Page 37 of Satin Empire

“You’re welcome.” I swirl my glass, watching the ice. “What else would make you happy?”

She snorts and pushes her chair back. “That’s a loaded question.”

“I mean it,” I say and find myself picturing her smile and her genuine laugh, not some hollow shell of a noise she uses to mask her real feelings. “What can I do to make this easier on you?”

“You’ve actually been okay so far,” she admits like she’s yanking off her own toenails, “for a massive egotistical prick.”

“You got the massive part right.”

A big eyeroll. “Easy there. Nobody’s impressed.”

“Except for you. Ah, come on, don’t pretend like you’re not curious.” I reach out and grab the arm of her chair, yanking it closer to me. She yelps lightly and tries to swat me away, but I get her within striking distance. “You know what I like about you?”

“My convenience? I assume you like me because I’m the only woman within grabbing distance.”

I laugh and shake my head, because she couldn’t be further from the truth. “You’re the least convenient thing in my life right now, baby. No, I like you because you say what you think, even when you’re wrong, and even when you’re insulting.”

“Most people don’t find that very attractive.”

“I’m not most people.” I lean toward her and feel a strange jolt of excitement in my stomach. Why does this girl push me so hard? It’s like whenever I remind myself that she’s too damn young and the total opposite of what I need right now, it only makes me want her even more.

It’s those pouty lips and her bright, deep brown eyes, and her thick hair falling in waves down to her back, and those fucking tits. Those damn stupid tits. I never should’ve palmed them and felt her stiff nipples under my hands.

I never should’ve touched her dripping wet pussy and sure as hell shouldn’t have gotten her off, because that’s all I have in my head anymore.

Alana’s pants and moans. My wife’s orgasm clutches down against my fingers, the sweetest bliss I’ve ever seen.

“You’re giving me that look again,” she says and her voice is a breathy whisper. She’s breathing fast, her chest rising and falling, and now I can’t take my eyes off her body.

“What look’s that?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.

“The hungry one. I came out here to thank you for the car and that’s it.”

“You can thank me in a multitude of ways. You can thank me very loudly while all the neighbors listen. Or maybe I can thank you over and over until you come on my fingers again. Or maybe my mouth this time? I’ll let you choose since I’m in a good mood.”

She shakes her head, trying to look pissed, but her lips are parted and she’s rubbing her tongue against her teeth like she’s thinking about taking my dick in that pretty mouth of hers.

“I’m not going to reward you with sexual favors.”

“Then let me reward you instead.” I reach out and brush a hand across her cheek, pushing her hair out of the way, and she turns her face toward me. My heart races with anticipation, excitement building at the thought of kissing her, like I’m some fucking teenager again. Why does she do this to me, this stressful but blissful need, the very arc of my desire bending toward her? I want to crush the distance between us, feel her body against mine, revel in the little wiggles she does with her hips as she grinds herself against my cock, bathe in the sound of her moans as I make her come.

Instead, my phone starts ringing. It rattles and vibrates on the metal table.

“Better get that,” she whispers, her cheeks flushed and her mouth still parted, but she’s looking at the screen. “It’s Renzo.”

I curse and grab the phone. Fucking Renzo, as if he hasn’t been annoying me enough already. “What’s up, bro?” I say, answering.

“We got a lead on some Russians. There’s a safe house in the suburbs I need you to check out. I got a team together already, but I want you to lead it.”

I look at Alana and I’m so tempted to turn him down it hurts. But this is my place in the Famiglia, and to deny my Don would be to deny who I am, which fucking sucks right about now.

“Tell me where,” I say, pushing the chair back.

The disappointment in Alana’s face kills me, but there’s nothing I can do as Renzo gives me the details. When he’s done, I’ve got my jacket on and I’m checking my gun when she comes into the living room and stares at me, one hand grabbing onto the elbow of her opposite arm, looking so small and vulnerable and goddamn fuckable.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Just work.” I shove the gun into the holster tucked inside my waistband. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be late.”

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