Sold to Moretti Mafia

Elena

“I might’ve hallucinated it, but I swear you took care of me when I was sick. You held me in your arms… did you?”

Julian turns toward me, his face void of any emotion, and still, something slowly brews in his icy glare. “I hold you in my arms every night when we go to sleep.”

“Yeah, but this was different…” More intimate somehow. I’m usually turned away from him, and he has an arm slung around my waist, holding me to him like he is scared I’m gonna run away in my sleep. Yesterday, his hold was gentle, like he was just holding me for comfort instead of keeping me prisoner.

“You’re going to be my wife. It doesn’t matter how you got here, but me taking care of you is part of the deal. Just like you pleasing me is part of it.”

Of course, it is.

Needing space, I toss the covers back. Looking down at my body, I realize I’m in a pair of pajamas I don’t remember putting on.

“I dressed you. I didn’t want the staff to see you naked.” An image of Julian dressing me while I was passed out, pops into my head, but I shake it away quickly. It’s too creepy to think about. I can feel Julian watching me, and all I want is to get away from him. He’s already proven his point. I’m nothing, an object never meant to be heard and barely seen.

My body has other plans, though, because as soon as I put my feet on the ground and push off the bed to stand, a serious wave of nausea and dizziness slams into me. Knees buckling, I grab onto the nightstand, my nails sink into the wood as I attempt to steady myself, but it’s not enough. My legs are weak, and a flash of hitting the floor appears in my mind.

I gasp in shock when Julian’s strong arm circles my waist, and he clutches me to his warm chest. My muscles tense, but a part of me feels protected in his embrace.

“You’re so stubborn,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.

“I don’t need your help,” I grit out, trying to fight against his hold, but my muscles are like jelly, and my head is spinning like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl.

“If you say so.” He releases me, and I start to fall to the floor again.

Chuckling, his hands circle my waist once again, holding me tightly to his chest, and heat creeps through me, slowly trickling into my core.

My cheeks are burning, but I doubt he can see them. It’s just the illness, I don’t actually like his hands on me. “Looks like you do need my help,” he teases.

I roll my eyes, wanting to deny it, but I know the second he lets me go again, I’m gonna be on the floor, no doubt about it.

“I don’t want to take a shower with you again. Last time ended horrible.”NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

“My version of horrible and yours are vastly different.” He grins, guiding us into the bathroom. Gently, he turns me in his arms and helps me to sit down on the toilet. Then he opens the shower door and turns the water on. I don’t bother hiding my body from him and start taking my clothes off without question.

I do my best to avert my gaze as he strips, but it’s so hard, literally and figuratively. A man as cruel as him shouldn’t be allowed to look so good. Rippling muscle, tone, and tan. He looks like a model.

He’s completely naked now while I still have my Pajama pants on. I stare down at my feet and take his hand when he offers it to me, doing everything I can to not look at that mammoth organ between his thighs.

Helping me out of my clothes, he picks me back up, and we step into the shower together, one of his hands remaining on my hip to steady me. His junk presses against my thigh, and I hiss at the touch.

“It won’t bite you, Elena.”

“Says the owner of the beast.” I swallow down the lump in my throat and start washing my body. My movements are sluggish, and it takes me forever to actually wash. The whole time Julian remains beside me, steadying me and doing nothing but making sure I don’t fall.

“Here, sit.” He guides me to the bench in the corner of the shower, and I sit down, pressing my back against the cool tile.

“Why is there a bench in here anyway? Isn’t that for old people?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a rare sound I could get used to. “The shower doubles as a steam room.”

“Oh…”

“I’ll wash your hair as soon as I’m done washing myself,” he says. I want to object, and I should because I’ve learned that his kindness always comes with a price, but I’m desperate for someone to care for me, desperate for the man that’s going to marry me to actually want me.

My nipples harden painfully as I watch the water cascade down his back. He’s absolute perfection, and I’m jealous of the washrag that he uses over his sculpted body.

You don’t want him. He doesn’t even care about you. I remind myself.

Shivering, I bite my lip, it’s at that time, he turns to face me. In that instant, he’s both monster and man, his eyes trail over my body, leaving a path of warmth in their wake.

I must be delirious because there is no way this is happening again.

“You’re looking at me like you want me to fuck you,” he says, swiping a hand down his face. I feel sweat bead against my forehead, and I’m not sure if I should tell him that I want him to touch me or not. I’m not supposed to want him, it’s wrong, but I’m so damn lonely, and so tired of fighting.

“I want you… to touch me,” I murmur.

Julian grins, and separates the space between us in one step, “You want me to touch you, but not fuck you?”

I nod my head. “Just touch.”