Stolen Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle
Later
Marcelo stretches, arching his back and turning to look at me.
He’s doing it on purpose, I just know it.
It doesn’t matter that we’ve been married a whole year now. It doesn’t matter that we fuck every morning and every night, giving us both the best possible sleep ever. Right now, in just a pair of jeans with sweat glistening on his skin, he’s hot as blazes.
“Get over here out of the sun,” I call to him. “You’re going to have a stroke out there or something.”
He pauses a moment, like debating if he’s going to do what I’m asking, then comes my way. My mouth waters looking at the way his muscles twist and bunch as he walks. Even through his jeans I can see how muscular his legs are and how strong he is.
And he’s all mine.
“What’s this about a stroke?” He asks, falling down onto the picnic blanket next to me. I hand him a huge glass of lemonade and he drains half of it before looking back up at me.
“I don’t want you to have one,” I tell him. “You’re a little bit handier than my vibrator, if I’m being honest.”
This makes him laugh and he grabs my chin, pulling me down so that I’m kissing him. “Just a little bit handier? You sure that I don’t blow that stupid hunk of plastic out of the water?”
“It’s not a stupid hunk of plastic,” I tell him. “It’s amazing and the only thing that keeps me from going insane when you’re working late. Besides, it’s a direct replica of your cock, so I happen to be a bit fond of it.”
I still can’t believe that I managed to convince him to let me take a cast of his erection so that I could have it turned into a personal pleasure toy. He’d been amused by the idea and it had been fun getting him hard and then thanking him later. Just the memory of our arts and crafts project has longing starting to pool between my legs.
Not right now, Tess. Fuck, could you be any hornier?
“So, you’re going to show me now how much you appreciate my cock?” Marcelo kisses me, sending desire shooting through my body. It’s what I want to do right now, and he knows it, but that’s also not the plan.
“Actually,” I say, somehow managing to extricate myself from his kiss, “right now I’m going to eat a picnic. When you’re eating for two, you have to keep your strength up.”
He splays his hand across my stomach. I’m flat as a board right now but the doctor has assured me over and over again that yes, I’m pregnant, and yes, the baby is fine.
“You have to keep your strength up so that I can fuck you to sleep later,” he tells me, lazily covering my mouth with his again.
I made delicious sandwiches, a fruit salad, and picked up some crackers to eat with cheese for our lunch. Even though I’m so hungry that my stomach is rumbling, I hate to pull back from him a second time, so I kiss him back until his stomach growls and he breaks away from me, a grin on his face.
“Let’s eat,” I say firmly, trying out my in-charge Mama voice. He rolls away from me and sits up, grabbing a cracker and cheese before holding it out for me.
Fuck. How does he make eating a cracker and cheese so sexy?
“We can eat now,” he concedes, watching me chew before grabbing another cracker. “But I want you to promise me that you’re all mine later. All of you.”
I nod and swallow hard, washing it all down with lemonade.
“You get the playset set up and I’ll do whatever you want later, I promise.”
He grins at me. “Don’t you think that we’re jumping the gun on the playset a little bit? The baby isn’t even done cooking yet.”
I nod, but I’m not going to relent on this one. “We might be. But I want this baby to have everything. Seriously, Marcelo, everything. All of the things that I never had.”
“I promise you, this baby won’t want for anything.” He stares at me, his eyes pinning me in place. “Nothing, Tess. A happy home, loving parents. Everything. Just like you’ll never want for anything.”
The best part? I know that he means it.
Ihope that you loved Tess and Marcelo! Read on for the first part of Buying His Bride, free in KU!
Party balloons fill the front entrance of the house, bumping against each other every time someone opens the front door to come in. They match the ones that I begged my dad to tie to the mailbox so that nobody would miss our house. Bright pink and silver balloons tug at their strings out in the open air and I worry each time a gust of wind blows down from the mountain that they’re going to break free from their strings and disappear.
But before I can worry too much about that, the stream of people arrive, all of them bearing gifts for my birthday. I don’t recognize most of the people, but there are some kids my age and we all peel off from the crowd to run outside. I kick off my shoes and run barefoot through the grass, leading the pack to my hidey-hole in the azalea bushes.
We crouch back there, the hem of my dress dragging in the mud, and watch as adults stand around drinking wine and eating fancy little appetizers from passed plates.
