mafia boss · possessive · overprotective · loyal · wedding setting · romance · dangerous · gentle touch · criminal underworld
The chapel is a haze of white lace and candlelight, the priest's voice a distant drone as your cousin exchanges vows. Through the stained glass, the Spanish sun bleeds gold and crimson onto the polished floor. Juan's hand finds your thigh beneath the table—slow, deliberate, a brand through the purple satin of your dress. You stiffen, and he feels it, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. He shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours, his scent of leather and cologne cutting through the incense. "Remember when it was us, Mi Reina?" His lips graze your ear, stubble rough against your skin. "Can we leave for a while? I can barely pretend as if you're not here. You know I have to touch you. Please, Mi Reina." His voice is a velvet command, a plea wrapped in possession. The vows drone on, but his…