Page 4 of Mafia Toy

Glancing down, I gulped. “I should probably get going anyway.”

“Nonsense,” she said, her hand on my thigh to keep me seated. “My husband owns the club. It’s fine. I was going to buy you a drink anyway.” When the bartender slid the drinks toward her, she thanked him and told him to putallthe rest of my drinks tonight on her tab.

“You … you really don’t have to do that,” I whispered.

“You’ve been here all night. Alone.”

“Yeah, I, um …” I sipped my drink. “My date left.”

“He left you at a crowded club, all alone? Doesn’t sound like a winner.”

“He’s not,” I admitted, leaving out that part where I had only been seeing him because he had a huge dick and loved taking me to fancy places—something I’d never see otherwise. “But he takes care of me … sometimes.”

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, inching closer and leaning against the bar. Tequila lingered on her breath, her eyes a bit hazy, as if she’d had a bit too much to drink tonight. But if she really was the mob boss’s wife, they wouldn’t cut her off. She brushed her fingers against my forearm. “If he cared about you, he’d bring you home. Not leave you in a club, where strangers like me could come flirt with you.”

Almost as if she realized what she had said, she widened her eyes and stiffened.

Warmth exploded through me as my heart raced inside my chest. I swallowed my pride, my insecurities, everything, thanks to the liquid courage I had drunk tonight, and smiled back. “So, that’s what you’re doing here? Flirting with me?” I asked playfully.

She dropped her hand to my knee again, her fingers lingering on my bare flesh. Instead of moving her hand up my thigh, like I’d suspected her husband had been doing to her earlier while she stared over at me, she held it there, face softening.

“Is that too forward?” She giggled.

I glanced down at her hand on my knee and pressed my thighs together slightly to suppress the ache between them. When I looked back up at her, she dropped her gaze to my thighs.

“Maybe not forward enough?” she offered, fingers moving an inch higher. “Hmm?”

After pressing my lips together, I clutched my glass tightly and stared into her playful eyes. Slowly, she slithered her fingers up my thigh and underneath my skirt, and I didn’t stop her. I let her touch me, tease me, taunt me with her fingers.

When she reached my panties, she stiffened, sucked in a breath, and gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “God, you’re wetter than I am,” she murmured, which only made my pussy ache even more.

I sucked in a sharp breath, too, and spread my legs a bit wider. “Still … not forward enough,” I said, caught in the moment.

Her pink-painted lips twitched into a small smirk, and she gently touched my clit, rubbing it in circles underneath the bar top so nobody could see. Still, I peered around to make sure everyone had busied themselves with someone or something else.

If anyone saw this, saw us …

“What’s your name?” she whispered.

“Sage,” I said in a breath as she massaged my clit. “Wh-what’s yours?”

“Laila,” she said, gaze dropping to my lips. “Say it.”

“Laila,” I repeated.

“One night …” she said, smirking. “One night, you’ll be moaning it.”

Another wave of pleasure rushed through me, nearly pushing me to the edge already.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you all night.”

“But your husband …”

“Is okay with this,” she finished. “He even suggested it.”

“Are you … serious?” I whispered, unable to believe this was real.

She was either dead serious or had had a few too many drinks or a combination of both.

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