Page 61 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
My heart pounded. The room felt too small, and the air too thick. I turned on my heel. “I’m done with this conversation.” I grabbed my purse and stormed toward the exit. I could hear Lorenzo moving behind me, his footsteps quick and determined.
“Maria.”
I didn’t stop. I pushed open the restaurant doors, the cool night air rushing against my face.
“Maria, wait. I am sorry.”
I reached my car, fumbling for my keys. Before I could open the door, Lorenzo was there.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, gripping the handle.
“I’m not letting you leave like this.” His voice was steady and controlled—but there was an edge to it. It was unyielding. I spun around, glaring up at him. “Oh? You gonna stop me?”
“If I have to.”
I scoffed. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re impossible.”
“Come inside, please.”
“No.”
His chest rose and fell heavily. His jaw clenched. My own breath came fast, my skin buzzing with frustration. And then, Lorenzo moved.
He stepped closer, eliminating the space between us. Before I could react, before I could throw out another sharp remark, his hands were on me—one gripping my waist, the other cupping the back of my head.
Before I could say another word, the world tilted. His lips crashed into mine, hot and demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs. His hands were everywhere—moving from my back to my waist, gripping, claiming, pulling me closer.
I gasped, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping over mine.
Heat flooded my body. I grabbed at his hair, twisting my fingers through the soft strands, tugging—just to hear the small, frustrated sound he made. His grip on me tightened in response, pressing me against the car door.
I wanted him to touch me. To do more than just kiss me.
I melted into him, tilting my head and opening myself up to him. His lips were familiar. The taste of them, it wasn’t from the chaste kiss he gave me that night. It wasn’t. It was more than that. It was like I had been there before, kissing him, tasting him, his hands circling my body this way before. Like I had him before.
But that wasn’t possible.
It couldn’t be.
His hands moved carefully—never straying too far, never pushing too much. And somehow, that made it worse because I wanted more. Desperately. I pressed myself against him, arching slightly, and his hand on my waist flexed like he was restraining himself.
I nearly whined. I couldn’t take it. I wanted him to touch me all over my body. What the hell was wrong with me? His fingers traced the curve of my back, up to my shoulder, then back down—slow, teasing, careful, like he was memorizing me.
I cupped his face, my thumbs brushing against his sharp jawline, tracing the heat of his skin. His stubble scratched my palms, grounding me, making this feel real.
It was everything I had imagined it to be. It was as maddening as I knew it would be to be with him. This man right here has always been the object of my deepest desire. And it scared the hell out of me because this wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t fake. This was something else entirely.
When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless. So was he. We stood there, panting, the air against my flushed skin as I struggled to breathe.
I licked my lips, tasting him again. It was familiar, too familiar.
Lorenzo’s blue eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide and slightly dilated. I couldn’t speak. What the hell just happened? Was this part of the PDA?
Lorenzo swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I’m trying here, Maria.” His voice was rough and strained. “But you need to understand something.”
I just stared.
