A Proper Woman

A tiny flinch.
It was the lone indicator that Michael Corleone felt his fiancee's stocking-clad foot begin an ascent up his pants leg. His expression did not change, nor did his conversation falter.

Confident that she had learned to read his moods, Sabrina stilled her wandering foot and observed him for a moment. When Michael's posture gave her no hint of censure or reproach, she continued her assault upon his senses.

Around the table, Michael's war council relaxed as they conversed and drank. Occasionally, laughter at some crude joke rang throughout the room. There was no crisis for Michael to handle. Sabrina would not have been allowed within the room if there had been.

She was there because he wanted to make a point.


Michael Corleone stood before the bedroom mirror and began to re-tie his favorite silk tie. It had been rather hastily removed a few hours earlier after his fiancee Sabrina had leaned over and whispered several lewd proposals in his ear.

His gaze switched to her reflection in the mirror. She lay stretched out on her side, her torso barely covered by the silk sheets she had insisted on having.

Sensing his gaze upon her, Sabrina rose lazily from the bed. The shiny covers slid down her magnificent body and landed in a pool on the floor. He watched as she approached. Michael was reminded of an exquisite tawny cat and its first sight of prey.

As her arms encircled him from the back, he smiled indulgently. "La vostra fame dovra attendre, il mio amore." (Your hunger will have to wait, my love.)

In response, she allowed her hands to drift lazily downward from his chest. Before she could reach her goal, however, Michael grasped her wrists firmly.

"Sabriana," his voice held a mild rebuke, "we are expected."

Frustrated at his seeming ability to simply turn his passion off and on, she jerked away from him.

"We discussed this, no?"

Sabrina angrily grabbed her silk robe from the chair. "Please, not that again."

"I love you, Sabryn. But if we are to have a future you must behave more like-"

"An Italian woman. Yes!" Her temper got the best of her. "You sound like a damned broken record, Michael!"

"That is what I mean. No proper woman would have so foul a mouth," he pointed out.

Sabrina's eyes narrowed. "You did not have a problem with my mouth a little while ago."

Though the remark - and her anger - amused Michael, he did not show it.

"Very well," he said calmly, throwing her off-guard. "I will allow you to prove to yourself that such proper behavior is beyond you."

Suspiciously, Sabrina eyed her husband-to-be. "How?"

"It is simple," he said. "We will attend tonight's council. If you can appear to all those attending that you are a properly trained in our ways, I will admit that I was wrong and never mention it again."

"You have a deal," she said.


Michael had obviously forgotten that she was a lawyer. She made her living with words. Sabrina could interpret them, and she could read between them. All she had to do was appear to be a proper wife for the Don. His exact proposal did not demand that she behave like one.

Thus her assault on his senses.

Across the table, Michael bit back a smile. The little minx had managed to outsmart him momentarily. He, too, knew the value of words and presentation. And looking back on the proposal he'd made her, Michael quickly realized his error.

But Sabryn underestimated him. He had not become Don by being easily rattled.

She had scored the first points in this evening's battle. But the night was still young.


Michael Corleone had endured his fiancee's constant, albeit hidden, advances all night. What had begun as a challenge to Sabrina was now a war.

Her determination to break him grew as each attempt to provoke a reaction met with failure.

Sabrina wished desperately that the table was not quite so large. At this point, she had no doubt that if she had been able, she would have caressed his crotch with her foot.

She turned her eyes to the gentleman across the table and engaged him in banter. His harmless flirtation caused her to laugh, granting her the opportunity to showcase one of Michael's weaknesses - her neck.

Tilting her head back, she presented to her fiancee the graceful line of her neck.

Michael understood the action. Sabrina was taunting him, using all her feminine tricks to manipulate him.

Though he continued to watch her from the corner of his eye, he forced his gaze away from the sight of her smooth, supple skin. When her attention was momentarily caught by a movement across the room, Michael gingerly reached down and adjusted himself.

He had not spent such an uncomfortable evening since he was a randy young boy. His arousal pulsed mercilessly and each subsequent temptation Sabrina presented merely made his erection more fierce.

Michael was thankful for the distance between them. If Sabrina had managed to actually touch him in this state, he was certain that he would have swept the table clear and taken her. There in front of all the men assembled.

In his male dominated circle, Michael's reputation as Don would have risen even higher if possible, he reflected ironically. But any respect for the woman who was to be his wife would be lost.

