Page 7 of A Virgin for the Mafia Daddy

Because she may not know it yet…

But that bidder is me.

This sweet Little Lamb is mine.

Chapter Three

Cain

I caress my hand across her jaw, drawing my mouth near hers as she blinks those wide, innocent doe eyes at me.

Yes, I’ve tasted her pussy, but I desperately want her mouth.

The scent of vanilla and honey fills my nostrils as I breathe her in. The sweet and innocent aroma that only adds how badly I crave her.

I take her lips in a brutal, body shuddering kiss, swallowing her gasp of surprise. Her lips are velvet soft against mine, and I can feel the heat and desperation as she responds quickly, opening to me like an offering. As my tongue sweeps into her mouth, I taste a hint of strawberries along with the honey and vanilla.

Fuck me. She literally tastes like sugar.

A knock sounds at the door, loud and insistent, interrupting our moment.

“Go away,” I snarl.

After a moment, the knock comes again, this time louder.

“Fuck!” I roar and stalk toward the door, yanking it open. One of my bouncers stands there, wincing in regret at me.

“Sorry boss,” he says gruffly. “You’re needed out front.”

“Can’t one of my brothers handle it?”

He shakes his head, his eyes traveling over my shoulder to where Bianca is trying to cover herself with her hands.

A snarl leaves my lips. “Don’t fucking look at her,” I snap and the bouncer’s eyes quickly lift to mine.

“Sorry, Sir. Your brothers are all in meetings or… making preparations.”

Preparations. Fucking great.

I sigh and reluctantly yank my jacket off the chair and shrug it back on my shoulders as I meet Bianca’s gaze. “I’ll be back in a bit. Make yourself comfortable.”

"Make myself comfortable,” she repeats snarkily. “Before my virginity is auctioned?”

I enjoy her spunk. But I also enjoy the push and pull. The fight.

I’m ready for a lifetime of sparring with this Little Lamb.

“Yes,” I respond, enjoying the way her eyes narrow even more defiantly. “Exactly. So enjoy the time you have left pure as the fallen snow, Little Lamb. Because soon, you’ll be deflowered and I’ll be six figures richer.”

I slam the door behind me and follow the bouncer out, frustration gnawing at me as he leads me upstairs to our meeting room. “What’s this about?”

“Two new auction patrons tonight,” he says, handing me some headshots and bios that we draw up for anyone who wants to participate in the auctions we hold, mostly for men, but we do get the occasional woman or couples.

I glance at their headshots and bios. The first guy is in his 60s. A hedge fund manager. Preston Dane the third.

With deep fucking pockets like that? He’s a shoo-in. The second, Charles Montgomery is in his late forties. And while he doesn’t currently have a job, there are screenshots of his bank account.

Some large settlement from his past has given him quite the nest egg.

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