When She Loves (The Fallen, #4)(18)

CHAPTER 9











RAFAELE


The priest is saying something, but I can’t hear a word. My pulse is loud inside my ears, a hard and steady drum, and a vein in Cleo’s neck ticks to the same damn beat.

An image of my teeth marks framing that vein flashes in front of my eyes.

This ceremony will take a half hour. I asked the priest as soon as her silhouette appeared at the end of the aisle. I wanted to know how long I’d have to wait to taste that luscious fucking mouth.

His answer irritated me.

Then I became irritated at my irritation.

I’m a patient man. I’m good at waiting. At biding my time.

A half hour is nothing. And yet it feels too long.

Too. Fucking. Long. Especially when my bride looks like this.

Cleo’s copper curls are pulled back from her face with two small braids. The rest of it cascades down her back. My grandmother’s jewels glitter around her neck and dangle from her ears.

She thinks she chose those diamonds, but really, they chose her. If she didn’t have the body or the character to wear them, they would have looked ridiculous on her. It takes a certain kind of woman to pull off wearing fifty fucking carats.

She does it effortlessly, like she was born to be dripping in diamonds and gold. My Aunt Maria tried to give me an earful about letting Cleo wear the prized family jewels, but I told her that if anyone is worthy of wearing them, it’s my future wife.

Her skin glows in the light streaming through the stained glass of the church. And her lips have never looked more inviting.

The things I want to do to this woman. I can’t fucking wait to exhaust that tight body, to push her to her limits, to make her come until she’s no more than a whimpering puddle on my bed.

A jolt runs through me. Fuck, if I let myself go down that train of thought, I’ll get a boner in front of the entire church. I’m already halfway there just from looking at her.

The priest drones on and on. How much longer? Impatience pulses at my temples.

I’ve seen how she gets under your skin.

If only Nero knew the direction of my thoughts, he’d laugh at me. Fuck, this is ridiculous. I need to get a grip. I take a slow, deep breath.

Cleo chooses that moment to peer at me from under her lashes and bite on the corner of her lip. I tug at my collar, suddenly too hot. My watch says it’s only been five minutes.

That’s when I decide, fuck it. “Skip to the end,” I order the priest.

The man’s clearly taken aback, but he knows better than to argue. “To the vows?”

“To whatever the fuck is the important part.”

Cleo pales. She glares at me, an undercurrent of something dangerous inside her gaze.

I stare right back. Not like I have a choice—I’m unable to take my eyes off her. She must want to get this over with as much as I do, even if it’s not for the same reason.

Last night, her relief had been palpable when I took her out of that dining room. And when I saw her face light up in the jewelry vault, I knew I’d done the right thing bringing her there. She doesn’t hate me. Last night, she was just angry and still adjusting to the situation. But she’ll adjust.

Garzolo women are strong. It can’t be easy for Cleo to stand here in front of everyone and go through the motions of a wedding her sister planned, but she looks perfectly composed.

The priest clears his throat again. “Do you, Rafaele Messero, take Cleo Garzolo as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

He asks the same of Cleo.

“I do,” she says sourly.

Nero brings over the rings. I pick up the smaller one and take Cleo’s hand. There’s a slight tremble in her fingers, the only hint that maybe she’s not as composed as she seems.

I slip the ring on and let her do the same to me.

“On behalf of God and his church, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Finally.

I tug her against my chest and slam my lips down on hers.

Cleo gasps against my mouth.

Her body is so warm, almost burning, and the thought of sinking inside her heat tonight pulls an illicit groan out of my chest. She’s rigid at first, refusing to grant me entrance to her mouth, but when I pull her closer, she finally relents.

I slide my tongue between her lips and let out a low moan at her taste. Exquisite. My hands roam over her waist and the flare of her hips, and fuck, I’m having a hard time letting her go.

Especially when her body finally starts to melt against me, and her tongue starts rubbing against my own. Her fingers curl around my lapels, and she tugs me closer.

And then she whimpers.

It’s a small sound that only I can hear, but it awakens something so intense inside me, that I let her go suddenly.

When we break apart, we’re both panting. Cleo gapes at me, her eyes wide and nearly all black. Her lips are bright pink.

She presses her hand to her chest and tears her gaze away from me toward the cheering crowd. I do the same, only now becoming aware of the noise. My heart is racing.

Cleo’s sister glares at me from where she’s standing by De Rossi. I give him a small nod, almost daring the Don of the Casalesi not to return it. He does. He knows he’s my guest here, and that I could crush him easily on my turf.

They didn’t want this for Cleo, but there’s nothing they can do about it now.