Page 6 of Consumed By the Mafia

He grinned and licked his way across her jaw, rocking against her. “Dirty girl. I like it.” He eased back, stroking himself as she watched. “But first, get on your knees and open your mouth.”

Ryoma cracked his eyes open at the insanely early hour of eight-something, the thrumming in his head and weight of his eyelids telling him he’d had one too many the night before. Or at least that he was getting too old to be drinking two types of alcohol and pulling all-nighters at the ripe old age of thirty-three.

Something stirred beside him, accompanied by the softest of feminine moans, and he rolled his head to the side to see a wild mess of raven hair pillowed around the sleeping face of the woman from the bar. The sheet had been shoved low enough to reveal most of her breasts, as if he didn’t already remember every sinful thing they’d done the night before. He let his gaze linger, appreciating the faint discolorations he could just make out in the low light of the room that he was sure he’d put on her skin. Her lips were parted ever so slightly in sleep, tempting him more.Sleeping fucking beauty.

He snorted at himself and rolled silently to his feet. He needed to clean up and check his phone. It had been his nightoff, and he’d left the volume up as he always did, but he had to make sure he hadn’t been more out of it than he’d realized. Nothing important seemed to have come in, so he lowered the volume to give her a few more minutes to sleep while he showered, but then he hesitated.

Ryoma cast another glance at the bed and noted that she had rolled fully onto her back. The sheet had slipped completely off her breasts, exposing them to the room and his greedy gaze. If she was fake-sleeping, she was doing a fucking fantastic job.

He quietly popped open her clutch, sliding his fingertips inside until he could feel the hard plastic edge of what he was searching for. There was just enough light between the hall light they’d never turned off and the crack in the so-called blackout drapes to enable him to read the information printed on her license once it was in his palm.

Abigail Dunn, age twenty-nine. It was a New Jersey license with a recent issue date, and he recalled her mentioning back at the bar how she’d only moved to Newark within the past year. That tracked, but he also found it odd that she’d replaced her license. Or maybe she hadn’t had one before? He took a moment to memorize her address, then returned the card back to her clutch and clicked it shut.

He scooped his pants up off the floor and ducked into the bathroom.

She was still asleep when he stepped out again, freshly showered and wishing he kept a travel toothbrush in his pocket. His lips lifted in a grin at the sight of her half rolled over, her hair sliding over her face and neck, her arm pushing her breasts up. For a second, he considered shedding the pants he’d justpulled back on and seeing how far he could get before she woke. But he dismissed the idea before his dick could do more than twitch at the thought.

Instead, Ryoma reached out and gently raised the sheet up to her shoulders, providing her some semblance of coverage. They’d both been drinking the previous night. He didn’t regret how the night had gone, but he couldn’t say how she might feel. And since he’d decided to see her again, he wanted her to feel comfortable rather than not.

Ryoma lifted his shirt from the floor, shook it out, and pulled it over his head. Watching her sleep was only going to fill his mind with the wrong kinds of thoughts. He moved to the small table in the room—where he’d bent her over for the second time last night—and found the standard hotel stationary that had been shoved beneath the provided telephone. The pen had rolled all the way to the floor, but he retrieved that too and scrawled a quick note to let her know he was going in search of coffee and would be back shortly. He debated for a beat, then added his number in case she needed anything before he returned.

He set the note on the pillow beside her, figuring some clichés were good for something. With his phone and wallet returned to his pockets, he lifted the keycard and quietly let himself out of the room. Hopefully the hotel had supplies available and he wouldn’t need to grab a ride off the property.

A soft click shattered her peaceful dream, sending Abigail tumbling into a memory. Sheknewit was a memory, knew it wasn’t actively happening, knew she had already survived it—the same way people talk about knowing they’re asleep—but she couldn’t immediately haul herself out of it. For several terrible, gut-wrenching seconds, Abigail was trapped in her child’s body, pressed against the back wall of her bedroom and sobbing as gunshots exploded through her home.

Little Abby sat still, trembling in fear and doing her best not to breathe despite the tears rolling down her face, even after the explosions stopped. Her eyes locked on the door and she knew she had to open it. She knew she had to go out and see what had happened. She didn’t understand why her mommy and daddy hadn’t come to check on her, or reassure her, after all of that. So, finding her courage, she slid her feet to the floor.

No, don’t!

Abigail jerked awake, her heart racing, her breath coming in short gasps. It took her a good thirty seconds to recognize the space around her, both for what it was and for what it wasn’t. She wasn’t in her apartment, but a hotel room. The light from the hall was still on, though the light itself wasn’t overly bright, so she could see enough to make out objects and positions.

Abigail sat up properly, the sheet falling to her lap. Cool air tickled her skin and she realized she was naked. She was naked, in a hotel, her head kind of hurt, and she’d had that damn dream again. All of that was a bad sign.What did I do to myself?

She turned to shimmy to the edge of the bed and her hand landed on a piece of paper—a note, obviously left for her. Her mouth went dry and she snatched it up before adjusting to fumble for the bedside lamp so she could actually read it.

The content was simple enough. It was the name at the bottom that brought everything into diamond sharp focus.

Ryoma.

Fuck. Me.She’d slept with him. The memories surged forward all at once, a little hazy around the edges but clear enough to be true. She hadn’t just slept with her target, she’d practically thrown herself at him. She’d melted at his first touch, wrapped herself around him, and gone along with every inappropriate thing he’d suggested after.

The cab. The lobby. The elevator. All the delicious, nasty sex they’d had since they’d stumbled into this very room.

Her eyes lifted from the paper, her mouth dry as she slowly looked around again. She remembered the way he’d pinned her to the wall. She remembered the way he’d bent her over the table. She remembered getting on her knees on the floor for him and sucking his dick. She remembered the way they’d tangled themselves up on this bed in various positions, the way his hands felt grabbing at her breasts and gliding over her skin. She remembered the way it felt to touch him, too. To be so full of him she almostcouldn’t breathe.

Abigail dropped the note and smacked both hands to her face, cursing herself. She was never touching another drink as long as she lived.If anyone ever finds out, I’m so screwed. Forget fired. This is so much worse than fired.She’d really fucked up. A bitter laugh choked her and she dragged in a breath.

Yes, she’d done something she absolutely should not have done. Something she could never, ever admit to anyone. But she might still be able to get ahead of it. She needed to get herself together and slip out, then hope to casually run into Ryoma again in a day or a week or something and hope that their fun romp would loosen him up enough for a more in-depth chat. Sans alcohol. She’d have to find a way to decline alcohol without giving him the impression she regretted what they’d done.

Something in her chest tightened.

Abigail locked her jaw. Shedidregret it. No matter how great it had felt at the time, she shouldn’t have done it. Even if he wasn’t more than likely a very bad man, one night of no-holds-barred sex did not justify risking her entire career and the life she had only barely set on track for herself by extension.

That thought firmly in mind, Abigail finally propelled herself from the bed. She grabbed up her discarded clothes and locked herself in the bathroom to do what she could toward freshening up. At the very least, she could relieve the pressure in her bladder and wash some of the residual stickiness off her skin. She eyed the shower, still glistening from recent use. They really had defiled every part of the room, and now everywhere she looked, a memory she couldn’t afford to have waited to haunt her.

I’m so screwed.

If Special Agent Mercer found out about this, the woman would take glee in retrieving Abigail’s badge and snapping cuffs around her wrists.

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