Page 73 of Princess of the Mafia

Every light we stopped at, his rough palm found my thigh and grabbed with his nails biting into my skin. I swear it had a direct link to my core because the spark of electricity zapping to it had me wringing my ass in unease.

We couldn’t have taken long to zoom through the basement garage doors, but it felt like it had taken days rather than minutes.

When he turned off the motor, it throttled to death underneath me. My skin was hot, but the heat coming off burned tires, and a fired-up motor, was hotter. The air was silent except for my heated breath and the knicks and knacks of a silent garage. His warm hand cupped my knee and rode up my thigh. In one flick, he flipped me around, and I landed in the front, in between his legs, with my back against the front fork. My breath left me in a whoosh. This man had nothing but uncouthness riding in his veins. His hand was rough when it wrapped around my chin and unbuckled the armor on me. The hollowness of a rolling helmet on concrete filled the air as he ran his hand through my hair.

“No more clubs.” He yanked my ponytail.

I pouted because I had vodka courage and an impulsive itch. “I like dressing up.”

His gaze sparked, black violence in its depths. “You dress like this, I’ll tie you to my bed and fuck you from behind. No one gets to see you like this.”

My drunken vision swirled. “Not even you.”

“Only me, capisti?”

Whatever.

“Say it.”

“Only you get to see me, only you get to fuck me…” I wrapped my legs around his hip and pulled myself up, “with your big fucking dick.” Shit, did I just say that?

I drew back in shock, but he jerked me right back and groaned in my mouth. “Fuck if you aren’t hot.”

His tongue fucked my mouth like I wanted him to fuck me. Hot, messy, and loud. A low moan rode my body.

“Jesus, stop those fucking noises,” he hissed between his teeth right before his hands found my panties and snapped them into two. He bunched up my skirt and bundled it into a belt on my belly. A flick of his tongue and amusement flickered in his gaze, together with hot lust. “You’re so damn wet I could coat my bike with you.”

“I’d rather coat your dick.” Medda! My hand flew to my mouth to his dark chuckle. Stupid liquid courage.

“I love you with alcohol in your body.”

He traced my slit with his finger, distraction in his eyes. What the hell is he thinking about?

“You called me Enzo.”

“Huh?”

“When you called.”

I shrugged. “Made a mistake.”

“Yeah?” He pulled his finger out and sucked it.

I nodded slowly. Didn’t know what I was agreeing to. His finger-sucking was too distracting.

“I like it,” he declared. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my taste or my use of his name. Both riddled me with discomfort. “Take it off.” He jerked towards my top.

My gaze shifted to behind him. We were alone. For now.

“No one’s going to come in.”

I shrugged my mamma’s upbringing off the moment my hands floated up to unbutton my top. Good girls didn’t ride bikes, let alone lie on them naked. Inch by inch, I revealed naked skin like I was born a whore and not a Di Matteo. Was it the vodka running in my veins or the heat that flickered in his gaze? I didn’t know and didn’t care to find out. But the rough tattooed hand that pushed my bra to choke my neck had me pushing myself to him like a bitch in heat.

His gaze shone on my skin, sprinkled it like glitter, and typical of glitter, followed every nook and crack, leaving nothing untouched.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked like it wasn’t a given.

“Sì,” I whispered, and it echoed off the bare concrete walls louder than the click of his belt.

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