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“They weren’t loyal to me, only to the money we made together, and I think Saul will make sure everyone he wants to keep is fairly compensated.”
“Sometimes I forget that you’re a bunch of criminals.”
He laughs and shifts closer, his hands moving up my legs. He kneads into my calves, and crap, it feels really good. I should definitely push him away. But I don’t.
“You grew up in this world too, you know.”
“But on the periphery. Dad never really let me into the business stuff, even when I asked him about it.”
“Did you ever want to be more involved?”
“Sometimes when I was younger. It annoyed me that the boys got to play mafia while the girls were all expected to smile, look pretty, get educated, then settle down and have babies.”
“Why get educated? Not that I mind, but I’m curious.”
“So that we can better teach our babies. You know, smart moms mold smart kids.”
“Right.” He shakes his head and shifts closer again. His hands move up above my knee to my thigh. Definitely getting too comfortable, and the way he’s looking at me suggests this massage is going places, but I still say nothing.
There’s too much tension and it’s way too unresolved. I keep hoping that if I give in to what I really want and let this man touch me then I can finally get over wanting it and move on. Bang him out of my system and all that. Which is a stupid idea: sex and emotions are deeply intertwined in my head. I couldn’t have casual sex if I wanted to, and there’s no way I could do it with my own freaking husband, and especially not with Gian Rossi.
Not with our history.
“You’re giving me a look,” he says and his voice is very deep now. It’s a little too suggestive.
“Your hands are on my legs.”
“I know. I assumed you noticed earlier.”
“I mean, what are your hands doing on my legs?”
“This is called a massage.”
“Don’t be cute. You know what I’m trying to say.”
He leans closer as his fingers move up my body. I shiver and blink at him as his fingers curl around the waistband of my tights. He grips them, yanking slightly, but doesn’t pull them down. Only exposes the strip of skin beneath my belly button.
“You’re going through a hard time and here you are still trying to deny yourself something we both know will make you feel better.”
“Feel better? What you’re thinking is only going to make you and me more complicated.”
“Did it yet?”
“No, of course not, I don’t—I mean maybe it has, I don’t know.” I rub my face with both hands. “I’m frustrated, okay? Every time you touch me, I’m reminded of why I don’t want you touching me in the first place. But also, when you touch me, I want you to keep going.”
“I want to keep going too,” he whispers, evidently ignoring the first part of that.
“We need to get through a year of this.”
“And I know how we can make that a very good year.”
“Gian—” He pulls, slowly but firmly, until my tights begin to slide down. I breathe hard and wriggle back against the arm of the couch but he turns and slips between my legs. I gasp, my tights halfway down my ass, showing the top of my crotch barely covered by a pair of gray panties. He reaches behind me, holding onto the padded, curved back, and pushes himself against me?—
Oh, god, and I feel him. He’s so hard as my legs wrap around his hips. Why don’t I shove him away? Why are my arms wrapped around his neck instead as his hands move up my side, pulling my shirt up over my breasts? My nipples are so stiff they ache, and I’m not wearing a bra. I must be insane, not wearing a bra around this man.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, kissing my chest. He licks one nipple, rolls his tongue around it, sucks softly. I whimper my pleasure as it roars down my spine. “I love your little pink nipples. I love the way you moan when I suck them. You’re sensitive, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, moving my hips. He’s still rock hard, and I swear, he’s getting harder. My heart’s racing into my throat. “You seem a little sensitive yourself.”
