Page 35 of Captive Mafia Wife

I pull back, my eyes locked with his as I continue to stroke him gently. "Tell me how good I am," I whisper, my voice a seductive purr. “Tell me how much you want me.”

He swallows hard, his eyes wide and wild with desire. "You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he gasps out, his breath ragged with his fight against the urge to come. “Your mouth, your tongue, your lips. There is no woman like you, Freya.”

The sincerity in his words almost brings me to a pause. I slide my lips over the head of his cock, a satisfied grin spreading across my face as he twitches against my mouth. Almost folding in half at the waist, he groans, his handstangling in my hair as he tries to control himself. I savor the taste of him, the salty sweetness of his arousal, taking him deeper into my mouth.

His hips buck wildly beneath me, thrusting upward, and he comes. I feel the warmth of his release flood my mouth, the taste of him suddenly sweeter and more intense. I savor it for a moment before swallowing, a small smile playing on my lips.

"Perfect," I murmur, pulling away and leaning down to kiss the sensitive tip. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes still wide with a mix of pleasure and shock.

I straighten up and look at him, my eyes locking with his. "You’re not the only one in charge here at Inverness." I stand up, my body glowing with the power of dominance.

He stares at me, his gaze heavy with desire and a hint of fear. He knows he's been bested and is no match for me in this game. And yet, something in his eyes tells me he doesn't mind, that he even craves it, too.

"You're crazy," he says finally, his voice hoarse and laden with a mixture of lust and admiration. He reaches out and runs his fingers along my waist, like he wants to grab me and pull me in for a kiss, his touch sending a thrill through me.

"Maybe," I say, meeting his gaze head-on. "But you keep underestimating me."

He chuckles, a low and deep sound that leaves me wet. "I don't think I’m underestimating you. I think I’m the only man who really knows you. And I think you love the chase."

His words hit me in the center of my chest, take my breath, then anger rises. We’ve only been together a few times. How could he have the audacity to say something like that?

A nagging thought pricks at me; the truth is what upsets us most. Could he be right? I hide the smile that wants to creep onto my lips. "Well, keep chasing then," I say, turning away from him and walking to the door.

As I step out of the room, I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. It's an intoxicating feeling, knowing that I have control over him. And yet, there's a part of me that craves his dominance.

My wild nature and free spirit lean toward the dominance he delivers. Every ounce of me screams for him to take control, command, and make me obey. And he’s right; I crave the chase.

He knows me too well. And I think I hate him for it.

Chapter Ten

Freya

The castle isa sturdy two-story red sandstone square sandwiched between three towers. All the windows are arched at the top in half-moons, and when you stand inside the towers you can peer out the windows there for a lovely view of the river.

It's a beautiful land. A dream of a wee little castle. It is the perfect renovation project. A home to house generations of frisky little Frisques. And those brown-eyed French-speaking weapons will not be popping out of this golden minge.

But the way Fredrick is following me so closely, at my side every moment of the day, I’m near afraid I’ll get pregnant merely from spending too much time alone with the man.

“It’s a gorgeous estate,” I say. “I’d love to tour it in peace.”

“You mean alone?”

“Aye.”

“No.” My tour guide and I stand out on the pebbled path where I first arrived, staring up at the castle as he informs me, “Built in the late 1800s, the estate home lovingly nicknamed Wee Inverness was modeled after the original Inverness castle, which was the fictional home of the infamous Lady Macbeth.”

“Lady Macbeth! That’s fascinating.”

“As the lady of the house, you will now be our Lady Macbeth.”

“I’m not the lady of the house. Only a guest.” A temporary one at that. “And please do not compare me to a power-hungry manipulative woman who plans a murder and then encourages her husband to carry it out for her.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “Obviously, I’d carry out my own murders.”

“Hypothetically?” he hopes.

I pull down my white-framed Chanel sunglasses to peek at him in warning. “Don’t push me.”

“I only meant Lady Macbeth is strong, ambitious”—he chokes out the last word—“ruthless.” Clearly thinking of me on my knees. I laugh, picturing him on the edge of the bed last night, gripping the sheets and groaning out eff bombs as I pleasured him.

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