cared about her—he didn’t want to give the Russian bastards satisfaction of knowing they killed something he cared about. So he acted like all they killed was a stranger, he showed no sadness or remorse.

“He went on with his life as if nothing had changed. People are weakness—you do not care about people because they will take them from you and it will mentally cripple you… weaken you. I promised I’d kill every last one of them. I’m losing more and more men and it sickens me to even think about asking New York for help, but we need it. That’s why I married you, that’s why Arabella is marrying Luca. No it isn’t fair but that is our life. We marry to benefit the Famiglia and the Outfit needs help.”

I prop myself up on his chest to look him in the eyes. There’s something vulnerable about him talking about his past and telling me something he’s never told anyone. Sadness washes over me and I want to comfort him in the one way I know how. I brush my lips against his and wait for him to pull back but he doesn’t.

My lips firmly press against his. I feel his tongue at the seam of my lips and open to let him in. His arms wrap around me holding me even closer against his body. In the heat of the moment I’m overwhelmed and burning with desire. I trail my lips down to his jaw and to his neck. I feel his rapid pulse thrumming beneath my lips. I lick and suck the sensitive skin and love the feel of his hands tightening on my shirt.

I grind my body against his unable to stop my hips from doing a rocking motion. My body wants his more than my mind can rationalize. I lift myself up accidentally pushing off of his stitches. He groans and places me off of him by instinct.

“I’m sorry,” my face turns crimson. “I shouldn’t have,” I shake my head. “I’m going to take a shower.”

This time he doesn’t grab my wrist or ask me to stay. I take a cold shower to calm down my heightened and excited body. When I return from the shower, I expect Antonio to be gone, but instead he’s asleep in bed.

I dress myself in something comfortable and casual and grab the ointment to put a fresh layer on his wound. I lay next to him for a moment, I brush his dark hair away from his eyes and revel in the silky softness. I continue to run my hands through his hair and within minutes Antonio is breathing heavily through his nose in a deep sleep. I put a thin layer on my clean fingers and rub them along his injury.

Antonio’s muscles clench and he cracks his eyes open and mumbles something inaudible

“Shhh. Sleep. Let me take care of you,” I whisper in a soft tone and run my hands comfortingly through his hair once more.

Antonio’s body relaxes and with trust, he allows himself to sleep with his head in my lap.