Page 4 of Carnival Master

I open my mouth to protest, but he barrels on, his tone low and intense.

“You deserve so much better than being Paulie’s latest possession. A woman like you needs a real man who can keep her satisfied, not some two-timing scumbag who’ll be too busy sticking it in anything with a pulse.”

My breath catches in my throat as Tyson’s hands grip my hips. An unwelcome spark of desire flares in my core at the raw hunger in his gaze.

“You should be mine, Sofia.” His lips ghost my jaw, his beard scratching deliciously against my skin. “I’d treat you like a fucking queen, not some glorified baby maker. You’d never want for anything. I promise you that.”

Part of me wants to slap him, to knee him right inthe balls for daring to speak to me that way. But another part—a deeper, more primal part that I’ve denied for far too long—is thrumming with excitement at his bold words and even bolder touch.

This is so wrong. So utterly inappropriate, not to mention insulting to my family’s honor. I’m not some cheap piece of ass to be leered at and grabbed by a shady guy.

And yet...my body betrays me, instinctively arching into Tyson’s solid frame as his calloused palm skims up my ribcage to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my blouse. A ragged gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

“That’s it, princess,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing my peaked nipple. “Let me show you what a real man feels like.”

I yank myself free from Tyson’s grasp, stumbling backward as fury burns through my veins. Who does this piece of trailer trash think he is, grabbing me and spewing that filth?

“Get your hands off me,” I snarl, shoving him hard in the chest. He staggers back a step, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face. “The only man who’ll be showing me anything is Paulie. My fiancé.”

Tyson lets out a harsh bark of laughter, raking an appraising gaze over my body that makes me want to squirm. “Let me guess—you’re a virgin, saving yourself for marriage like a good little girl?”

Heat floods my cheeks as I straighten my spine, glaring defiantly into his mocking eyes. “That’s none ofyour business. But for your information, I’m not some blushing innocent. I lost my virginity years ago.”

The words tumble out before I can stop them. Tyson’s brows shoot up, that shit-eating grin widening as he takes a deliberate step forward, crowding my space again.

“Is that so?” His voice drops to a low, gravelly purr. “Do tell, baby girl. Who was the lucky guy?”

I open my mouth to tell him where he can shove his condescending attitude. But the memory rises unbidden—a drunken night in some frat guy’s basement, stumbling through the motions with a sloppy, impatient idiot who couldn’t be bothered to make sure I enjoyed myself.

The humiliation still stings all these years later. I shake my head, forcing the memory away.

“None of your damn business,” I repeat, mustering every ounce of venom I can. “Just some loser in college who couldn’t find a woman’s clit with a map and a flashlight.”

Tyson throws his head back with a roar of laughter, the unexpected sound making me flinch. When he meets my glare again, his eyes are bright with amusement.

“Well, damn. Guess the poor bastard didn’t do a very good job showing you how it’s supposed to be.” He takes another deliberate step forward, his body a solid, scorching presence against mine as he leans close. “Let me demonstrate that I know exactly where your clit is and how to make you scream with my tongue.”

I gasp at Tyson’s filthy words, my core clenching. The rough timbre of his voice, coupled with the blazingintensity in his eyes, has me struggling to maintain my composure.

Part of me wants nothing more than to give in and let this rugged man devour me right here in the shadowy alley between the tents. To finally experience the white-hot passion I’ve been denied for far too long.

But I can’t. I’m the daughter of Jimmy Moretti, one of the most powerful men in Dawsbury. I have to marry well and produce heirs to continue the family legacy. As distasteful as the idea is, Paulie Gambino is my best option, even if he is a womanizing scumbag.

Squaring my shoulders, I summon every ounce of defiance I can muster and meet Tyson’s gaze head-on. “Keep your filthy promises to yourself.” My voice thankfully emerges stronger than I feel as I shove him away. “I’m not some cheap carnival whore you can leer at and grab whenever you want.”

Tyson’s eyes roam over me in a way that makes me feel stripped bare. “Whatever you say. But you can’t fool me—I saw that hunger in your eyes. That aching need for a real man’s touch.”

My breath catches as he leans in close again, his raspy voice a low, gravelly purr in my ear. “When you finally get tired of playing the good little mobster’s daughter and want to scratch that itch, you know where to find me.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, disappearing between the tent and trailers and leaving me flushed and flustered in his wake. I press trembling fingers to my flushed cheeks, struggling to steady my ragged breathing.

That arrogant, insufferable prick.

And yet...a tiny, treacherous part of me can’t quite silence the thrill that shot through me at his crude words, at the scorching promise in his eyes. It’s been so long since I’ve felt raw, primal hunger for a man. Too long since I’ve allowed myself to embrace my desires instead of burying them beneath duty and obligation.

Suddenly, the carnival feels stifling, the air thick and cloying with grease, sweat, and desperation. I need to escape this place and the unsettling effect Tyson seems to have on me. Smoothing my hands over my rumpled blouse, I straighten my spine and stride toward the exit, leaving the carnival behind.

My heels click determinedly against the pavement as I walk across the sprawling parking lot. I search for my keys in my purse, my hands only shaking slightly as I accidentally drop my credit card and bend down to pick it up.

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