Page 23 of The Darkest King

7

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MIA

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Damn, he tastes amazing. It could be the five-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey he’s drinking, but I doubt it.

Connor Barrett just tastes incredible.

He disappears and returns with the paperwork.

Can I sign it? Sure. But not with my real name. I don’t use an alias—Mancini is common enough in New York–but Connor only knows me as Mia. Putting my real name, Maria Luna Mancini, is not an option. My name is powerful, and not a day goes by that I am not reminded of it.

“You can read it if you want, or just sign it,” he says, handing it to me, eager to get on with the sexy stuff.

I am too. Especially after those dirty words.

Holy hell.

“I swear, all it demands of you is your silence. Nothing more.”

“Where’s the pen?” Two seconds later, it’s in my hand, and I’m scribbling “Mia Bottini” on the line.

Connor tosses it across the room, tugs me to my feet, and rips his shirt off me.

I gasp and reach out to run my fingers over that sexy ink on his chest. The power I feel under my touch causes my body to shudder.

He’s one hundred percent male.

“Now, I taste you,” he growls, tugging the cup of my bra down. When his mouth clamps over my nipple, I let out a cry.

“Oh God, yes.”

Connor rips his mouth from my breast and somehow removes my bra with skill and speed, leaving me bare to him. He takes my other nipple as he cups my first breast, pinching it.

“Spin around.” Connor guides me to the side of the sofa and slides my panties off. “Hands there and ass in the air. God, yes, let me see you.”

I feel completely wanton, with him nudging my feet apart and his breath hitting my thighs.

Lick.

My legs tremble.

His fingers slide through my pussy, and he licks some more. “Jesus, you are so wet, Mia, and sweet as fuck.”

Connor didn’t need my signature on his contract. No matter what happens, after I leave his penthouse, I can never tell anyone.

For both our sakes.

But I want this.

I want this completely delicious moment with Connor Barrett. A man desired by millions of women, who, for some reason, wantsmetonight.

Lucky me.

In two weeks, they may pull me out of my happy life and force me to fulfill my duty as the mafia princess I was born to be. God, I hope there’s no arranged marriage in my future.

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