Page 26 of Mob Saint

I knew she wouldn’t let it go. And now she calls me by a nickname no one outside my family uses. Oh, hell.

“I’m not asking you to stay in the city for this reason, but I’d like to take you out.”

Do I sound as rusty to her as I do to myself?

I don’t expect the tears that well in her eyes. This isn’t what I want.

“Cailín?”

She jerks away, and the tears are gone. It’s loathing I see now. I know she doesn’t like me calling her that, and it honestly slipped out. But I don’t understand her visceral reaction to it. She glares at me, then reaches past me for the doorknob, yanking it open. I barely move in time for it not to slam into my back and head. I’m not surprised at how fast she moves, but I’m surprised she’s running from me.

“Tiera, wait… Wait.”

I catch her arm, but I’m careful not to squeeze. I pull her back against me. I know her arse feels how hard I am. Her hips tilt back on their own. I slide my hand down her arm and slip it from her waist to her belly. God, I love how every inch of her feels.

She pushes my hand away as though I scalded her.

“Don’t do that. Don’t touch me there. Don’t call me that. You’re a liar and a hypocrite.”

“I am those things. All the fecking time. Way too many times. But what have I done today to make you think that?”

She whirls around on me. Tears are back in her eyes, but these are angry ones. I draw her away from the door. How did all of this flip on a dime? She’s hurt again like she was after the game. Except this time, it’s my fault. And she’s pissed on top of it.

“You make me think you want to protect me. You make me think you’ll take care of me. Instead, you try to manipulate me to get me to agree to you coming to Trenton with me. You asked me out to really make sure the pathetic, fat widow is on the hook. Then you taunt me.”

I look around, spotting a potted plant a few feet away that will hide us if anyone else comes up here. There’s a table that I didn’t notice until we get closer. I tug her along with me before I pull my suit coat from her shoulders and toss it onto the table. I pull her purse off her shoulder and fling it halfway across the table. Then I back her against it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t figured out why you dislike that word so much. But you know I’m hard for you. You know I have been before. If I were manipulating you—if I were pitying you—do you think my body would react this way?”

I wrap her sleek ponytail around my hand, just like I’ve dreamed about—the way I’ve pictured her when I jack off. My free hand fists the front of her dress and pulls her tits to my chest before I let go to grab her arse instead. My mouth crashes down on hers. I’ll stop the moment she objects, but she doesn’t. She’s surprised, but then she’s sucking my tongue into her mouth as her hands travel up my pecs before her fingers weave into my hair. I press forward until she’s leaning back against the table.

I let go of her to grab her wrists, pinning them over her head with one hand. I rest my right hand on her throat, not squeezing but pressing. My thumb pushes her chin toward me when I pull back to look at her. I make her look at me. I rub my cock against her pussy before I thrust as though we’re really fucking. Her knees bracket my outer thighs.

“I don’t know what you think I mean when I call you cailín, but I told you what I mean during the scrimmage when I said it the first time. You are shorter than me, and my frame is twice as broad as yours. You are smaller than me. You are someone I will protect. Someone I will take care of. I will because you’re mine.”

Everything between us changed in a matter of seconds. I don’t know what shifted in us both. My kiss is even more demanding than the last one. What am I doing? None of this is right, yet it feels sublime. I shouldn’t trap her beneath me, dictating what’s happening. I shouldn’t have her pinned to a table where anyone could see us. I shouldn’t be kissing her when I still have an arrangement with Makayla. I sure as shite shouldn’t be thinking about where we can go, so I can get her off on my cock. I have no right to claim her as anything, let alone as mine.

But she’s not pushing me away. She isn’t trying to get away. Just the opposite. Her body strains to meet mine, her hips trying to match my movements. Her arms are lax as I hold them above her head. She even nips at my lip when I pull away.

“But I’m not little.”

I tilt my head as I study her.

“I never thought you were a Little.”

Her eyes widen before she shakes her head.

“Are you a Daddy?”

“No.”

She peers into my eyes, and I have never felt more exposed.

“But you are a Dom. Like as in regularly.”

“I am. But I am not a Daddy Dom, and nothing about you makes me think you’re a Little.”

“I’m not, and that’s not what I meant. I’m not little in size. I’m fa?—”

---