Page 119 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
Problem is, my lips are moving quickly, too, and I unleash a litany of love bombs in rapid succession. “Love your tight pussy.” “Love how perfect you are.” “Love how you were made for me.”
“Harder,” she demands over the bullshit noise I’m making.
I anchor an arm around her waist and pull her flush against me, fucking her mercilessly now. The car shaking beneath us.
Perfect.
Special.
“Riley.” My release tears through me, and my seed jets into her womb. Beneath me—thank fuck—her body shivers as she climaxes hard.
We stay like that for a while, until I withdraw. I roll onto the hood next to her.
She flips onto her back and stretches, a smug smile hugging her lips.
She doesn’t bring it up again.
I’ll protect her as long as I can—even from myself.
Abruptly, she sits up. “Oh my God.”
I follow her gaze up to the billboard. A decaying sign advertising the Grand Hotel di Palermo.
“Alessandro, please tell me you trust me.”
My eyes narrow on her. She looks ready to puke.
“I swear, I didn’t know until now. Even during your conversation with Tommaso, everyone refers to him as Conti. The first time I heard his first name was at lunch.”
What. The. Fuck?
Wide-eyed, she pleads for mercy.
My gaze cuts back to the cause of her abrupt freak-out. Then she delivers a motherfucking bombshell.
“Emilio Smith … Conti … is hiding at that resort.”
RILEY
Twenty-four hoursof bliss blows up in my face within seconds. If there was ever a time to be afraid, it’s now.
I hang on to the door handle as he drives like a madman, making repeated calls while navigating the roads. Darkness descends long before we reach Salerno. He hasn’t uttered a word to me since I made the Conti connection. Does he believe me? Or does he think I withheld information on the man who hurt him?
I can’t ask. My attentive lover’s turned to dust, and out of the ash the monster’s resurfaced.
He makes two stops. Each time, I’m ordered to wait in the car.
I don’t protest.
I don’t say a peep.
The back door swings open, and a rectangular black bag is flung onto the backseat along with … “Is that a …?”
Chain saw.
He glares me back into silence.
The car pulls away from the curb, and then we’re winding through a series of alleyways. A few times, the GPS directions lead us astray, which has him cursing and smashing his fist into the steering wheel before recklessly reversing the car down the narrow roads.
