Page 21 of The Mobster's Angel

And he’s mine.

The water splashes down as our tongues war. I lose myself in the kiss, lose myself in him until I’m breathless and disoriented, the strength in his arms the only thing between me and the tiled floor.

I lose myself in the scalding steam, in the magic of kissing this man even as a part of me yearns for more than a simple kiss.

But then he ends the kiss and takes a step back, pulling us out of the shower’s spray.

I’m about to ask why he stopped kissing me, but the next moment I understand.

Reaching behind me, he picks up a bottle of shampoo. The scent of strawberries and cream fills the bathroom.

His hands tangle in my curls. Firm but gentle fingers work the lather into my hair. The sensation of his fingers massaging my scalp is amazing. I let out a little moan as sparks of pure pleasure radiate through me, from my head down to my toes.

His hand cups my jaw, and he tilts my head back beneath the shower’s spray. And then he pulls me toward him and repeats the process. Every movement he makes is slow, methodical, like he’s determined to show me exactly how cherished I am.

He maps my body with his hands next. Those large, powerful hands are everywhere as he explores my curves, amplifying my need.

Torturing me.

If this continues a moment longer, I’ll combust. So I twist out of his grasp, slippery from the soap, and drop to my knees.

Feeling more daring, more confident than I ever have in my life, I grasp his hard length and take him into my mouth. Once more, his hands tangle in my hair as my hands and lips slide along his length.

Now it’s his turn to gasp.

Right away, though, I realize I’m in over my head. I’ve never done this before, and he’s so big.

But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. My lips stretch around him as I slide my tongue along the underside of his shaft.

Water stings my eyes as I look up to see an anguished expression on his face, eyes closed, one hand splayed against the tiled wall. I tilt my head slightly, pull him closer, desperate to swallow more of him.

The fingers in my hair tighten. Groaning, he tugs me up off the shower floor.

“Oh no, angel. When I come, it will be inside you. I’m going to fill you, again and again, until my child is growing inside you. And then I’m going to do it again—for the rest of our lives.”

He turns off the shower, then wraps a towel around me before scooping me up into his arms like I weighed nothing. Cradling me against his chest as if I were a precious doll, he stares down into my eyes and asks, “Do you understand? You’re mine, Olivia. You’ve been mine since the first moment I saw you. And now that I’ve claimed you, I’m never going to let you go.”

Dazed, all I can do is nod.

He shakes his head. “No, I need to hear you say it. Say that you’re mine. No one else’s.”

“I’m yours. Only yours.” The words come out in a breathless rush, but they seem to satisfy him.

He carries me into the bedroom and sets me gently in the center of the unmade bed.

Water droplets bead on his skin as he climbs up beside me. But he seems unconcerned with his own comfort as he wraps a towel around my hair.

Sitting across from me on the bed, he stares at me with an intense expression, then takes my hands in his. “Swear that you’ll marry me, angel. Swear that as soon as humanly possible, you’ll become my wife.”

It’s a command, not a question. Yet still, I hesitate.

Even though I know it’s crazy, that it’s way too soon, everything in me wants to say yes. But there’s a part of me that’s holding back, the part that knows…

“Jack, think about this. What if you change your mind? You barely know me. What if… what if once you know me more, you’re… disappointed?”

For some reason, this makes him laugh.

“Angel, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. You’ve been my obsession for the past year. Every move you’ve made, damn near every breath you’ve taken, I’ve watched you. Watchedoveryou. From a distance at first because I knew you were too pure for me, too pure for my world. I struggled with my conscience, craving you, yet knowing it would be wrong to corrupt you with my touch. It’s a struggle I was losing. Why else do you think I kept coming up with excuses to talk to you? Why do you think I lent you that book?”

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