Page 32 of Owned By the Italian Mafia Don

“Why not?” he shrugs off his shirt and I have to stop myself from falling over because no one should be allowed to look this damn good. It’s unfair. It isn’t right.

He’s lean and muscular, but not overly so. He isn’t bulging, but has soft lines cutting into his abs. He has the perfect body type sprinkled with dark hair across his chest. The hair gets thinner as it trails down to a point under his belly button, vanishing in his pants.

“I am in this,” he says, unbuckling his belt.

He isn’t…

“And since I’m in this, I’m going to try to make the best of it.”

The words are cold water pouring down on me.

“We are married. So why not give this a real shot?” he shrugs, dropping his pants.

He isn’t wearing underwear.

My eyes lock on his cock and my clit begins to pulse, the space between my legs aches, dying to be filled the longer I stare at his nude body.

I’ve never reacted like this with anyone. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before which is why I’m a virgin. I never thought to ‘get it over with’ because if I’m going to be that intimate with someone, I want towantthem.

And while Aristide Milazzo drives me mad, there is no denying I wouldn’t be upset right now if he tossed me on the bed and had his way with me.

I have to keep my wits about me though. It’s all I have going for me.

He’s semi-hard, long, and thick by the looks of it, and it rests against his thigh as if it’s weighed down by how hefty it is. There’s a dark patch of hair above his cock, trimmed and well-groomed. I bite my lip to hold in a moan.

He leans forward, grabbing the bedpost with one hand, towering over me. He peers down, his finger under my chin, a place I realize he likes to touch a lot.

“Do you like what you see, Tesoro?” His breath puffs across my cheek as he brings his lips to my ear. “It’s all yours. You can do what you like to me.”

My eyes fall on the small stab wound in his shoulder and there’s a hint of guilt for throwing my knife at him, but he seems fine.

And what does that name mean? I don’t want to know, not yet. I like how the nickname sounds, but it could mean something bad or good. I’m not sure I’m ready to know either right now.

“Maybe I’ll stab you again,” I say weakly, my words broken with attraction.

“You could try.” His lips brush over the shell of my ear and goosebumps arise across my body. “I’d just have to stop you before you did.”

“How would you do that?” I lick my lips, leaning forward to be closer, my body betraying me.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grins, pressing a simple kiss against my cheek.

It isn’t special. It’s innocent, something friends and family do when they greet each other, but his lips shock me. They are soft, giving, and they linger for a moment, and my eyes flutter shut. The closer he remains, the more I feel his body heat, and the more I want to wrap my arms around his neck and give into the voice that’s whispering in the back of my mind.

I can’t do it. No matter how tempting, no matter how good I know he’d make me feel—because there’s no way a man like him wouldn’t be able to make me feel good—and no matter that he’s the first man to ever ignite desire inside me, we can’t happen.

A man like him can destroy a woman like me.

He’s powerful, wealthy, and elegant.

I’m tired, angry, and far from elegance in the type of woman he needs. Honestly, I don’t know if I have the energy to be that woman. I’m okay with giving him a child and being married for a year, but everything else that he wants to come with it? He wants a fantasy.

I’m smart enough to know reality always overcomes fantasy. This is the real world and I know just how harsh that world can be.

“Mr. Milazzo,” I say his name in protest—or try to—but it comes out with little force. The warmth of his chest presses against my palm and when I feel the soft skin, the firm muscle, the thud of his heart beating loudly, that’s when I notice the mistake I’ve made.

I’ve touched him.

Before I can let go, he wraps his thick fingers around my wrist, holding my hand there.

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