Page 8 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
I open my eyes, not even realizing I closed them.
“Ask me if you can come.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
If my wrists weren’t bound, I’d slap his smug face.
He pulls me into his chest without breaking stride, flexing his hips and driving me wild, because he’s so mind-shatteringly deep. “I’ll do anything,” I cry out, desperate. “What do you want from me?”
“What you promised earlier.”
I struggle in his arms, tension coiling like a spring seconds away from snapping. My mind races, trying to solve the riddle so we can put an end to this game.
“Submit like a good girl, then you can come all over my dick.”
How can a man be this beautiful and so filthy? I groan and plead with him with my eyes.Please. I need this more than you’ll ever know.
“Count to three.”
I blink as he lifts me once more, then hastily begin to count. “One. Two.” He relaxes his arm and flexes his hips, and I nearly pass out, completely forgetting to say three while I erupt around him.
“Yeah, Riley,” he groans. “So fucking good.”
My name lingers in the air as his thrusts become more violent. Then he jerks deep, holds still, and curses in Italian against my neck.
You never forget your firsts; first day at school, first A, first car, first backseat kiss, first drink, first loss, first one-night stand,first orgasm. But anchored against his hard chest, withhis lips suckling my neck and his cock still inside me, I realize something else about firsts—they always, always end.
And, as warned, he does just that.
Without a word, he withdraws and sets me on my feet to his right, then disappears inside the bathroom. I stand on shaky legs, the toilet flushing and water running. We don’t speak when he returns, fresh and composed, and cold … so brutally cold. Like he’s utterly unaffected by what transpired.
I’m frozen, stunned.What were you expecting, a high-five?
He opens the door but then pauses to glance over his shoulder. Like he’s about to ask for my number. Like I’d consider repeating tonight’s insanity, even as I’m thanking God I’m alive and not a victim of my recklessness. I mean, he’s leaving while my wrists are still bound.
But I don’t regret tonight. He’s given me something more to dwell on than sadness and remorse. A dirty, filthy memory. Of a time when I relinquished control and felt more alive than I have in years.
My eyes lock on his face.
His rake over my body.
But instead of asking for my phone number, my cold, cavalier hookup demands something utterly baffling.
“Get the goddamn lock fixed.”
CHAPTER 1
RILEY
He’s not coming.
My one-night stand, who turned into consecutive Friday nights and then into every night over the course of a few weeks. It was hardly the beginning of a meaningful relationship. People talk in healthy relationships. He said hello and goodbye, and between, fucked me six ways to Sunday. His touch was addictive.Hewas addictive.
His late-night visits became less frequent until they stopped entirely.
Three weeks now.
