Page 16 of The Mob and his Messenger

“I didn’t mean to startle her,” I say, as smoothly as I can as I walk into the apartment.

Poppet trots over to me and offers her head for petting in a dignified manner. I reach down and tickle her behind the ears, and then the snow-white whippet turns around and trots back toward the living room, apparently content I’m not a threat.

“She likes you,” Dallas says, blushing for some reason.

Her eyes flicker downward, toward her tank top, and for an insane moment, I think she’s ashamed at the glorious sight of her voluptuous, mind-fucking breasts. But then my suspicion is confirmed as she turns away, muttering, “Um, will you wait in the kitchen a sec? I mean, you don’t have to. I guess you’re here to drop something off for Dad? I just need to … you know …”

“You look fine the way you are,” I growl, unable to stop myself. “More than fine, in fact.”

She does an adorable two-step, one forward and then one backward, as though she’s not quite sure what I mean by what I’ve just said. I can’t help but smirk, but then her back is turned, striding toward the living room.

My eyes devour her ass cheeks in the shorts, the way the fabric hugs tightly to the roundness of them, the spank-me-now way they move. Her thick thighs make me want to roar like a lion claiming its mate.

I walk into the kitchen, laying the package down, wrapped in plain brown paper.

I rest my elbows on the bar and blow out a long sigh, telling myself that I still have a chance to leave. We can write off the closeness on the balcony as friendly banter, nothing more. But this gift signifies much more than that, and I sense that I won’t be able to lie to myself, or her, about how I really feel once I’ve given it to her.

Leave, then, a voice growls in my mind. This isn’t fair to Gabriel. Leave. Leave now.

But then she returns, looking just as ravishing in a light summer dress that clings to her as she moves across the room. It’s long and brightly colored, the sort of dress that shifts with her movements. I see the outline of her body clearly, her curves flooding my manhood with tension, making me want to take her, to take her right fucking now in the kitchen.

“So, that’s for Dad?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.

She’s nervous, I can tell. I can read her, despite only having known her for a few days.

“No,” I say, voice coming out deep and growly. “It’s for you.”

“M-me?” she murmurs, eyeing it like it might be another bomb.

“Don’t worry, Firecracker,” I chuckle darkly. “This one’s not going to explode.”

“Ha, ha,” she says sarcastically, but a satisfying flush spreads down her neck at the use of the nickname.

I am so lost to this woman.

I slide the package across the bar and then sit back, watching her closely, the nervous way she moves so that her body trembles a little. It makes her breasts jiggle and I realize, almost painfully, that she’s changed her clothes but she’s still not wearing a bra. I can make out the suck-me shape of her nipple beneath the dress.

Does she realize how fucking powerful that body makes her?

“Be careful with it,” I murmur, as she smooths her hands over the package, hands that belong wrapped about my manhood, pumping, spreading my precome until I’m slick enough to drive inside of her childbearing body.

“Are you sure it’s not a bomb?” she giggles.

“Pretty sure,” I smirk.

Her face shifts from curiosity to a blossoming wave of delight as she reveals the first edition set of The Chronicles of Narnia, housed in a custom walnut glass-lidded case. On the front, there’s a small bookseller’s note describing the individuality of the collection. It’s a signed, first edition, complete with the typos and errors that make such editions, special and unique, apparently.

“What the hell?” she whispers, looking up at me as wonder streaks her features. Tears glimmer in her eyes. “I’ve researched these online, Dom. I know how much this costs.”

Forty thousand dollars.

“Do you like it?” I ask. “That’s all that matters.”

“L-like it?” she murmurs. “This is easily the best gift I’ve ever received. I—thank you. Would it be totally weird if I hugged you?”

A chord strikes inside of me, moving through me, tension dominating as I shake my head.

“I’d be angry if you didn’t.”

She carefully places the case down and then walks around the kitchen divider. My manhood presses against my suit trousers, trying to escape, trying to burst hotly free.

I stand up and meet her halfway, opening my arms, knowing instinctively that this is it, the point of no return. There’s no coming back from this. If I touch her, I won’t be able to help myself. I’m only flesh and blood, for fuck’s sake.

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