Page 30 of Secret Mafia Daddy

I haven’t missed out on her except for her gentle snoring.

Catarina’s sitting on the couch with her legs tucked up under her, reading, and she looks up at me with wide, silver eyes.

“Angelo,” she whispers. “What the hell?”

She rushes to me, checking me all over.

“It’s okay,” I say with a laugh. “It’s not my blood. Well, most of it, anyway.”

She frowns. “Are you sure?” She’s checking me all over as if checking me for bullet holes.

“Are you worried about me, kitten?” I ask, and I can’t seem to stop grinning.

The fact that she is fussing over me feels even better than anything I could have dreamed of. Having someone care about my well-being is an indescribable rush, and a feeling I can’t really identify floods me.

Catarina makes a noise in the back of her throat but she doesn’t deny it, heading to the bathroom and finding my first aid kit.

She bandages my wrists gently and I can’t stop myself from grabbing her chin, forcing her silver eyes up to mine.

“When are you going to ask me to touch you?” I ask her.

“Never,” she whispers, her mouth parting, and I have to restrain myself from leaning down to kiss her.

But then, as I sit on the couch, she climbs into my lap, kissing me. She explores my mouth with her tongue, moaning in the back of her throat. Keeping my promise to her, I fight my own body but I keep still, I don’t even put my arms around her.

She breaks away, looking at me, frustration evident on her pretty face, and I grin sideways at her.

“You haven’t asked me yet, kitten.”

She pouts and licks her lips, looking down into my eyes as if searching them for something. Whatever it is, she must find it, because she opens her mouth to speak.

“Touch me, Angelo,” she whispers, as if she’s loath to say it but is unable to hold it in any longer, and I grunt, my arms going around her as I stand up and lead her to the bed, away from Chelsea’s bedroom. I shut the door with my foot so she won’t hear us and throw Catarina down on the bed.

She bounces once before I climb over her, bunching her dress around her hips.

She moans low in her throat, putting her hand on my belt buckle and finally ripping it off, making me raise an eyebrow.

“You want it bad, don’t you, kitten?” I ask her, and she frowns but leans up to kiss me again, arching her back.

I pause, spread her thighs with one hand and look down at her, glistening through her white panties.

I want to tug them off with my teeth, but I can’t wait, ripping them off instead, and she doesn’t protest. She claws her hands along my shoulders when I free myself from my slacks and push into her, pushing aside my bloody, ruined shirt.

I lean up to take it off without slipping out of her. She’s wet and ready with hardly any foreplay and I remember her being like this that night, too. Just wanton and arching her back beneath me, wanting me so bad she could barely contain herself.

“Tell me you want me,” I command, not moving, and Catarina whines.

“I want you, Angelo,” she pants. “Want you so bad. Been so long.”

I pause, thinking. “Was I the last one to touch you, Catarina?” I ask, and she bites her lip, looking away before looking back at me.

“Yes,” she whispers.

Something like victory rushes through me. I tend to be a bit territorial, and I’ve felt that way about Catarina ever since I found out she had my baby. It makes me hot to think I’ve been the last one to touch her. That she’s this desperate because she’s denied herself any other man.

I rock my hips forward, finally, taking it slow, slowly pulling out almost all the way and ramming back in, rough, just like I remember she likes it.

She digs her nails into my back, marking me, and I hiss, leaning down to kiss her mouth, her throat, her collarbone, biting one of her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

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