Page 90 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
"That’s what you think this is? Boredom?"
She lifts her chin, defiant.
"You haven’t said anything different."
And I could.
I could tell her I’m still figuring it out, that I’m trying to be better, that I’m trying not to mess this up.
But that isn’t what she wants to hear—not from me.
She wants certainty, direction, answers I don’t have, and I’ve never handled pressure with grace.
So, I shrug.
"I didn’t realize I needed to sign a declaration of loyalty just to touch you."
Her face darkens.
She takes a breath, but her body tightens like a fuse lit at both ends.
"You smug bastard," she breathes, her voice trembling not with fear but with sheer fury. "You think this is a game? That I’m a game?"
She raises her hand, sharp and quick.
I catch her wrist before it lands.
Her breath hitches.
Her eyes widen.
The room goes still, suspended in the tension that blooms between us.
I hold her hand above her head, grip just firm enough to stop her from pulling away.
"You don’t get to hit me and then pretend you’re still in control."
Her lips part to protest.
I don’t give her the chance.
I push her back onto the bed with one hand.
She fights it, but only for a second.
Not because she wants to escape—but because she wants to make me earn it.
The robe slips off her shoulders.
I tear it away the rest of the way, dragging it down her arms.
Her dress clings to her hips, and I shove it up without care, baring her thighs to the cold air.
"You want to pretend you’re angry," I murmur, pinning her wrists above her head. "But your thighs are already wet for me."
She struggles.
Just enough.
