Page 74 of Princess of the Mafia

“Fuck if I do. Fuck if I don’t.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I was too far gone to make sense of it. I sucked my lip in when his zipper went down. The sizz of it brushed my skin.

He pushed himself up, yanked me forward, and throttled inside me with a grunt. I felt the length of him inside me, opening me up. A moan climbed out of my throat, and I wrapped my arms around the front fork. He gave a dark shake of his head and muttered under his breath. “You are so fucking hot.” He pulled out and pushed in again. “Too fucking hot.”

His calloused hand rode my skin, found my nipple, and gave it a hard pinch. Sparks jittered to my core, and my back arched off the hot metal. “You say you don’t want a made man, but you’re all wet for me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to think about any of that.

“Open your fucking eyes,” he bit out, and my vision cleared like a switch to his demand. “Who am I to you?”

Didn’t need to think hard for that one. “My husband.”

A dark edge lined his jaw. “About damn time. What do you call me?”

“Lorenzo?” He pulled out, a tight glare on his face. Doubt flickered in my mind. What did he want? “Enzo?”

A flick on my clit. “Good enough for now.”

Good enough for now?

Confusion marred me, but the heat wrapped around me made me forget it. He pumped hard, mad, and rough. I tried to reach and get what I wanted. Needed. Desired. But he kept me just out of reach.

“Promise me.” His gaze was needy.

My head flipped left to right, desperation in mine. “What?”

“No more clubs.”

“Whatever.”

His dark chuckle filled my insides.

He fucked me roughly. Like he needed this more than his next breath. He was as rude in his fucking as he was in his words and his deeds. I wanted everything a nice boy had to offer, but my body yearned for the callous words and the rough manners of the man above me. That was what made my insides split and spark like a million stars exploding. That was what made my muscles clench when his eyes rolled back and his erection jerked inside me to the hum of his name on my tongue.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

DARIA

The air hung tight with the sound of our heavy breaths. The naked pipes hanging on the basement’s concrete ceiling reflected our deeds. Our heated gazes met, and warm awareness prickled like a bed of red ant nests.

Unease on my skin. Words fought to end the silence in between us. “Thanks for coming and getting me.”

His jaw ticked, and his hand found my ponytail and yanked. “Told you. I’ll always come for you,” his voice rasped. His eyes sparked like warm liquid on hot skin.

Something warm tickled inside my rib cage. It felt suspiciously like my iron-clad walls crumbling to their defeat. Agitation rushed up my skin, and self-preservation kicked in. I shoved him off me and stumbled off his bike. Heat brushed my face while I buttoned my blouse up and tugged my skirt down. My throat burned. My eyes misted and caught on my buttons. I hadn’t done them up straight. It was a mess, just like I was. I forced myself to forget what we’d done on his bike, the filth that had come out of my mouth, but damn was it tough when his cum was sliding down the inside of my thigh.

I was falling. Fast and deep. I was angry at him. But even more at myself. I needed to get away from him. All I had wanted was distance, and I had somehow put myself closer to him. To hurt, to insult.

I rushed to the elevator, but even as I jammed the button furiously, a heat behind me screamed of his presence. Emotion clogged my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut because my view was nothing but images of Papà hurting Mamma with his words and his deeds.

“Va bene?” His words bristled on my skin like thorns.

I gave a shaky nod because I didn’t trust words to do the job. Truthfully, I didn’t think I was ever going to be okay. I had promised myself I wouldn’t be Mamma. But weeks was all it took for me to be on the edge of that cliff, ready to fall. For a damn made man, the worst of them all.

The elevator pinged open. I rushed in and skidded to a halt. The mirror was all splintered into a million stars. A sixth sense or the experience of being born in the Cosa Nostra told me that the man brushing my back had something to do with it. I didn’t get to make sense of it before he pushed me against the paneled wall, and the elevator climbed up.

“What’s this about?” He caged me in between the hard wall and him. His eyes were electric. They sizzled. They sparked. He was coming for me.

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