Page 143 of Gorgeous Villain (Marchetti Mafia)

Maybe I should remind her who’s boss.

I tilt my head and run my tongue along the area where I placed the gun on her neck. A wave of satisfaction washes over me when she shivers, and goose bumps pop up on her skin as I lower the gun between her breasts.

She’s right. I can’t kill her.

Just like she proved the other day that she can’t kill me either.

Our deaths might be because of the other, but our hands will never be dirty.

That doesn’t mean I can’t frighten her a bit.

“I wanted to email my father, let him know that I’m okay, to protect you,” she whispers. She trembles beneath my touch when I guide the gun along her nipple and slowly trace a circle around it.

“How exactly does that protect me?”

“It’ll ease his anger toward you.”

“Nothing will ever ease your father’s anger.” We both live in the Always Angry as Fuck Club.

“It’ll help if I remind him I’m safe.” She shudders when I drag the gun back along her chest to the other nipple and do the same.

“He’ll never believe you’re safe with me.”

“The more I tell him, the more believable it becomes.”

“Wrong. Keep your hands away from the computer. Do you hear me?”

“Fine, I’ll send him a raven or something.”

“Then I also need to keep you out of the yard.” I lower my hand and slip it under her pants, running my finger along the hem of her panties.

“I’m only trying to help, Antonio,” she says, her breathing growing ragged.

“Help me by behaving,” I rasp into her ear before shoving my hand into her panties and cupping her mound.

She groans, shifting her weight along the wall, and pushes her hips forward.

“It seems I need to fuck you into obedience,” I tell her. “Punish you with my cock until you learn to be a good little hostage for me, huh?”

“I thought I was your wife, not a hostage.”

“That’s right.” I tsk. “It’ll give me much better satisfaction, knowing the woman I’m punishing with my cock wears my ring on her finger.”

I reposition us for a better angle and slide a finger through her opening. She’s so soaked for me that I could drown in her pussy.

“You think, as a Mafia princess, you get to make rules,” I say. “But when my hand is in your panties, when my cock is down your throat, or when I’m worshipping your perfect body”—I stop to grind my hips against hers while dipping one finger inside her—“I make”—I drag my finger out before shoving it in roughly, then do the same between words—“Every. Single. Fucking. Rule.”

My cock jerks in my pants. I need to get her out of this office and back into the shower, where I can drown out our moans with water. Or, fuck, maybe I’ll toss her into my car, take her somewhere secluded, and fuck her in every position with only nature as our witness.

“I want to hear you remind yourself that,” I tell her as I continue finger fucking her. “Who makes the rules?”

She swivels her hips forward. “I have the pussy, dear husband. So in case you weren’t aware, I make—” she then says the rest of her words like I did when I shoved my fingers inside her—“Every. Single. Fucking. Rule.” She lowers her hand between us and clasps it over mine in her panties. “As your princess, I am your equal. And if you want me to be yours, you need to learn that.”

Fuuuck.

If my obsession with her wasn’t enough before, now, it burns hotter than my thirst for revenge against my enemies. I lower my head, press my tongue between her lips, and devour her mouth as our bodies slide against each other’s.

We have to stop.

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