Page 35 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

Her jaw clenches, and she bites out every word. “Why do you need my money?”

“That’s none of your business,” I growl. But my anger at her is quickly curdling into anger at myself.

“You’re clearly not hurting for cash,” she presses, her voice rising. “I saw the bill for my wardrobe, nevermind the tailor. We drove around in a limo today too, and you go back and forth across the ocean in a private jet! You live in a- a four hundred year oldmansion, with gardens and ponds and a fucking tower! Thomas has billions of dollars in resources, sure, but it’s not like you’re lacking them either. You’re part of the Warwicks of London, a mafia family that could be descended from fucking royalty! What the hell could you possibly need that you don’t have already?”

I can’t tell her about all the bribes it took to turn the Warwicks on themselves, or about the price of all the mercenaries hired to make certain the coup didn’t fail, or about the amount Fantasia’s blown just in the last year trying to track down Piers, or about the absolute king’s ransom paid to keep all her secrets a secret forever.

I can’t tell her about all the money my mother siphoned out of the Warwick businesses herself before her own death without explaining why she hated Marcus Warwick- and why she seduced him.

I can’t even explain to her why my money is legally off limits to Fantasia without explaining that there is a distinction between our families that’s been very thoroughly swept under the rug.

And that even if I could, I wouldn’t lend Fantasia a single dime to help her get what she wants.

But more than any of that, I can’t explain why, now that she’s yelling at me- I desperately want to be inside her.

“That’s not for a sweet little mafia princess to know,” I say, hooking my finger through my tie and pulling it completely loose.

Raleigh’s fists are so tight her knuckles are pale. “I’m not a sweet little anything,” she hisses.

“I see what this is really about then.” I step toward Raleigh, and she takes a measured step back.

“What what’s about?” she demands. I step forward, and she steps back again.

“You’re pissed that I won’t even pretend,” I say.

“Pretend t-to what?”

The next time I step forward, her retreat takes her right into the wall. I plant my hand over her head, looming. “To love you.”

Her face flushes hard. “That’s not what I-”

“You want intimacy so bloody badly?” I ask, almost more to myself than to her. “I’ll give it to you.”

Chapter 18

Emma

Before I can respond, he’s grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face the wall. His chest presses against my back, sandwiching me between the wood paneling and his body.

The hard length of his erection presses against me, and I gasp.

I almost can’t admit it to myself, but I’ve been wanting this all day.

I don’t have time to recover before he’s reached around my body to undo the buttons of my pants. The cold air hits my bare skin hard as he yanks them down, but the heat radiating off his body instantly soothes me. His fingers reach around me again.

He only has to plunge them inside me once to find out that I’m already soaked for him. Achilles pauses, his hot breath puffing against my ear. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushes a third finger into me and finds my G-spot. I press my face into the wall and whine. His breath stops and starts in my hair. I feel the brush of his lips over the crown of my head.

I whine again when he pulls out, but I’m not empty for long. His hands work his cock free from his pants behind me. I bend my back as far as it’ll go, angling my hips up for him, but I’m justtoo short. He grabs my hips, lifts me up the wall, and brings me down onto his cock.

I scrabble at the wall, desperate for anything to hold onto as Achilles stuffs himself inside me and starts thrusting hard and fast. Every time he plunges in, every time our bodies impact, I ricochet off the wall and back onto him.

“This was what you wanted, Raleigh” he hisses in my ear. “Right? What do you think about it now?”

He’s trying to punish me, trying to use me, but how can he think this is anything less than perfect? I’m ready to scream from the agony of his thrusts against my G-spot. I’m ready to weep at how full he makes me. I’m ready to forget my own name, much less the fake one he knows me by. I’m beginning to lose feeling in my hanging feet, but I hardly care.

Achilles’s lips brush over the shell of my ear- then his teeth bite down on the tender cartilage. I yelp, and he sucks with his lips instead. His breath is so hot it becomes dew on my skin.

Is… Is this a part of my punishment? Does he think I’m hating every second of this?

---