Page 10 of Captive Mafia Wife

I take another step back, trying to ignore the unsettling heat he’s bringing. “Look, Freddie. I don’t know your little surprise, but I don’t want you in my room. And as you said downstairs, the party’s over.” I force myself to make eye contact with him. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. You need to leave.”

He closes in, standing right in front of me. There is only a tiny breath of air between us, charged with electricity. He stares down at me, those brown eyes emanating what I can only describe as a primal hunger.

I should never have made eye contact with him. Some otherworldly, beam-like force glues my gaze to his, making it impossible to look away.

He breaks my gaze only long enough to eye the purple wig, most likely sitting askew atop my head. He reaches up, slipping it off. “Purple’s not your color,” he says, placing her lovingly to the side.

Only now do I remember the hideous netting I’ve placed over my hair, a wig cap to keep stray blonde hairs from peeking out. Furious at myself for caring what he thinks about me, I rip the pantyhose-like material from my head and toss it to the floor. My hair is knotted at the base of my neck, and flyaway strands surround my face.

I clasp my hands together, hiding the shaking in my fingers. I’m not happy with the baby-sweet way my voice sounds as I whisper, “Show me what you wanted to show me already. Then be on your way.”

“Say please,” he croons.

“No, thank you.”

“You’re going to like it.” He cups my face in his hand, brushing his thumb's pad against my parted lips. Tingles dance over my skin as he runs it over my bottom lip, dragging it down into a pout before releasing me. A wicked grin covers his handsome face. “I promise.”

I almost faint. I thought he was going to try and kiss me. He’s playing with fire and dangerously close to crossing a line with me. One that will have him running out of my room begging for an icepack.

What do I do? Kick him in the groin and out the door? Demand that he stop teasing me, quit playing games, and just come out with whatever this surprise is?

Or do I give in to him, give him what he wants, and…

Just. Say. Please.

It’s not that simple.

He'll think he owns me if I give him this tiny concession.

But what if he leaves without showing me the thing? As a lawyer, no, as a woman—Patrick doesn’t care about half the gossip I give him—I need to know everything, all the time. Curiosity surely would kill me. Plus, I’ve never known him to lie. If he says I’ll like it, I already know I will.

“What do you say?” he asks.

He’s no longer touching me, but I feel him all over me. Those eyes burn into me, daring me to play his game. The part of Freya who is quickly turning traitor to my strong woman persona is wondering what it would have felt like to be kissed by him.

“Fine. I’ll play.” I match his grin, putting on a smirk of my own. “Pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top.”

My breath stuck in my lungs, I wait, expecting him to take something from his suit jacket or pants pocket. Instead, he drops to one knee. What is he doing?

He slides his hands around my waist, staring up at me then running his hands down the outsides of my thighs. When he reaches the hem of my dress, he pinches the cloth between his forefingers and thumbs.

He’s shimmying the soft material up my bare skin, past my knee-high black leather boots, revealing my bare-naked thighs, cool air rushing over my legs as the warmth of my clothing disappears. I have no idea what he’s planning, but I’m frozen, curiosity and hot desire swirling in me as I stare down at him.

His light touch weakens my knees, and I’m teetering on the spiky heels of my boots. I grab his shoulders. His face isright there.I can feel the heat of his breath on my exposed skin. If he moves that dress up even a tiny bit more…

My voice comes out in that weak baby whisper again, my words shaky. “Wha—what are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” he says.

I’m only confused for a moment, and then his fingers brush my skin; my dress is up around my waist, and my entire world is split wide open as I balance myself on my boots. His hot breath caresses my skin as he murmurs something against me, hot kisses caressing me over the see-through lace gusset of my black thong.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, I sway into his kiss. The kissing stops, his mouth gone. My eyes flutter open, lookingdown at him. He holds my gaze, his fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of my thong. He doesn’t look away as he tugs it down my thighs, stopping at the tops of my boots.

Heat and shame flash over my face from wanting this so much, knowing it’s the wrong man, wrong room, wrong night.

Despite it all, I find myself parting my legs, making it easier for him to drag the panties down over my boots. I’ve experienced this scene in films before. I always watched with my breath held as the man wound the rolled elastic down the woman’s naked thighs, ready to pleasure her.

I never thought it would be me in that scene.

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