Page 33 of Mafia King: Matteo
I may have lied.
Will I tell him?
Will I let Mr. Grey suffer with a case of blue balls until he gives me his name?
I check my surroundings before I step into the elevator. I push the button for the 10th floor. The doors move, and then— thunk. An arm is jammed between them, making the doors stop abruptly before they retract.
The familiar cologne hits my nose, and I raise my head.
It can’t be.
“Good morning, my little Angel,” Mr. Grey says. His face is smooth, and his cologne mixes with the clean scent of goat’s milk soap—a light, clean fragrance filling the elevator.
My heart stops.
“You’re quiet today,” he says, stepping in, and the doors close behind him.
“Um, this is twice in two days. Am I your new bad habit, Mr. Grey?”
His lips curl into a sexy smirk that makes my pussy tingle.
“I have an affinity for close encounters with you,” His eyes bore into mine. “Only you,” rolls off his tongue like a summer heatwave.
I meet his gaze, mesmerized. Our eyes lock. I’m powerless against him. Our eyes communicate with a language of their own.
We can’t look away from each other. Neither of us is willing to give up the other. If we were about to have a head-on collision, I wonder if we would break our gaze or die.
The universe stops spinning when he’s in my orbit. Without a word, he controls me. He has command of my mind, body, and soul. I’m completely enamored with him. His presence speaks more than words because he’s a busy man. Time is money to a businessman, and yet he’s here making time for me.
My pussy throbs. My ovaries drop eggs like an over-productive hen.
“What is on your agenda today?”
“You,” he murmurs, pushing the button for the 8th floor. The elevator lurches upward. When we pass the 7th floor, he hits the emergency stop button. The elevator suddenly stops, knocking me off balance and sending me into his strong arms.
His warm lips cover mine. I respond without thinking. I can’t get enough of him. His bedroom eyes and slicked-back hair beg to be tugged. In my excitement, I’ve forgotten the oath of celibacy I swore to maintain. That oath went right out the window, or should I say—the elevator door.
His kisses are as sweet as sun-ripened strawberries. All coherent thoughts leave my head. My pussy feels like an active volcano bubbling and boiling with hot lava.
My leg naturally wraps around his. I breathe, drinking him in as my eyes close and melt into his arms.
I gasp. He’s a man who likes control, and with him, I welcome it, trusting him implicitly.
I massage his hard cock through the silky feel of his suit.
He pins me against the steel elevator wall. The alarm’s blaring is distracting until he slips his fingers deeper into me. I gasp in pleasure and let out a moan as I shift my skirt to give him more access.
I want more of him.
I plant my feet on the metal floor. His fingers inch deeper. I swoon as he hits my secret spots. He needs no instruction. He knows exactly how to press my buttons.
I swoon and wrap my arms around his neck to anchor myself and pull him closer, but he holds me at bay. My eyes open, begging the question, why?
There is no answer. He’s a fortress—his eyes are as cold as a frozen lake. His walls are impenetrable and indestructible.
I know he’s seen death. He could kill me with the flick of his wrist.
His long fingers snake around my neck. Panic turns to excitement. He holds me in a death grip, one hand on my neck, the other finger-fucking me. I can’t move. I’m on my tiptoes, gasping for air and moaning with pleasure. He strokes a new G-spot, and suddenly, I’m limp with pleasure.
