Since the day I'd had her ass on my island counter the night of the event at Indulgence, I'd felt incapable of functioning. I needed her with a ferocity that would have terrified her, given her history. And she had every right to be afraid of me.
I'd never hurt her like Connor had; I'd never even consider wronging her. But I wasn't a good man, and she didn't have the first concept of how deep the bad ran inside me. All the way to the core, all the way to the roots where my father and family had tarnished my soul as a child.
I'd killed my first man at six, years before Samara came into my life. She'd never known me as an innocent, only ever known the killer in me.
In the years since Matteo had taken over for his father, other people handled the dirty work. I'd already proven myself, and my expertise was far more useful in the legal businesses, but that didn't make me clean. It didn't erase the years I'd spent living in the trenches, fighting like every day of my life was a war zone and the only way out was to die.
Given all of that, Samara loved me. I had no doubt about that, not given the way she melted at my dirty words and my stolen kisses. Not with the way she sank into my embrace like she was always meant to be there.
But no, the real reason she should have feared me had nothing to do with the fact that I was a hardened killer under all the times she made me smile.
It was because I would never let her go.
She was mine.
And it didn't matter if there came a day when she wanted something else, when her life led her to a juncture where she wanted to leave me. I would throw away the keys to her gilded cage to keep her mine, even as I worshiped at her altar.
So when she'd suddenly taken to strutting around in shorts instead of leggings, I knew my Little Dove intentionally pushed my buttons. I knew that she had a rebellious streak just strong enough for her to want to tease and torment me, given she felt safe with the way she assumed that I thought she still had her period, but I knew the moment my woman stopped bleeding. I’d always been able to tell. I allowed it, even if my dick would probably rub raw from jerking off in the shower one too many times.
"Samara," I growled at her when she bent over in some fucking yoga pose in the living room.
"Yes, my Italian Stallion?" she hummed, the bottom of her ass peeking out at me from the fucking shorts I fully intended to rip off her one day.
"Do you want me to smack your ass?" I grunted, making her laugh out loud. The sound of it coated my heart in warmth, melting that icy interior that always seemed to thaw around her. I was convinced if it hadn't been for her, for her constant presence in my life, I'd have ended up colder than Matteo or Ryker. I’d tolerate just about anything from her, even an absurd nickname.
"Maybe," she teased with a shrug, turning her attention back to the television where she'd streamed the yoga video. The sly look on her face only drew me closer. “I like it. I think I’ll call you that from now on.” I stepped up behind her, sliding my hands over the bare skin at the back of her thighs and shoving the shorts up until I could see her peach of an ass.
"Do you enjoy pushing me? I think I’d prefer it when you call me husband." I said, bringing a hand down against her cheek that was just hard enough to turn her skin pink.
"Yes."
"It's not a nice thing to do when I can't punish you for it," I murmured, repeating the motion on the other cheek so she matched.
"You torture me all the time. Why can't I return the favor?" Her voice had gone breathy. My Little Dove liked it when I spanked her ass, and that was something I fully intended to remember when I could finally have her.
"I'm going to shower," I grunted, stepping back from her.
"Do you think about me? When you jerk off in there?" she asked, shocking me with her outright admission that she knew why I showered at least twice a day.
"Do you think about me when your fingers dance over that little pussy?"
"I have for years," she admitted, giving me a saucy smile.
"Same, vita mia."
???
I knew the moment Samara stepped inside the bathroom door I'd left cracked open. It was true she'd spent days tormenting me by strutting her sexy little body around the house every second of the day, and I only knew I wanted to return the favor.
Nothing seemed more appropriate than giving Samara her first glimpse of my cock.
I resisted the urge to smirk, pretending I didn't see her standing there as I leaned forward and pressed a hand against the tiled shower wall. I knew the steam in the bathroom would disguise the details, the fact that I could barely see her was enough proof of that. My eyes closed as water dripped over my face, my hand wrapping around the base of my shaft and squeezing like I imagined Samara's tight sheathe would. With my hand wet, I could always get just a little closer to imagining the real deal, to trying to imitate what the moment would feel like when I slid inside her, pushing through the inevitable resistance I would meet.
It'd been far too long for Samara, just like me. She'd be tight, and I kept my grip snug as I worked it up and down my cock in a slow rhythm meant to give her a show. To let her see and feel every detail. The feel of her eyes on me as I worked myself over was nearly too much, nearly sending me spiraling over the edge like a desperate teenager.
But knowing that Samara liked what she saw enough to stay and enjoy the show, I couldn't wait for the day when I could really study her face. Really see her reaction when I stuffed her full of every inch of me.
My pace quickened, my hand making faster work of my orgasm.