Page 29 of Forbidden Mobster's Daughter

“No.” He steps backward.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll be able to say that a whole lot, not to my future husband anyway, but I mean it when I say it to you,” I say, and don’t waver, staring at him, hoping my eyes can convey the truth in my declaration.

He lifts a hand. “Stop it.”

Ignoring him, I step forward, erasing the distance between us again. “No. I love you,” I say, my voice louder than before.

He looks away. “You can’t love me. I’m not a good person.”

“Good is relative. You’ve been good to me in a way that few have,” I say. He’s cared for me, and I know that now. He could have handled my kidnapping differently, and in our time together, he’s listened. He’s been there for me.

A dark glint flickers in the depth of his eyes, like the dimming light on a stormy night. Am I the light or the storm for him? Likely both.

“I’ve killed people,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion, like that’s the first time he’s talked about it.

“I don’t care,” I blurt out. The idea of violence has never appealed to me in any way, but a single look into his eyes and I see the layers of regret and shame. He didn’t ask for the mobster life. He was a victim. He probably killed people who deserved to die if one could put things under that light.

He takes the last step between us. We’re within a breath of each other. “You’re stubborn.”

I lift my shoulder. “And?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing saying you love me.”

I touch his jaw, my fingers trembling. “Then show me. Show me because if this crazy feeling is all I have, all I’ll ever have, I want to be drenched in it.”

18

Matteo

I look down at her.

I’d ask her again if she has any idea of the prehistoric beast she’s unleashed in me, but I believe her. Somehow, she loves me. I don’t think she’s lying about that part.

I lower my lips to hers, and she puts both hands on my chest, leaning on me like she’ll fall otherwise. We’re both falling—in love. I don’t have it in me to say I am, though. I have this strong feeling for her, but to hear from her that she loves me is enough to short-circuit my brain.

The moment my tongue swipes over hers, lust jolts inside me.

I pull her in my arms, and she gladly acquiesces, her hands perusing me as if I’ll disappear if she stops.

She frantically reaches for the buttons of my shirt, undoing them until I peel off my shirt and toss it aside without breaking the searing kiss. Then she caresses my chest, her fingers gently scratching my skin.

Groaning, I lift her in my arms and then take her to her bedroom.

By the time we’re in her bed, we’re finally breaking the kiss, our breathing labored. I help her out of her clothes, and she does the same for me until they’re a tangled mess of fabric on the floor.

She touches my chest, coaxing me to lie on my back, and before I realize it, she’s bringing my cock to her mouth.

Fuck.

A tingly sensation spreads through my balls. I push air through gritted teeth, afraid I’ll lose control sooner than expected. Though, if I’m honest, control went out the window in many ways the moment I picked her up in New York.

She pushes my cock in and out of her mouth, her tongue swiping over my hard flesh. Then she plays with my balls, rolling them over her fingers and squeezing them enough to push me to the brink of an explosive orgasm.

“Sienna,” I say. “You have to?—”

“I want to swallow every bit of you.”

Her words do it. My core contracts, and with a growly sound, I let go, my muscles quivering as I spill my cum inside her sexy mouth.

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