Mila: The Godfather (Unholy Trinity Book 7)
Mila: The Godfather: Part 2 – Chapter 52

MILA

“I didn’t believe in magic until I stared into her eyes.” – R

I’m not completely out of touch with interactions between a man and a woman.

I read about it too.

The wedding night.

Some are sweet, some are downright dirty, while some are awkward.

This could go either way, but I’m leaning toward awkward.

That’s why as soon as we entered the large suite with a huge bed in the middle of it, my nerves got the best of me, and I blurted out a fact. One that has my face turning red and wanting to hide under the covers in embarrassment. “Newlyweds are expected to consummate their marriage on a white cloth, as eager family members wait close by. Did you know that?” And because I just can’t control my mouth, I make it worse. “As soon as the deed is done, the sheets are handed over for inspection. If suitably blood-stained, ecstatic family members will take it on a tour to display it to other family members.”

My embarrassment intensifies when a moment of silence – a long one passes between us.

Turning away from Riagan, I look everywhere in search of an exit, but there’s none besides the main door which Riagan is blocking.

Ah, darn it.

This is why some people think of me as weird.

Not my new husband, though.

He proves it in the next instant. “Virginity testing occurs in many cultures, yes. It’s a common tradition. Archaic but common.” I feel my soul return to my body when he finally speaks up. Still, I don’t turn, too embarrassed of what he must be thinking right now. “Mila, please look at me.”

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. This is Riagan. He hasn’t forced me to do anything I don’t want. Not once.

But do I want to? That is the question.

I’ve never felt sexual attraction before. At one point, I thought I might be asexual since I did replace men attractive before, but not enough to fantasize about them or wish to be bedded by them.

Until him.

I guess it was not a me problem, but a Riagan missing from my life problem.

Turning, I come face to face with his hard chest. He looked so handsome as he waited for me in the gazebo, wearing black dress pants and a matching button-down silk shirt with his sleeves rolled up, revealing all those intricate tattoos.

But what made him look even more handsome was the subtle smile that hadn’t left his face all day.

Feeling his gentle fingers on my chin, Riagan tilts my face up to look at him. I replace those big blue eyes looking down at me with the same gentleness as every time before. Always gentle, never harsh, but too intense. “There’s no need to be nervous. Us?” He motions between us. “We are not conventional, would you agree? I won’t do anything that you don’t want. Ever.” He promises. “You know this, right?”

Smiling, I answer him. “I know.”

And I do.

I love facts.

I also enjoy collecting data.

And so far, he has given me zero reasons to doubt him.

“Besides, that shit doesn’t fly with this family.” He mumbles, and I replace myself looking at his stubbled cheek, no longer embarrassed. He does that to me.

I can be myself around him and not worry so much about being perfect or society’s definition of it. Yes, I get nervous, but not because I’m afraid of him judging me, but because I want him to like me.

He never judges and never makes me feel inadequate. He is unlike anyone else.

Almost too good to be true.

“Tell me something else?” He asked quietly. His voice was warm, smooth, soft, like an enveloping hug that could wash all your worries away.

“Like what?” I breathe out.

“Another fact.” He traces the bridge of my nose with his tattooed finger, then moves it down to my top lip.

His soft touch causes heat to crawl up from my neck to my cheeks.

“Did you know that Stockholm Syndrome got its name from a bank robbery in Norrmalmstorg in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1973?” I speak, then my fun little fact is followed by silence… again.

And then he does it.

My favorite thing in the world right now.

He laughs.

“Are you trying to tell me something, sweetheart?”

I nod and lift my hand to his chest and do my best to hold his stare. “Yes.”

“Tell me then.”

“I am not suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.” I feel his chest expand and his heart beat more strongly than it was before. Smiling softly at that, I continue. “What I am trying to say is that I choose you, Riagan. I chose you back in that alley, and I chose to be here with you today.”

Then, I notice his eyes flash with something I’ve come to learn while being with him is desire. Yes, desire. That’s exactly it.

His heart races, and his nostrils flare.

Some indicators that prove my theory.

I love how little butterflies come to life in my stomach every time our eyes meet.

“Let’s get you out of this dress so you can rest. It’s been an eventful day.” He whispers as he moves closer. His cologne wafts into my nose. I love the way he smells. Manly. Clean. Fresh.

“So, no sex?” I blurt out.

“Do you want to have sex?” His voice does things to me. Things I’ve never felt before him.

I think about his question.

Do I want to? That’s the million-dollar question. I take too long to answer, so I’m busy stuck in my head trying to come up with the best answer when he interrupts me. “Turn around.”

Lost for words, I do as he says because it gives me a distraction. I don’t get to tell him all I’m feeling. How I replace myself craving his touch, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid he will be disappointed at my lack of sexual experience.

Yes, he is kind to me, but he is still a man.

