Page 4 of Contracted

He clasped my chin and tilted my head higher as his mouth captured mine, revealing his dominance and skill as he kissed me. I quivered even as my lips automatically parted, his questing tongue that tasted and tangled with mine leaving me reeling.

Holy shit. I needed this stranger to make me want sex again. My passion o-meter was skyrocketing, my lacy thong wet as lust poured through me.

He was undeniably gifted, and I couldn’t help but wonder how glorious it’d feel if he used his mouth and tongue on other parts of my body. I didn’t doubt I’d find out soon enough and I moaned into his mouth, dropping my clutch bag before my arms draped over his broad shoulders while he cupped my ass with one hand and pushed my front against his arousal.

My pulse shuddered. He was freakishly big, but surely I was wet enough and experienced enough to welcome his length? I writhed against him and it was his turn to groan, his blunt fingertips digging into my butt as he pressed me so close we were almost one.

That his firearm was yet another bulging distraction under his clothes didn’t deter me. If anything it made me wetter, my needs greater.

He pulled back to look down at me, his dark eyes glittering. “I want you, Delilah.”

He might be a man of few words, but when he spoke with such intensity he didn’t need to elaborate.

“I want you too,” I said softly. No subterfuge, no acting out yet another man’s fantasy. This was my fantasy, my need.

Even if he had asked to fuck me in the room where partygoers were celebrating, I wouldn’t have said no. Not because of the fifty K he’d agreed to pay me and not even because it’d change my life for the better, but because he turned me on so effortlessly.

I would have had sex with him for free.

The front door opened, rock music blasting through and obliterating the peace and quiet. A portly, suited man shut the door, quieting the racket. He withdrew something from his pocket. I realized it was a cutter and cigar after he snipped the tip and then lit it, the end glowing. Then he stepped out of the portico and onto the slate pathway toward us.

I knew right away he was someone important. Not because of his age or the world weariness that was apparent even with the shadows that encroached upon him between the solar lights. The way he held himself spoke of someone who didn’t intimidate easily. He was high up in the mafia hierarchy.

“Carlo,” Serafino acknowledged drily.

The older man slowed, the lights now picking out his hard, silvery eyes and thinning hair that in no way diminished his self-importance and ego. He was definitely someone of worth.

“Serafino,” he said, his demeanor reserved. “Need I remind you the Irish mafia is on the warpath? Bad enough we lost two good soldiers, we don’t want to lose you, too. I’d suggest you stay inside with your whore.”

Serafino stiffened, but I was used to the scathing term. Men like Carlo no doubt enjoyed hookers on a regular basis and yet they themselves were immune to derogatory labels.

“You will call this lady, Delilah,” Serafino said quietly, but with such an alarmingly dark undertone my pulse spiked harder again.

Carlo nodded tightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Delilah, if that is even your real name, of course.”

I nodded back just as tightly, peeved by his assumption. “It is. My father loved his biblical stories. I’m sure he would have named me Samson if I’d been a boy.”

Carlo had already lost interest, his dismissal of me all too obvious as he refocused on Serafino and reminded, “You know I err on the side of caution when it comes to our enemies, especially since one of our informants has suggested plans are in place to further avenge Sean’s death.”

“I’m aware of the situation.”

Carlo sucked on his cigar, the tip glowing red before the sickly scent of its smoke wafted our way. “I have no doubt of that,” he conceded. “Believe it or not, I do care about what happens to Lorenzo’s boys.”

“That was never in dispute. But I think we’ve proven we’re no longer boys and can look after ourselves—and others—as has Isabella.”

“You have all proven that time and again,” Carlo acknowledged. “But Sean’s brother, Connor, is—“

“A hothead who lacks self-control and discipline,” Serafino interjected. He sighed heavily, clearly sick of the conversation. Or perhaps he was sick of talking, period. I had a feeling he’d spoken more than usual. It seemed his respect for the older man ran deep. He crouched to pick up my clutch bag, then returned it to me as he straightened and asked, “Do you wish to go inside?”

That he asked instead of commanded made me a little giddy. Until Carlo’s shocked, smoky coughing fit quickly disintegrated my passion and left me feeling off-kilter. It looked like I’d be playing my role tonight, after all. I didn’t want to leave my profession on a sour note, with my last client regretting his fifty K bill.

Once Carlo regained his composure, he continued puffing his cigar as he led the way back under the portico and to the front door, making conversation as he went. “Without you brothers and Valentino on duty there is a much higher likelihood our enemies will infiltrate this place. And if our enemies can’t take one of us down, they’ll kill or take someone we care about instead.”

I didn’t miss his pointed look my way. And by the way Serafino moved between me and the older man, he hadn’t missed it either. It was...nice to feel shielded and secure, like nothing bad could touch me.

Until Serafino did. Because I had no doubt he was the baddest of them all.

Chapter Three

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