Page 13 of The Mob and his Messenger

“What?” I ask reluctantly.

“It’s just she read this one book about three times one visit, just kept reading it over and over.”

“Oh?”

Please, somebody, help me stop being attracted to this man’s daughter.

But then that’s putting it mildly. Attraction is something that can be resisted. This is more like nuclear fusion like we’ve been blasted together with the hottest inferno imaginable, the heat of the sun, and now nothing can pry us apart, not loyalty, not even decency.

I need to taste her fucking juices.

No, what I need to do is get a grip on myself. I need to handle these desires the same way I handle business, uncompromisingly, with no consideration of my own feelings.

“What was it?” Gabriel mutters. “What’s the one with the lions and the witches?”

“I don’t know. Narnia?”

Gabriel nods eagerly, chuckling. “Yep, that was it. And it was a series of books. I remember now.”

I make to stand leave, to go somewhere – anywhere – else. But Gabriel still has that same wistful look on his face. From the way his cheeks are reddening, I can tell he’s been drinking a fair amount tonight.

“I hope she finds a good man, Dom,” he mutters.

“A good man,” I repeat.

Not a mob boss, then.

“A man who’ll treat her right. A man who’ll, I don’t know, encourage her. You know what it’s like with women these days, skip. If you’re not willing to support their dreams, they fuck off out west and take your daughter with them, and never mind that you did everything you could, worked your ass off, and it’s not like you ever said they couldn’t be an actress. And now what is she? A woman who goes to parties and won’t take a penny of my money because it’s beneath her.”

I sigh and then laugh grimly. “I think you might be drunk, Gabriel.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. You think this party was a success?”

I think about the balcony, the banter I never normally allow myself to engage in. I think about the nicknames.

Firecracker and Iceman.

It’s juvenile stuff, and yet it feels somehow significant. The way she laughed as she called me Iceman returns to me, capturing me in its anything-but-icy hands. I wonder what she’s doing in her bedroom now. I wonder if she’s changed into her pajamas. I wonder if she’s lying there, legs tucked underneath her, waiting to reveal her thighs to me and let me make them mine.

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat. “You’ve done really well.”

“Good.” He smiles. “Yeah, it’s not too shabby, is it?”Chapter EightDallasI return to my bedroom with a dozen insane thoughts flurrying around my mind.

I remember how close Domenico was to me on the balcony, the size of him, the evident strength, the scent of his cologne swirling around me, and, beneath it, the scent of him.

I lock my bedroom door and get Poppet settled in her bed in the corner. Overstuffed from the treats and the attention, she’s more than happy to lay her snout on her paws and let her eyes flutter closed.

In the bathroom, I lock the door again, my heart thumping so loudly I can barely hear the voice of reason in my mind.

He was just being friendly. He was just bonding with his best friend’s daughter. There’s nothing going on here because, in all likelihood, he would find that idea repulsive. He’s treating you as he’d treat any friend of the family.

But as I strip my clothes off and move toward the shower – careful not to look in the mirror – I can’t stop my mind from conjuring up impossibilities.

I can feel the railing of the balcony in my hands as I bend over, sticking my ass out, grinding it against Dom as he moves up behind me and frees his manhood with one smooth movement of his hand. In my fantasy, he hikes up my dress and tears down my panties like an animal.

“I need to take you hard,” he growls. “I need to dominate you. Back that pussy up right now. Right now.”

And then he’d spank me, owning me, because Domenico DeLuca is the sort of man who owns everything he touches. I find myself climbing into the shower as though on autopilot, but perhaps that’s just a copout and I know exactly what I’m doing.

I turn the shower pressure high and the water warm, and then I guide it down, down, between my legs and aim it at my clit as I close my eyes and sink into this insane fantasy world.

The water grinds against my clit and my lips, sending shivers through me, and then my mind flickers and suddenly I’m on top of Domenico, my fingernails buried in the muscles of his chest. Confidence like I’ve never felt before infuses me as I bounce up and down on him, being far braver and more forward than I’d ever been in real life.

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