Page 19 of A Mafia Mistress for Christmas

Cars pass the entire time, coming close to the back windows, and I pray they’re tinted so no one can see me with my ass out and my pussy on display. Except the thought gets me hot, just like it did at the party when Marco touched me in front of his brother.

“Do you know how good you taste, Lacey?” He goes slow, still fingering my ass, and it feels so fucking good.

Then, he surprises me when he slides his tongue directly inside my pussy, fucking me with it. I cry out and clench around him. He laps at me, tasting me, mercilessly pleasing me, though he keeps his movements slow and deliberate.

“Fuck me, you’re delicious. You taste like you enjoy being on your knees with me behind you, worshiping you. Like you want more.”

I shiver, every part of me going tighter and tighter with each word. He sucks my clit between his teeth, and the sound alone is enough to send me over the edge as I come hard.

Holy shit. Holy shit. I just let a stranger eat me out, and he’s so damn talented with his tongue, it won’t take any convincing to let him fuck me in the ass.

He moves back, keeping his hands on my hips to steady me while I pull my thong back in place and adjust my dress. His eyes are on me the entire time, even when he wipes my juices from his mouth and sucks on his fingers, like I was the most delicious meal he’s ever had in his life.

I want to touch him so badly, to take whatever this is to the next level. And from the stiff tent to his pants, he does too.

He’s so fucking hard, and I’m nearly trembling at the idea of him plunging that cock inside me. The desire is almost enough for me to throw my last bit of caution, the last bit of logic, out the window and damn myself in the process.

The jerking of the car pulling to a stop adds some much-needed sense to the situation, a little bit of a division between myself and my wildest fantasies. We’ve parked in front of a high-rise hotel, and rather than continuing with the oral sex, Marco pulls me across by my ass, nestling me on his lap for a moment.

“Forget Gerardo.” His voice is like the richest whiskey, smooth and full of hidden heat. “Maybe you can bemymistress, at least until we take out my brother. Would you like to play with me, Lacey? Would you like to be mine?”

The idea makes me dizzy, of belonging to someone like Marco. I’ve never been the type of woman who wants things like that. I’m too focused on work, too concerned with doing everything for myself…

I glance out the fogged windows and vaguely recognize the outline of a hotel moniker. “What are we doing here?”

“I figured you’d need a place to lay low for a while. Tomorrow, we’ll have a lot to talk about.” He keeps me in place, massaging my hips, and I decide the perfect spot to perch is right here on Marco’s lap.

For as long as he’ll let me.

His breathing is back to normal, his touch tender, almost as though he never ate me out in the back of his SUV.

“Here.” He reaches into his own pocket and slips out his wallet. From the depths, he pulls out a black credit card, thick enough to slice a throat. “Use the name on the card and get the best room possible. “Lay low. I’ll be in touch.”

I hesitate only a moment before taking the card and dangling it between two fingers. “Are you sure? I might skip the hotel and go on a shopping spree.”

“Not very above the law of you, Agent Lacey.” He drags the tip of his nose along the side of my neck and inhales deeply. “The Bureau might frown on that.”

The Bureau will frown onallof this, from start to finish.

“Now go.” Pushing me off him, Marco swats my bottom to get me moving. “I know where to find you. I have to take care of some business first; I’ll be back in the morning.”

The driver rolls down the partition only long enough to ask, “We going to 462 Delacot Place?”

Marco nods, and any heat I’d gotten used to seeing in his eyes disappears entirely. Knowing I’m only wasting time by staying here, I open the door to a blast of chilly December wind, keeping the address in the back of my head for later. It might be important.

Marco doesn’t look my way as he pulls the door shut. The SUV takes off into oncoming traffic as goosebumps erupt on my exposed skin. The credit card is a weight in my hand, and I examine it on my way through the front door. Immediately, the blast of heat from the hotel lobby cuts away the last of the chill that followed me inside.

The name on the card says Justin Longtower, an assumed identity none of us knew anything about. I wonder what kind of squeaky-clean reputation Justin Longtower has that Marco Zicari does not.

I shake my head. “Learn something new every day.”

The front desk clerk glances up at my approach and offers a bland smile of greeting. It takes practically no time at all for me to get a room. The process is smoother than it’s ever been under my own name, and then I’m in the elevator, heading toward the top floor. The keycard slips into the slot easily, and the door opens to a beautiful suite decked out in neutral tones and, yeah, more Christmas.

I halfway wonder if the hotel decorated every room with a little bit of holiday cheer—a table in the dining area boasts a three-foot-tall tree, and there’s an actual, honest to god fireplace in the living room.

I already asked if the room phone made outgoing calls. It’s not the safest option, but I’ve got to get Wes on the line and explain some shit. He’s probably losing his damn mind after our communication was cut off. I can only hope he hasn’t called the calvary in to help me.

The first thing I do, after using the bathroom, is to call him. He picks up on the first ring.

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