Page 17 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “You’re nuts if you think I’m going to fall for your lines.”
“I’m just glad you’re not running away from me.”
She moves a little closer. “This feels kind of nice. But it means nothing.”
“How could it? We’re strangers. But you’re right–it’s nice.”
But ‘nice’ feels like too small a word. My body is growing hot, and it’s not from the heat. My mind is swelling with strange fantasies of what could happen after this trip…
I can’t let myself go there. A sunny, adventurous hookup is one thing. Thinking about anything after is a surefire disappointment.
She doesn’t even know I’m in the mob.
“But,” she says, disentangling herself from me. “I don’t think we should get carried away.”
“Who’s getting carried away? I just thought we’d practice some poses for the photoshoot.”
“Poses, huh?”
“Yeah, like this one.” She gasps when I grip the small of her back and press her against me, staring longingly into her honey colored eyes, my body responding to her closeness straightaway. “What do you think?”
Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling, causing the roundness of her breasts to brush against me. She raises her hand, hesitates, then presses it against my chest and digs her fingernails in just a little.
“This might make for an inappropriate photo,” she says breathily.
“What about this?” I lean down, guiding my lips toward hers. For a long, aching moment, I think she’s going to let it happen, her lips pursed as she looks up at me, her eyes filled with need.
At the last moment, before the kiss, she pushes against my chest, creating distance between us. Her expression turns suddenly angry.
“What?” I say. “I thought a kiss might make a good photo…”
“You’re getting too carried away, Dario. I’m not just going to kiss you because…”
“Because what? You want to? Because it’d be fun? Seeing that we’re in this idyllic place, why not make the most of it?” “You don’t know me,” she says. “You don’t know how I feel or what I want. Do you even know if I have a boyfriend?” “Do you?” I say.
“No, but that’s not the point.”
“Thank fuck,” I whisper.
She offers what I’m quickly starting to think of as her Siena Smile, one of conflict and uncertainty, gorgeous through and through. She shakes her head as if she can push the smile away.
“We’re both single then,” I go on. “What’s the issue?”
“You’re my boss’s son. Well, my client’s, so he might as well be my boss. I’m not the casual hookup sort of gal.”
“What if I wanted more?” I say with a note of irony, a smirk on my lips.
“Even if you weren’t just saying what you think I want to hear, Idon’twant that. I just want to do a good job. That’s it. The end.”
“Keep telling yourself that, beautiful.”
She groans. “You make me want to pull my hair out.”
“If there’s any hair pulling to be done, I’ll be the one doing it.”
I grab her hips and pull her against me again, my rod growing stiff. She makes a breathy noise of pleasure and sinks her touch into my side, gazing deep into my eyes.
“Maybe that’s what you need, huh?” I trail my hand up her back and gently tug at her hair. “Someone to take charge? So that you don’t have to be in control all the time…”
