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Yes, having my body pressed against Matt wouldn’t be the best way to achieve that either, and with the short skirt I was wearing, it might be borderline indecent.
But it was the best bad choice.
Only Alex was having none of it. He rounded the door, crowded me, put one hand on my solar plexus, and pushed me until my back was pressed against the car. Then he cupped my chin. Oh my God. He was going to kiss me.
My stomach exploded with flutters. Did I want him to kiss me? Maybe?
He leaned forward, his thumb skimming along my jaw and down to my pulse point.
My heart raced, but I kept my eyes locked with his.
He looked down at my lips, then locked eyes with me again, and then he turned my face sideways, and his lips touched my ear when he whispered, “Either you hop in, princess, or…” His other hand moved upwards to between my breasts until he placed it gently around my neck. “I’ll make you.”
He pulled back, and our gazes locked again. “Matt, get me the hemp rope out of my bag,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing to have hemp rope in a bag with you at all times.
Was he bluffing?
Matteo shut down the engine, put down the kickstand, and I panicked.
Alex was into BDSM, so he might not be bluffing, and I really didn’t want to be tied up. “Okay, I’ll get in.”
The moment I relented, Alex’s eyes shimmered with triumph and something else. He cupped my cheek, leaned forward, and gave me a peck on the lips. “Good girl.”
I stared at him with my eyes bulging. Good girl? Really?
But something inside of me, a part that always felt not good enough, not enough, really liked pleasing him. Which was not a good thing.
I slipped under his arm and settled into the passenger seat while ignoring his low chuckle when he closed my door and rounded the hood.
Damn.
The first part of the journey, we made in complete silence. Apparently, both Alex and Matteo were speed freaks. Because we were going way above the speed limits.
“So, you’re into bondage?” I finally broke the silence because the rate things were going between us, I needed to know what his kinks were exactly before going any further.
He was a dom—that much I knew. But what else?
“Why would you think that?”
I stared at him. “Seriously? Was it all a bluff?”
“A bluff?” He focused solely on the road.
“So you don’t have ropes in your bag?”
“Oh no, of course, I do. But I’m in the Mafia—why do you think it’s for bondage instead of just a tool of the trade?”
I narrowed my eyes. Was he kidding me? “Because we’re not in some kind of bad Mafia movie. Or maybe I was mistaken, and the Italian Mafia is a lot less progressive than I thought.”
“Progressive?”
“Well, between zipties and handcuffs, nobody really uses ropes anymore—at least…you know, the guys who know what they’re doing.”
“And you know what they’re doing?” He turned his head sideways for a second before staring back at the road.
“Of course.”
“Ever witnessed someone getting interrogated?”
