Page 58 of Mistletoe in the Mafia

His fingers begin trailing along my bare stomach, reaching toward my breasts. As soon as he touches a nipple, I feel a zap of electricity go through me. Just like that, my body is primed and ready to go. It’s amazing what his simple touch can elicit in me. And I hate that he’s very aware of it.

He flips me onto my back and climbs on top of me in one fluid movement. He places a soft, heart-stopping kiss against my lips.

“Morning, baby. Want some breakfast?” he asks.

My heart lurches in my chest at the playful glint in his eyes.

“Sure, pancakes sound nice.”

“I’ll make you some,” he promises. “But first, I’m going to have some breakfast of my own. You.”

That’s all the warning I get before he leans down, his hot breath blowing over my clit. Five minutes later, I’m screaming his name amidst cries and pleas for him to never stop.

Best. Morning. Ever.

“We could literally be watching anything else right now,” Dominic complains for the fifth time.

We’re cuddled up under a blanket on the couch in his living room while watching a movie. Dominic called in sick for both of us. There are some perks to dating my boss’s friend.

Although technically, I wouldn’t say we’redating, dating. I honestly have no idea. The man calls me “baby” and “his,” stalks me, and fucks me hard enough that I forget my own name. Fromall of that, it’s pretty easy to infer that we’re in a relationship. Or at a situationship maybe. But he’s also never mentioned anything official. When it comes to men, the worst thing you can do is assume anything.

Until he asks, or at least calls me his girlfriend, things aren’t set in stone.

“Hallmark movies are a Christmas tradition,” I tell him while grabbing a handful of popcorn.

It’s already late afternoon. We had breakfast, then went back to bed for some more sex, and then I fell asleep again. I’ve slept more in the past twenty-four hours than I have in weeks. I’m this close to asking Dominic if he’s casting some sort of sleep spell on me.

“It’s all the same boring bullshit, though. Somehow, the couple always seems to have that moment where they realize they’re meant to be together right in front of a beautifully lit Christmas tree,” he says on an eye roll.

I think it over and realize he might be right. Most of my favorite Christmas movies do have that specific scene.

“Okay, fine. Cheesy Hallmark movies aside, isn’t there anything you like about Christmas? The lights? Food? Music?”

He makes a face. “If I say yes, will you stop asking?”

“Nice try, Grinch. But I’ll make you crack eventually. We’re going to enjoy Christmas together. I’m making it my mission to ensure it’s the best one you’ve ever had,” I promise.

“Don’t worry, Flowers, there’s not much competition.”

I pause, taking in his shadowed expression. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates a beat before speaking. “I haven’t really had any happy Christmases. I haven’t enjoyed the holidays in a long time. Not since I lost my family.”

My heart drops at that. I suspected he had trauma similar to mine, but confronting it is painful all the same.

“Your family?” I question gently.

He nods. “I lost my mom, dad and brother all at once when I was a kid.”

I gasp, finally getting a glimpse into why he is the way he is now. The reason he’s so closed off to the world.

“Is Ilya your brother?” I question, placing a hand on his arm.

His eyes widen as he stares at me.

“You said his name when you were dreaming the other day,” I inform him.

He relaxes, then offers me a short nod without making eye contact. My gut reaction is to tell him I’m sorry, but I remember how hollow those words felt whenever anyone said that in relation to my mother, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I bury my face into the side of his neck, wrapping my arms around him in a hug.

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