Page 61 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
He nods.
I grip his shirt and tug, fusing my lips to his. My heart pounds against my ribs wondering what’s come over me. Wondering how he’ll respond.
He groans as he tears his lips away. “Isabella…” His voice is rough, warning.
I’m mortified and yet, I can’t stop.
I'm tired of warnings. Tired of fear.
For the first time since being forced into this marriage, I feel something I want to chase rather than escape.
“Show me what happens next.”
Roman's control, his legendary restraint, visibly fractures. His hands move from the wall to my waist, gripping firmly.
“This isn't self-defense anymore,” he murmurs, his face inches from mine.
“I know.”
When his mouth claims mine, it's nothing like the chaste kiss at our wedding or even the heated moment in his office.
This is possession. Hunger.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and I respond with an eagerness that surprises me. I had no idea I had this inside me.
I've never felt this before, this consuming need to be closer, to feel more. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
Roman presses me against the wall, his powerful body flush against mine. One hand slides down to grip my thigh, hitching it around his hip.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls against my neck, teeth grazing my sensitive skin.
“I don’t want to.”
His hand moves beneath my shirt, his warm palm skimming over my ribs and up to cup my breast.
When his thumb brushes over my nipple, even through my bra, I moan, a sound I've never heard myself make before.
“Christ, Isabella,” he breathes, forehead resting against mine. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
But I think I do. I can feel the evidence of his desire pressed hard against me, and instead of frightening me, it thrills me.
This powerful, dangerous man wants me.
And God help me, I want him too.
“Teach me,” I whisper, echoing his earlier promise. “Teach me everything.”
Roman lifts me into his arms with ease, carrying me to the bedroom. My heart pounds, a mixture of nervousness and desire as he lays me on the bed.
“We can stop anytime,” he says, his voice rough but sincere. “You say the word, and we stop.”
I nod, unable to find my voice as he slowly unbuttons my blouse, his fingers brushing against my skin with each movement.
The tenderness in his touch is unexpected from a man with such lethal hands.
“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing with my blouse open but still on.
“Yes,” I breathe, marveling at how he asks permission for each step. I was always told that men just took what they wanted from a woman. But Roman is giving. He’s careful and gentle.
