Page 4 of Stolen By the Mafia King
Letting out a little sob, she turns. There’s panic in her royal blue eyes and she flies at me. An uncoordinated attack of slaps and shouts and she tries to knee me in the balls. All the time I hear snippets of words and sentences.You. I. Free. No. I don’t… So close. Let me... She’s incoherent as she cries.
I block. I protect my balls. I make soothing noises, because I know she can’t hear logic right now. She’s terrified and furious that her plan failed. She knows she’s caught and can’t accept it.
I’m patient. I dodge her flailing, but it’s easier for me. Being bigger and stronger, and frankly a lot more experienced at fighting, it’s simple. Tears hit me as often as her fists. She’s a whirlwind, a hurricane, but one that loses energy quickly upon meeting solid ground. Me.
For the main part, I’m careful not to touch her anywhere that will cause my cock to respond more than it already has at the mere sight of her. A glimpse is all it takes for me to get an erection like a baseball bat.
Eventually, she begins to tire, the adrenaline draining away and her movements becoming uncoordinated. She hits the seat instead of me. I can see she’ll need to fight to the end, that she can’t give up, and she’ll hurt herself if she continues. I’ll not be her punchbag indefinitely.
“That’s enough,” I growl.
She ignores me.
I snatch her wrists and pin them at the small of her back, and trap both her thighs scissored between mine. Her body goes still as she realises she’s pinned. Her chest heaves and jerks, as she tries to control herself.
“Shhh.” I move her up so she’s cradled into me, the top of her head just below my chin. “You’re safe,” I whisper.
This is the first time we’ve ever really touched, and my body flares with the rightness of it. I have to shift slightly so my hardening cock doesn’t poke obviously into her side.
She’s not relaxed against me, but she is… I don’t know what the word is. Resting. Her limbs remain tense, as though at any moment she could snap back to clawing at me like a feral creature. But right now, she accepts the solidity of my presence and allows me to hold her.
We stay like that for long minutes, and although it’s not the way I envisaged her first being in my arms, I’ll take it. I had hoped she’d come to me willingly. Eventually, her gaze meets mine, and she writhes. Just the tiniest bit. Testing my strength and brushing one pebbled nipple on my arm. Through the thin silk of her dress, I feel her heat.
We’re two magnets battling against each other when misaligned, but the moment there’s a switch… She’s turned on. I’m sure of it. A shaky breath escapes me.
She hears it and stops. Like my exhalation of relief that this isn’t one-sided strengthened her resolve.
“Let me go.” And though the words are the same as she screamed at me only ten minutes ago, the tone is different. She’s all brittle resignation. A trapped wild animal, having discovered the bounds of her prison, now bides her time.
“No more fighting.”
She nods, and the movement rubs the silk of her hair onto my sternum, setting me alight again.
Reluctantly, I uncurl my fingers from her wrists and slide my leg from over hers. The slide of her plump arse on my thighs is too delicious, but I tell my libido to get the fuck down. Now is not the moment, but my cock throbs anyway.
Stiffly, she moves to the opposite seat, collapsing back into it for half a second before the steel in her spine resolidifies and she straightens and raises her chin. The picture of a queen.
Myqueen. Fuck, but I’m proud of her. When Jessa Southwark sees that we’re on the same side, she’ll be as formidable a partner as she is an enemy.
“Are you returning me to my brother?” Her voice doesn’t wobble.
“No.” I pull out my phone, click on a news site, and hold it out to her. Our fingers brush as she takes it warily, and that sets off my cock again, like there’s a chain between her and me. I’m her slave and she has no idea.
Even as the black cab picks up pace leaving the city, Jessa is immovable as she looks at the news of a bomb being found where she had booked to stay at in Australia.
“I gave the assassin they hired updated orders to bring the date forwards. They will believe it’s a mix-up due to the time difference. A maid at the hotel ‘happened’ to notice the bomb,” I explain. “She was well paid, don’t worry.”
“Quite the coincidence,” she mutters, staring fixedly at the screen. As she flicks her thumb up and scrolls and takes in every detail, her mouth slopes down.
“Quite,” I agree. “They’ve failed on this attempt. But they’ll try again.”
She doesn’t ask who, because she’s a clever girl. Her fiancé and her brother. She blinks as though she has something in her eye as she can’t drag her gaze from the photo of the hotel and the text that shows it could have been her, dead.
“But why?” she whispers eventually.
“I wasn’t privy to that conversation.” Just the fall-out when David Bree-Fogg ordered one of his men to go to Australia. “I suppose they decided it would be easier to simply split the money between them. “
“No.” She shakes her head and tosses my phone onto the seat next to me. “They don’t have my money yet. The wedding was going to be tomorrow.”