“Today’s your big day,” a boy with a bright blue bow tie tucked under his chin tells me. “I heard that you’re getting married today.”
“I’m eight,” I tell him, scoffing. “There’s no way that I’m getting married. You can’t get married at eight.”
“Maybe most people can’t, but you can,” he insists, and I roll my eyes at him. “That’s what my dad says.”
His dad is talking to my dad. I watch them through the leaves in the bushes, squinting to see if I can manage to read their lips. They both look serious and I feel my stomach drop a little.
There’s no way that I’m getting married today, right?
You can’t marry when you’re this young. Besides, who would I marry?
The boy with the bow tie elbows me hard in the side. “You’ll see. You’re getting married!”
He takes off from behind the bushes with a yell and the other kids all run with him. They scream and carry on like they’re being chased by something terrible, but our parents hardly look up at us. They all know that we’re safe.
I start to sweat and smack away a mosquito trying to land on my arm. My dad does look more serious than usual. He’s gotten incredibly thin and has lost most of his hair, which my mother says is thanks to the medicine that he’s on.
She appears at his side and takes his elbow, tugging him towards the house. For a moment I pause, wondering if I should just stay where I am. They don’t know that I’m watching them and if the boy with a bow tie was right and I am to get married today then I don’t really want to go to my house.
No, I decide, that boy has no idea what he’s talking about. If my parents wanted me to get married then they’d tell me. I stand up, my dress catching on a briar and tearing a little bit, and push my way out from behind the azalea bushes. They’re in full bloom and loaded with blood red flowers. Absentmindedly, I pick one and tuck it behind my ear before walking up to the house.
My friends have all disappeared, probably to eat some cake, but I’m much more interested in what’s going on with my parents, so I turn away from the living room. Shrieks of laughter pour out of the doors and I pause for a moment, wanting to join them.
But, no, this is more important.
My bare feet are silent on the wood floor as I walk to my dad’s office. None of the adults still standing around pay me any attention. They’ve all had at least three glasses of wine by now and don’t really care about a little kid walking around her house.
My dad’s office door is shut and I lean up against it, carefully pushing my ear as hard against the thick wood as possible so I don’t miss anything being said. At first, all I hear is my heartbeat, then I hear the low rumble of voices.
I recognize my dad’s. Even though he’s sick, he still has a low voice that makes people stop talking and pay attention to what he’s saying. Just hearing him talk even though I can’t make out the words gives me a sense of calm.
He wouldn’t make me get married to someone I didn’t know. Not at eight. Not ever.
My daddy loves me.
Carefully I turn the door knob. I’m going too far and I know it, but I want to see what’s happening inside. The door swings open silently and I pause right inside it, watching the scene play out in front of me.
My parents are bent over his desk taking turns signing something. When my dad finishes, he hands his pen to a strange man who clicks it once and then slips it into his breast pocket. He looks huge next to my father, his shoulders broad and his face strong and tan. My dad used to be that big but has gotten so small recently.
The bigger man turns and sees me standing in the door.
“There she is,” he says, and everyone in the room stops to look at me.
I don’t know the strange man and I don’t know the boy standing next to him. He’s much older, with thick arms crossed on his chest and a scowl that makes me swallow hard and want to take a step back to get away from him.
The air in my dad’s office suddenly feels hot and stifling and I reach up to the collar on my dress to tug it down to get some air on my skin. Nobody moves for a moment, but even if they did, I don’t think that I’d see them.
I can’t take my eyes away from the tall boy. His dark gaze locks onto mine, his eyes boring into me.
They’re cruel.
“Amber, what in the world did you do to your dress?” My mother breaks the spell, hurrying towards me like I’m a speck of dirt that she needs to hide from view before anyone else happens to see it. “You look a mess, and on such an important day.”
Like a mother hen, she spreads her arms out wide and starts to usher me from the room. I step backwards, trying to get out of her way, but I keep looking around her at the boy.
I’ve never seen him before and I hate the way he’s looking at me. He watches me like a hawk, like I’m some little plaything that he’s going to see later.
Surely the boy with the bow tie was wrong. Even if my parents were going to make me get married today, there’s just no way that they’d make me marry someone who had eyes that cruel.
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