The knowledge of the dangerous path they walked gave him strength. Though still immensely aroused, Michael's desire was tempered by his love for his fiancee, and his wish that she be given the respect due her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the evening drew to a close. With Sabrina at his side, Michael bid goodnight to his council. Slipping an arm around her waist, he escorted her to the limousine.

Sabrina's senses were fully on alert. She had expected some reaction to her outrageous antics underneath the table. Instead, Michael was cordial and upbeat, as though they'd spent a simple evening out together.

The driver turned around in his seat and asked, "Where to, Mr. Corleone?"

"Miss DeLane's apartment," Michael replied. "We'll be dropping her off."

Sabrina's head whipped around. Staring into Michael's dark implacable eyes, she realized that taking her home was his reaction to her tactics.

Although the strategy to assault her fiance's senses was hers, Sabrina admitted freely that it had backfired. If not for his unrelenting gaze upon her, she would have shifted in her seat and tried to find some relief for the constant sensations between her thighs.

Damn him! Wasn't he as aroused as she? A quick glance confirmed that his dark slacks were now tented by the strength of his arousal.

As they pulled up before her apartment complex, Michael and his guard exited. He offered a hand to her and assisted her from the car. He was really going to go through with it.

Sabrina was incredulous. Biting back a bitter remark, she lifted her chin and allowed the guard to lead them to the elevator. Michael rode in silence beside a furious Sabrina. He had learned to read her moods as well, and her body screamed its indignation.

They waited until the guard gave the signal, then Michael walked her to her door. He made no move to follow her inside. "Goodnight, Sabriana." He leaned in to give her a chaste peck on the cheek.

Frustrated beyond measure, Sabrina did the one thing she knew would force a reaction from him. She slapped the Don.

Though his well-trained bodyguard did not react, Michael knew that he could not let such an act before a witness go unpunished. Grabbing a handful of Sabrina's shoulder length hair, he forced her head back. "Quello era un errore, ragazza piccola." (That was a mistake, little girl)

As the smirking guard looked on, Don Corleone forced the woman backward into the room and slammed the door. He nodded approvingly and found a comfortable position to wait near the door. It would be a long night.

Inside the condo, Sabrina stood pressed against the wall. Don Michael Corleone's hot, hard body held her easily in place. Staring into eyes that at the moment seemed endless, Sabrina understood just why it was an experience his enemies never wished to have.

Loosening his grip on her hair, Michael mused, "You did not have to hit me so hard, Sabryn. My guard would not have known the difference."

Her eyes grew wide. Michael knew that she had deliberately provoked him?Her fiance's teeth gleamed whitely and his smile transformed his face. This was the Michael Corleone she'd fallen in love with, Sabrina reflected.

"You were right," she admitted freely.

"Yes," he accepted. "And I was wrong. You will never be a proper Italian wife. This is true." He lifted her easily and carried her to the large king sized bed. Laying her down gently in its center, he murmured in her ear. "But you are the perfect wife for me."

Michael lowered his mouth to hers for a slow passionate kiss. But any intention he had of loving Sabrina slowly was lost when she snaked her hand between their bodies and massaged him through his pants.

In response, he ran his hand gently up her inner thigh. "Sabryn," he gasped into her mouth when his fingers touched only softness. "You are brazen." He had to struggle to say the words for his voice seemed strangled within his throat.

Michael attempted to shrug off his jacket. Sabrina hissed, "Later, Michael! Give me what I want now!" Determinedly she freed him from the confines of his pants. With a firm grip upon his erection, she guided him where she wanted him most.

As he sank into her, they both cried out with the very rightness of it all. Sabrina's breathy cries began to echo around the room as Michael's thrusts grew more and more urgent.

The silk material of his pants, which Michael had not had time to remove, brushed against her sensitive skin with every stroke. The foreign sensation only heightened her pleasure.

On the verge of release, Michael demanded, "Open your eyes, Sabryn."

With difficulty she pried open her eyes. The sight of Michael above her as he thrust relentlessly was her undoing. With a cry, she felt her body begin to spasm. Sabrina's body clutched and released him, and Michael could finally only surrender control.

When the last tremor had left his body, Michael Corleone fell onto his side and gathered the still-dressed Sabrina to him. Wearily he kissed her forehead. "Promise me you'll never change," he demanded.

"I promise."