Page 36 of My Irish Mafia King

She glances at the backroom, then grabs my shirt and pulls herself closer for a kiss. “Okay, let’s do it,” she says excitedly.

I press the bell on the counter. “Could we try this piece, please, Martin?”

“Of course, Mr. Callahan.”

He unlocks the case and then leaves the room. “He’s very trusting of you,” Lucy comments.

I smirk, placing my hand on my chest. “I am a very upstanding, trusting man, after all…”

“Not funny,” she murmurs.

I cradle her cheek. “You’re right. I shouldn’t make light of this. I’m sorry.”

When I lean in to kiss her, she turns her face away. I kiss her on the cheek. “Nah uh, you don’t get to make light of all this craziness, then kiss me…”

“Do you think you can resist me anymore than I can resist you?” I groan, kissing her cheek, then her neck.

She moans and finds my lips. Kissing her feels like the most natural thing in the world, like the only path worth taking, which makes it even more vicious that every time we do it, I’m thinking about the fact it has to end. She makes a gorgeous moaning noise when the kissing grows hotter, heavier, her hands clawing onto my sides.

“The necklace,” I say, ending the kiss.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… except if we keep going, I’m going to tear your clothes off and take your virginity right here,” I whisper.

“What would Martin think of that?”

“My point exactly,” I tell her. Reaching over, I take the necklace from the cabinet. “Turn around.”

I carefully unclasp it, waiting as she takes off her small ring pendant. I put the necklace on her, then guide her to the mirror. Her eyes get wide as she looks at herself, a gorgeous smile touching her kissable lips.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

“It brings outyourbeauty,” I tell her. “Do you want it?”

“Are you sure?—”

She laughs when I spank her ass, but the laughter turns to a quiet moan when I keep my hand there.

“I’m sure,” I growl. “Now, answer my question.”

She looks at me intensely in the mirror. “I want it,” she says, and I know she’s talking about more than the necklace.

“Do you think this is the one?” she asks about an hour later, emerging from the changing room in a gorgeous red dress, the silky material floating around her like she’s an angel, her thick legs partially on display, a hint of cleavage making me feel savage with desire. Whoever said red heads can’t wear red is a liar, Lucy looks stunning.

“You look perfect,” I say, joining her at the mirror, turning her so she’s facing it. I wrap my arms around her, kissing her neck. “You’re going to be the most beautiful woman at the ball. But don’t forget who you belong to.”

“For the night,” she murmurs.

No, forever.But I can’t say that, can’t give either of us false hope.

We’re alone in the changing suite. The staff are upstairs, waiting for my text when I’m ready to make a purchase.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge,” I say huskily.

She gasps, staring like she doesn’t recognize me. Maybe that’s fitting. Some mafioso darkness has come into my expression and the breathiness of my voice.

“In charge?” she says, turning to me.

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