All the blood, all the pain meant nothing when Greta stepped into church. She looked absolutely stunning in a simple white dress. Her smile was pure and unreserved as she strode toward me at her father’s side. She was more than I’d ever expected. She was so much more than I deserved, but by God, I would never let her go again.
I engaged the locks to our presidential suite when Greta and I retired for our first night as a married couple. Dad had even put guards into the corridor in front of the suite in case any Falcone, Nevio in particular, felt the need to disturb our night.
The warning in Remo’s eyes when I’d led Greta away had been nothing in comparison to the rage in Nevio’s eyes. The party was still in full swing downstairs. Matteo must have given many guests his moonshine, but I hadn’t drunk more than a glass of Champagne.
With my hand on Greta’s back, I led her into our bedroom. Rose petals covered the path to the bed and formed a heart on the white covers.
“That’s very pretty.”
“Our mothers probably came up with it.”
I ran my knuckles over Greta’s neck and she tilted her head up with a trusting smile. My desire had burst to life the moment we were alone but I had no intention to rush things or lose control.
“I’m ready.”
I let out a laugh and cupped Greta’s face, claiming her lips for a kiss. After a moment I pulled back and motioned at the knife sheathed in the holder under my jacket.
Greta bit her lip. “One of your particular traditions?”
“We could cut the dress without you in it. Nobody would know.”
Greta lightly touched her fingertips to the knife. “No, let’s honor your traditions. I want to do this right.”
I pressed another kiss to her lips. “There’s no right or wrong tonight. As long as you enjoy it, we’re doing good.”
Greta nodded. I unsheathed my knife and brought the blade down on the V-neck of the dress. The material yielded under the unrelenting pressure of the steel.
I felt barbaric, animalistic, cutting Greta out of her dress. I’d waited too long for this moment.
“Is this a symbol for the wife’s loss of virginity?”
I glanced up at Greta, trying to follow her train of thought when my mind was going somewhere very different.
“Knives often symbolize a phallus. So you cutting me out of my dress, the fabric parting under the knife, stands for my hymen breaking when you enter me?”
“Maybe,” I murmured. I had never thought about it but Greta talking about me taking her virginity fired up my need.
Her dress fell to the floor and she stood before me in only white lace hipsters. My eyes took in the scars below her bellybutton, a familiar wave of rage washing over me.
Greta pushed her fingers into my hair. I peered up at her face. “Today isn’t about the past or anger, it’s about our love, and that you can finally make me yours.”
I nodded and finally noticed her shoes. I couldn’t help but smile. “Soon you’ll dance for me again.”
“Very soon,” she said.
I got down on one knee. “Mine,” I murmured against her belly, kissing the red scar. Seeing what Greta had to endure for this day to happen was another good reminder that I should always be grateful for having her at my side. I shoved to my feet and lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her slender legs around my hip, pressing herself against my abs. I could feel her heat through the thin material of her panties. I stroked my fingers along her cheek and into her hair then tilted her head for a kiss, my tongue sliding along her lips until she parted for me. I carried her over to the bed and ripped the covers with the rose petals away, revealing the white sheets beneath. Protectiveness washed over me when I remembered we’d have to present bloody sheets tomorrow.
I lowered Greta on the bed and pressed a kiss to her lips then lower, her throat and collarbones before my mouth teased her pebbled nipples. My tongue traced them, loving how hard they felt. I stroked along Greta’s side, my hand slipping into her panties. My index finger dipped lower, parting her pussy lips, seeking her wet heat. I dipped even lower, parting her silky inner pussy lips and gathered the wetness pooling at her entrance. My desire to finally be inside of her, to lay claim to this part of Greta was almost overpowering but I held back, wanting to do this right, wanting to worship Greta like a queen. I pulled my hand out, my finger wet with her juices then I brushed it across Greta’s lips, until they were shiny.
She opened her mouth, her eyes swimming with curiosity and desire. She trusted me to take her on this journey and make it as pleasurable as possible, and I wouldn’t fail.