Filed to story: The Mafia Boss’s Regret (Ava & Dante)
“Oh, God,” I moaned, digging my hands into his thick hair, running my blunt nails against his scalp. I’d said this man’s name a handful of times since I’d met him, but I found it slipping from my lips when he swirled his tongue over my clit before sucking.
He tensed, and I realized too late he didn’t like it when I called him Dante.
“What’s my name?” he rasped before his tongue pushed into my entrance.
I made a throaty, porny noise I never knew I was capable of.
When I didn’t answer, his mouth left me, and his smoldering gaze found mine. His words were sharp. “What’s my name?”
“Dante,” I breathed.
His eyes flashed, and then a feeling of fullness came over me when he slipped one finger inside me. Pleasure ignited, the wick burning through my bloodstream. He held his finger still and I tried to rock, but his grip around one thigh was immovable.
“Name?” he pressed.
I shook my head, hating this game. I had “Dante” on the tip of my tongue, but when he pulled out his finger and then plunged two inside me hard, I choked on it and it unwillingly came out as “Dan.”
A tremor went through me when his mouth found my clit, licking and sucking while his fingers moved in and out of me, again and again. He did it so leisurely, making deep noises of satisfaction every once in a while.
He was taking his time, slowing down when the pressure built, driving me mad until “
Please,
” escaped my lips. Then his fingers curled inside of me, the flame growing hotter.
When he slowed again, I shook my head in panic, my hands tugging at his hair. I didn’t know what I’d turned into, but all I found myself repeating was “Please,” over and over. He finally gave me what I wanted. His firm laps steady, he fingered me faster, harder, until there was nothing but deep, hot pressure.
His dark gaze found mine.
My last thought before the final please left my lips and the pressure exploded through my veins like an inferno was: He loves to be begged. The fire dissipated into a languid heat, spreading tingles throughout.
As I lay against the counter, slack, I pulsed around his fingers, and he only made out with my inner thigh and continued to slowly move them in and out until it stopped.
I let out a shaky breath, running my fingers through his hair, not ready to let it go. It was the only part of him I got to touch.
That was the first orgasm I’d ever had with a man, and I hated to admit it for my future health, but it was the most addictive thing I’d ever experienced.
When his hands ran up my thighs, nerves came to the surface.
Did he want me to reciprocate?
Or did he expect sex?
A shyness overcame me as I sat up, and I was sure, as he braced his hands on the counter and met my gaze, that he could see it all.
He’d yet to even shed his tie while I sat naked in front of him. After the heat settled, it all appeared so much more obscene.
“You’ll call me Dan from now on. No more of that Dante bullshit.”
I nodded hesitantly. All my pleases still echoed in the kitchen, his words cutting through them with an abrasive knife.
I didn’t know what I expected then, but I knew it wasn’t for him to turn his back on me, leave the house, and then shut the door behind him.
I exhaled, falling against the countertop.
Merda.
I was in over my head.
THE TICKING OF THE CLOCK brought my gaze to it as I slipped off the island. I’d been engaged to Dan for only one hour, yet I already felt turned inside out, as if he’d stolen a few of my layers and I’d never get them back. I knew I made the right decision not to give him every piece of me. If I did, the inevitable would happen, and I’d be nothing but dust beneath his feet while he ruled New York’s underworld.
I traced the rim of his whiskey glass, the air-conditioning cool against my bare skin. I leaned on the counter and sipped the liquor, hoping it would numb the abrasive feeling of his scruff against my neck, hoping it would make his clean, male scent disappear from my nose. It didn’t.
When the sound of the garage door opening met my ears, I glanced toward the noise. I wondered if he would leave me here alone, but when I didn’t hear any engines starting, I imagined he was only working on his cars.
I tossed back the rest of the warm whiskey and set the glass on the counter, but before I could walk away, my eyes caught on some paperwork. Hesitation flooded me, but I took a step forward and grabbed the top paper between two fingers.
I stared at my fiancé’s private bank account information, my heart beating with confliction. Vacillation at the wrongness of my intentions. Yet, I felt the hope of absolution, no matter how small it might be.
This life I was born into might be dark, but it was transparent. The Cosa Nostra was only a candid version of the Outside’s politician smiles. I knew this world, knew its darkness, knew its light. And I knew that I was good, but sometimes even the good has its shadows.
Before I could think more about it, I pulled open cupboard drawer after drawer, searching for a pen and paper. When I found them, I copied the information down and slipped it into the bottom of my duffel bag.
You can only sink or swim.
You can’t swim in the underworld, but I’d always heard drowning was the best way to go.
After dressing, I took a tour of the home. I found three bedrooms upstairs and dropped my bag on the queen-sized bed of one that had to be a spare. Cream walls, white duvet and furniture. It was understated elegance, and I knew Dan hadn’t been the one to decorate it.
A bay window with a seat below took up the far wall and looked over the backyard and garage. My fingers touched the glass as my gaze found Dan whose head was beneath the hood of one of his cars in the drive. Only his side profile was visible, but my heart thumped to an uneven beat. He wore a white t-shirt, his button-up and tie lying in a pile on one of the lawn chairs.
I wondered who did his laundry. He said he had a cook, but it was close to lunchtime and no one had arrived yet. I really didn’t know how to cook. It was a travesty for an Italian woman, I knew, but I partly blamed it on my mamma for never teaching me. She was a perfectionist in the kitchen and would slap our hands if we took one misstep, so it had always been easier to stay out of her way.
Heading out of my new bedroom, I stopped in front of the master. With gray walls and mahogany furniture, it had a masculine touch. The large bed was unmade, and dress shirts and ties lay over the back of a chair, some fallen to the floor. It looked like a messy king lived in here. I had an impulse to clean it, but I quelled it and moved on. I didn’t know how he would feel about me going through his things and I didn’t want to. I might have to live with him, but this was an arrangement-not a real marriage.
However, when I thought of my other options, I couldn’t help but feel relief from Oscar Perez’s death. I could guarantee that if I were sent to his home for the day, I wouldn’t have been lying languid on his counter from an orgasm I didn’t have to reciprocate. My skin crawled at the thought of him touching me.
I would kiss whoever killed him.
When I opened the fridge, I was relieved to see some pre-made meals I only had to pop in the oven. There were handwritten notes on the top of each saying what they were in a feminine scrawl. So, he did have a cook. I was going to feel like less of a woman if I had to have some other woman make my meals now that I was getting married. I guessed I would have to put learning how to cook on my to-do list, though it wasn’t as if that was exactly full.
I put a casserole in the oven and then searched the house for a phone.
As I stood at the island and pulled my hair into a ponytail, my brows knitting from the unsuccessful search, the back door opened. My pulse slowed.
Dan stepped inside, his gaze running from the floor to me. God, that plain white t-shirt would be the death of me. Grease stained his arms and hands and he was sweaty to a hot degree. I finished tying my hair up, and then dropped my clammy hands to my sides.