Page 17 of The Mob and his Messenger

How am I supposed to resist a woman like her?

“Well, thank you, Dom,” she says, lifting her arms as though getting ready for a friend-of-the-family hug.

But when she lifts her arms, it makes her breasts move enticingly.

Savage instinct takes hold of me and then I’m taking hold of her, crushing her shoulders in my hands and dragging her closer to me. She whimpers and I can feel the blistering heat of her skin through the fabric of her dress, and then I lean down and bring my mouth close to her lips, the need to taste her overwhelming reason and logic and sanity.

I press my lips against hers.

She’s tentative at first, but then she lets out a moan that goes straight to my core, and sinks closer to me, gasping through the kiss. She tastes so fucking good, she tastes of her womb and her wetness and just her, she tastes like the woman I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for.

She breaks it off, breathing heavily, eyes swimming as she stares up at me.

“What the …”

“I know,” I growl.

“I didn’t think you’d want me—”

“You’re all I want,” I tell her firmly.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

We stare at each other for a long moment. Her mouth is slightly parted, showing me her tongue, and her eyes are wide and filled with desire, the same desire that flames within me.

This time, she leans in as well.

We meet halfway and I slide my hand around her hip, bracing her back, pressing her closer to me, sinking into her.

I can’t stop.

I don’t want to stop.

I kiss her harder.Chapter TenDallasI wrap my arms around him, a sense of utter disbelief falling over me as I sink deeper and deeper into the kiss. He tastes strong and somehow musky, even if that doesn’t make sense. He tastes like a freaking man and as our tongues clash I let out an involuntary whimper that has me shivering against him as if any second I could just explode into a shower-style orgasm right here.

Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep at my desk and now this is just another writer’s fantasy?

When I looked down at the gift, something bright and disbelieving whelmed in my chest, the utter craziness of the moment driving me to think I was in some kind of warped simulation. It’s too sweet, too perfect, too specific to me for Domenico DeLuca to be the one to give it to me.

Because why would he?

Why would he even care?

“You’re all I want.”

His words resound through my mind as though he’s speaking them on a loop, his impossible words that make no freaking sense and yet produce a symphony of pleasure inside me anyway, swirling around endlessly, making me want to grab onto him tighter.

He breaks off the kiss and I realize our bodies are pressed close, the hardness of his muscles bulging through his suit. A light salt-shaded smattering of facial hair has grown back since the party, giving him a carnal look. His intense eyes burn into me, his steel peppered hair swept to the side. His suit is the same winter-cloud color.

“I need to taste you,” he growls, pressing his hand into my ass cheeks.

Shivers move up my body.

A voice whispers in my mind that this isn’t happening, that it can’t be happening. And yet I can feel how physically close he is, the sultry pleasure of his breath moving over my skin, the goosebumps pricking my ass cheeks as he grabs me harder, rougher, as though he owns me.

Oh, God, I’d love for him to own me.

“Taste me?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says firmly, as though we’re in a business meeting. “All of you. I want to be strong. Fuck it, Dallas, I’ve tried to be strong. I wanted to grab you that night on the balcony and take you like the fucking savage I am right there. But I stopped myself. But I can’t stop myself anymore.”

My heart is a bolt of lightning, striking, again and again.

“Are you serious?” I gasp.

His hold tightens on me. My sex floods with heat and wetness and I feel like letting out a moaning song of desire. No, I don’t feel like it. I can hear myself. I hear the song. It fills the kitchen and causes Dom’s expression to warp into wolfish savageness.

“Your bedroom. Now.”

“But Poppet,” I whisper. “Can you give me a minute? I’ll get her set up in the spare room. She has a little nook in there.”

A smirk touches his lips. “Don’t take too long. I’m fucking starving to taste your sweetness.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, another shiver moving through me, compelling, powerful, capturing every part of me as I turn and walk on dream-fused legs toward my bedroom.

I pick up the wooden case containing the first editions, cradling it to my chest and carrying it carefully through my door. I place it on my desk, next to my laptop, and then turn to look for Poppet.

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