Page 53 of Princess of the Mafia

I gave thanks for small blessings, such as entertainment, the only thing keeping me from going insane in this place. That and Benedetta. My husband had dropped off the face of the earth. He left early, and came home late. No more office tours or talks. I pursed my lips. Annoying, really. At least he was saving me from boredom. But yeah, he proved what I knew already. Made men were worse than toddlers. They got bored easily, and it was all about their battered egos and nothing about the rest of the world. I just hoped he was busy and not buried in another woman. Not that I cared. I gave my head a shake and pinned my attention to the actor on the screen. I do not care.

I’d had a secret crush on him. The actor on screen. He was pale-skinned, blond-haired, and clean. No scruff, no tattoos, and no gold chains. My type, really, I had thought. Yet as I fought off sleep, it was another annoying man that floated behind my eyeballs.

“What shit are you watching now?”

Medda! I jolted up. When had he come in? Was he checking up on me or something? “You scared the living shit out of me.”

“You might have noticed me coming in if you weren’t drooling over other men.”

He stood behind the couch dressed in all black. The man rarely wore a suit. Black dress shirt and black pants. I didn’t want to peek down to see his shoes because that would mean I was interested. I wasn’t. But my eyes caught on the chain glittering on his collar. Three buttons stood open. Had he had them undone before he was home, or was he on the way to his room? Our room. I frowned.

“Is he the type of man you like?” He nodded towards the screen, his tone dark, his mood cranky.

I followed his gaze. “What’s wrong with him?”

My peripheral view caught him moving, and he dropped on the other end of the couch. There goes my evening of binge watching.

“He’s a fucking pussy,” he muttered as he tossed the blanket off me and jerked my feet to his lap.

Heat glided through my body like warm water. His tattooed hand on my naked ankles did weird things to me. Things it had no business doing. Couldn’t say I liked it. I struggled to pull away, and his grip tightened.

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll be your blanket.”

Huh, not. But I stopped struggling. When was a girl ever going to win against a made man? Besides, my feet were touching hard things they’d rather not.

“He’s not a pussy.”

“Yeah? What is he then?”

I shrugged. “He’s not a made man.”

I shrieked when he tugged hard at my feet, pulling me further along the couch and dragging my head with it. “Didn’t I tell you there was nothing wrong with made men?”

“Right. This coming from the man who killed a boy in a hotel room?”

I could have slapped myself the moment the words barreled out of my mouth. The air warped into a thick, black ball. It clung heavy and ominous onto the perforated ceiling tiles. His jaw flexed, and a pulse thumped in his forehead.

Guilt thawed me. There wasn’t a righteous bone in my body. I’d thought not a day would pass without Aldo in my thoughts. But he’d dazed out of my memory like a childhood song. Familiar, but too distant to remember.

His eyes fell on the big screen. Sicilian rubbed all around us, but all I heard was his thick sigh. I was acutely aware of every movement of his. His gritted teeth, flexed jaw, and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. One heart beat. Two. Three…. A lazy trail of heat spread along my seams. His jaw was relaxed, and he had a hot edge to his look that I couldn’t place. I felt good. Warm. Hot. Like I had a light fever coasting through my veins.

My gaze dropped to his arm, and my body stiffened instantly at the sight before my eyes. His hand was crawling all over me. When had he pulled me in further? My lower legs were on his lap, and he was painting them with his large rough hand. Gliding them inch by inch along my inside seams. Higher and higher it came. I jerked my eyes to his face, but only bored interest was visible in his.

I opened my mouth to utter something. Anything. To stop this man.

“Whatever it is you're going to say, shove it back up your mouth.”

How did he even know I was going to say something?

My eyes jerked to his hand again, and I realized this was the fuzziness I was feeling. A shallow breath escaped me as his big hand rested on my thigh, right under my dress. It stroked so softly it felt as if it didn’t move at all. But it must have, because he was sending all kinds of electrons up my legs to the core that lay between them. I pushed my hip against the couch and away from him. But in all honesty it was to give me relief to clench my core against the heat that was building up.

His fingers edged along my slip. A hitch in my throat when he lightly ran his index finger along the middle. I bit my lip when he traced a path along the wetness sweeping through it. The rough veins of sandpaper on the fine threads of silk.

This was not the plan. Stop him. I opened my mouth, and he instantly stilled. Say it. Just one single word was all it took. Stop.

All that huffed out was hot air. A deep sigh rumbled out of him, that traveled to each pore in my body and pulled at my burning core. A heartbeat later, his fingers flipped my panties aside to touch me right inside. Where no man had touched me before. Hell, I hadn’t touched myself before because Mamma told us hell would suck us in if we did. I didn’t think hell was what he was thinking about as he swallowed thickly, his eyes still on the damn TV.

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