Page 34 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Oh . . . god.

Why was he saying these things? I didn’t want to find them arousing. Except I did. The combination of his proximity, his body rutting into mine, and the low rumble of his voice was more powerful than my common sense.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply through my nose, but that only sent more of his scent—sweat and some citrus soap—flooding through my head. I melted, my knees no longer capable of supporting me.

All that held me up was the wall behind me and the mountain in front of me.

When I lifted my eyelids I found him looking at me strangely. “You like that idea, no? I can see the truth written all over your face.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I croaked. “Get off me.”

The words held no force, probably because I didn’t really want him to move. If I were being honest, I wanted to examine what was happening, to better understand why I suddenly had no control over my body. Then maybe I could better prepare for next time.

Next time?

Without warning he ground his erection into me once more—and we both gasped. Moisture pooled between my thighs, my sex organs swelling with desire. I longed to rub my clitoris against him, to seek relief for the ache building in that tiny bundle of nerves. Would it feel better with another person than when I used a vibrator or my fingers?

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Eager for your first taste of cock, wife? All you have to do is ask for it.”

Wait, what? Was he implying . . . .?

No, no, no. This was all wrong.

Somehow I gathered enough strength to shove him away. He stepped back and I hurried toward the stairs, my knees not steady in the least.

It had been a mistake coming down here. I never should’ve let him—

“Emma,” he snapped as I darted up the steps. I didn’t break stride, just kept going, focusing on my escape. His voice carried up to follow me. “Do not disobey me again. Because if you do, I won’t let it go. I will punish you for it.”

I had no idea what kind of punishment he had in mind, but I wasn’t about to stick around to find out.

* * *

I didn’t see Giacomo again for the next few days.

Not that I went looking for him. The less time we spent together, the better. Especially after what happened in the cellar.

I wasn’t a regular masturbator, though I knew it was a perfectly healthy and normal bodily function. While in Toronto, I gave myself orgasms maybe once a week or every other week. My libido had been almost non-existent, with the pressures of school and my father’s illness.

Now? After the cellar?

I was obsessed. I masturbated at least twice a day, sometimes more. It was like Giacomo’s body and words had unleashed the sexual side of my brain, a torrent of insatiable lust. I craved satisfaction, yet no amount of self-gratification fully satisfied the itch.

I tried to keep busy and distract myself from these feelings. With my virtual classes in full swing, I had plenty of work to do. I made sure to run for forty-five minutes every day down in the gym. I texted with my sisters and chatted with Sal as he cooked dinner.

Even with all this, though, I couldn’t stop thinking of the three month deadline.

“A decent man would not get hard thinking about shooting inside you, breeding you.”

Heat washed through me and I punched the buttons on the treadmill, increasing my speed. My feet pounded on the belt as I berated myself. Why, why, why couldn’t I forget these words and the way he’d said them?

I should be repulsed. Horrified. I should be forced to listen to Ted Talks on the dangers of misogyny on a loop for a full year.

So why this morning had I pulled up a browser and typedbreeding kink romance booksinto the search bar?

At the other end of the gym, feet appeared on the stairs. More feet followed. A stream of men began descending the steps. What in the world?

Giacomo was first to the bottom landing and his dark gaze found me instantly. He did a long sweep of my body as I ran, and it was full of such blazing intensity that I feared I might trip.

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