Page 102 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
I resist the urge to shout for Tommaso. This is fucking unacceptable. She’s fair game right now. An open invitation to any man passing by—not that my men would dare touch what’s mine. But her gorgeous body … those tits … could tempt even the most devoted man to sin.
The beast inside me both terrifies and excites her—just as I intended. But she needs to be broken in. I won’t tolerate her looking at me with those wounded eyes, as if I committed a crime against her delicate sensibilities. She’s been doing it since dinner. I warned her I’d corrupt her. What did she expect, rainbows and roses?
Time she learned I am who I am.
And the thrill to be had from a good fucking hunt.
I drain my whiskey, the glass cool against my lips, before hurling it over my shoulder. Kicking off my shoes, I tuck my Rolex into one and toss them aside.
Fuck it.
I dive into the pool, sacrificing an expensive suit and four days of pretending she doesn’t drive me insane.
The flamingo floatie is less than an arm’s stretch away when I surface.
She starts paddling frantically, trying to escape, but the float flips, sending her crashing into the pool. She kicks out, hitting me in the thigh, then thrusts her other leg into my chest to push herself away. Wide-eyed, she treads water, staring at me, realizing the fun is over—yet completely unaware the real game is just beginning.
I throw out a hand, snatch her bikini bottom, and draw her in, then anchor an arm around her waist and haul her toward the shallow end of the pool.
“You dove in to get me.”
I ignore the unspoken question in her tone—the one that questions my sanity. With one arm beneath her knees, I lift her out of the water, carrying her across the pool patio into the casita.
“You ruined your suit.”
“That isn’t what should concern you right now.” I abruptly set her on her feet, and she throws out a hand, catching my arm for balance.
“But I guess you’re good at ruining things,” she continues, bitterness lacing her words.
My tone is low and threatening. “That’s right. And in a few minutes, my suit won’t be the only thing I ruin.”
“Why don’t you snap a finger and beckon a woman more willing to be bossed around?” She draws to her full height and glares at me. Not yet understanding the rules of the game, or even that it’s begun. The anticipation makes my dick hard, despite how I find myself wanting to play withher, when my needs can easily be fulfilled elsewhere.
It’s the question of the fucking decade. And I have to say, this self-imposed monogamy bullshit frustrates me. “A snap of my finger is how I like things,” I sneer. “You just need to accept who’s in charge.” She tenses further, so I lean in to slam the issue home. “I fuck who I want to fuck. Tonight, you’ll do.”
She chokes on her own breath, her shock palpable. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I’ll do,” she repeats, disbelief in her tone.
“That’s right.”
A heavy silence falls between us, her chest heaving as anger vibrates through her body. I almost smirk, enjoying the fire in her eyes. Fucking hell, why does she have to be this gorgeous? Her wet hair curls against her cheekbones, the unruly mess giving her a just-been-screwed vibe. Her tan emphasizes those hypnotic green eyes—which now sparkle with an irresistible challenge. The sadistic part of me wants to squash her anger and remind her she’ll do as I command because that’s how our arrangement works. But the truth is, I crave her sweet submission.
I’ve fucking missed it.
Goddamn her.
Grinding my teeth, I force out the words, “You’ll more than do.”
“I don’t understand.”
Statement of the fucking century.
“What happened? Did you grow tired ofthem?”
I scowl. Have I?