An older man who surely knows exactly what he wants in bed while I know nothing.

Will I be able to please him?

Nerves get the best of me, so I try to push them down and focus on him instead.

Feeling his hot breath at the back of my neck, I replace it difficult to replace my next breath.

There’s a long pause where I swear I can hear both of our hearts beating loudly. Impossible, I know. Not logical at all.

Not being able to stand how quiet he is, I shift my face and peer up at him. I’m sure the nerves are evident in my eyes. “Is there something wrong?” I ask quietly.

“You take my breath away.” He breathes out. His voice is husky and sensual.

Dark and tempting.

Just like him.

Then, without notice he pulls my dress down slowly. With my back to him, I am topless and only wearing very skimpy white lace underwear.

I’m almost fully naked in front of him, and not for the first time.

My heart is racing now, and my breath quickens.

I feel the urge to tap my chest, but I fight it when I feel his heat at my back and his eyes on me.

“I’m going to touch you.” He reaches up and cups my head. I hold my breath. How sweet and how rare that he remembers how I freak out when someone touches my head.

That’s the kind of thing he does that makes my stomach flip and my chest feel full.

The little things.

Turning, with my breasts on display, I regard his handsome face for a moment too long. Intimate. Vulnerable. Yet I don’t cower, nor do I feel the need to hide like before.

Then, he leans down and presses a simple kiss to my mouth. I stay still. He runs his thumb over my cheekbone and then repeated the motion. I soften against him.

Then, his body heat disappears, and I watch him turn and walk toward the drawer. He opens it and grabs a pair of sweatpants and a white shirt.

Taking my hand, he leads me to the bathroom door. “Get cleaned up before bed, yes. Wash away the germs of the day.”

“I don’t mind your germs.” I blurt out.

“That’s good to know, sweetheart.”

“I do need to wash before I get into bed.” I alternate between looking at him and at the bathroom door.

Riagan laughs. “Go ahead. I’ll be here when you get out.”

Good.

I worried he would leave.

I don’t want him to.

“Okay.” I whisper and turn the knob, opening the bathroom door.

“Okay.”

Then, I spend exactly fifteen minutes scrubbing my body more than once, washing away all the dirt and grime I might’ve accumulated during the day. You never know what type of bacteria clings to you without you realizing it.

Germs are sneaky little jerks. Once I’m done, I grab the towel that’s hanging on the wall. It’s white, clean, and warm.

I hum contempt when I wrap it around my body.

Exiting the bathroom, I’m surprised to replace Riagan sitting quietly at the end of the bed.

He waited.

He didn’t leave.

I round the bed and walk towards him. He then quietly takes my hands in his, and we both watch as the towel falls to my feet.

Holding my breath, I’m proud that I don’t look away or hide my face when I replace myself standing naked before him.

Does he like what he sees?

He does.

He told me so back at the beach when I exposed my chest to him.

I watch him quietly as he grabs a white shirt and helps me into it. It’s funny how even sitting down, he’s taller than me.

Once I’m dressed in his shirt, he stands to his full height, towering over me. He presses a kiss to my forehead and lingers there for a moment. “Goodnight, butterfly.” His lips leave my forehead, and he steps back, ready to leave the room.

Like a quick reflex, I grab his hand, stopping him from leaving. Focusing on his wedding ring, I ask “Will you stay with me?”

He’s quiet for a second before he squeezes my hand. “If that’s what you want.”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

He chuckles as the butterflies in my stomach start to dance to the sound of his voice.

“Let me shower, and I’ll meet you in bed.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, I nod and watch as he moves towards the bathroom with his sweatpants in hand.

Ten minutes.

He takes ten minutes to shower.

I counted them, yes.

Then he exits the bathroom, wearing only his black sweatpants. His ink is on full display, and his wet hair is brushed back.

He takes my breath away too. I think to myself as he moves toward his night chest, takes off his jewelry and turns my way.

I count every step he takes until he gets near the bed.

“You smell nice.” I whisper while I nervously play with one of my curls.

Riagan smiles before replying. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Then he quickly climbs under the covers and reaches for me. Letting myself be pulled toward his body, I lay my head on his chest, exactly where he wants me. Right where I want to be.

It feels natural.

As if we’ve done this a million times before.

There’s that feeling of déjà vu again.

“Riagan…” I whisper, feeling his warmth on my cheek.

“Hum?”

“I’m really happy.”

There’s a long pause, one that makes me question if I said something wrong, but then my nerves ease when he speaks.

“Good. That’s all I’ll ever want.” Thud. Thud. Thud. My heart. “Sweet dreams, wife.” Riagan whispers into my hair as he kisses my head.

Swoon.

With my ear to his chest, I fall asleep to the beat of his heart, and not one single nightmare haunts me while in his arms.

Not one.