The Mafia's Mistaken Bride
The only way he could have known was if he went to check on me in that room the moment I left and then he followed me all the way here.
Instead of replying to me, he moves towards me, grabbing my waist as it hits his lower body. "You are mine, remember? You have a job, remember?"
Placing my hand on his chest, I try to move out but his hold on my waist becomes stronger. With gritted teeth, I snap. "You don't own me!"
"Of course I do", he replies sharply, as though he was expecting that. The possessive is alluring and annoying at the same time and I feel foolish for feeling this way.
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