Page 295 of Don’t Say Mafia

“Okay,” she said slowly, thinking out loud now. “Fine. New rules. How about . . . no food sharing? That seems reasonable. I should at least be paying for my food, and Mrs. Nesbitt’s has got to be way out of my price range.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That one has already been violated . . . in multiple ways. So obviously I’m rejecting it. I’m actually looking forward to sharing food again. Immediately, as a matter of fact.”

Her eyes flicked to my mouth and then away again, and she blushed. “This is impossible.”

I leaned down, bracing my hands on either side of her chair, crowding her space just enough to be unbearable.

“Welcome to my world,” I murmured, already knowing she wasn’t done trying to put space between us and that I was going to enjoy every second of rejecting it.

She opened her mouth to argue again, to drag another doomed rule into existence, but instead a yawn slipped out of her, and her shoulders sagged as if the day had finally caught up with her all at once.

Of course she was tired. Anyone would be, after the kind of day she’d had. Most of her bad day was my fault, of course, but I was willing to bet that all would be forgotten once she saw what life was like sleeping on my mattress instead of the pile of iron springs, aka torture devices, she was used to.

Let it be stated for the record that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this girl. My dick was once again so hard and desperate to get inside her that this time, I might really rip it off trying to get relief later.

“Hey,” I said, forcing my voice into something soothing instead of the unhinged, feral version of me that was trying to get out. “You’ve had a long day.”

Eden’s eyes softened, and she leaned toward me before she caught herself and straightened. “Yeah. I have.”

I held out a hand, keeping my eyes off her vagina like the gentleman I could sometimes be. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

She eyed me like I’d just suggested a felony. “Just my room, right,” she clarified, looking suspicious.

I nodded, all innocence and Scout’s honor. “Of course. Your room. Who else’s would it be?”

That earned me a narrow look that said she didn’t believe me for a second, but she stood anyway and let me lead her out of the kitchen.

We moved down the hall together, her steps slow as she continued to take it all in. I stopped at a door and pushed it open.

Her mouth dropped open as she stepped inside, and yeah . . . I got it. The room was large and unmistakably expensive, a space a very popular designer had planned down to the inch. Dark hardwood floors gleamed under low, recessed lighting. The bed dominated the far wall, oversized with a padded headboard in charcoal fabric, with crisp white sheets tucked so tight they looked like they’d never been slept in. A reading chair by the window was upholstered in soft leather, paired with a small side table and a lamp that cast a warm, controlled glow instead of harsh light. Heavy curtains framed the bulletproof glass, because although it was unlikely someone would be able to get up to the penthouse windows . . . you could never be too careful.

“This is . . .” she started, then trailed off.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching her reaction with something like satisfaction. “Nice?”

She nodded slowly, still turning in a small circle as she took everything in. “Yeah, really nice,” she whispered.

“The bathroom’s through there,” I said, nodding toward the door off to the side. “You can borrow one of my shirts to sleep in. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping.”

Eden turned back to me, her eyes sharp despite the yawn she tried to hide. “There are two things wrong with that sentence.”

I lifted a brow, amused. “Are there?”

“One,” she said, ticking it off, “I can sleep in what I’m wearing. Two, I can buy my own clothes.”

I stared at her incredulously for a second and then dramatically dragged my gaze to where she was still trying to cover her delicious pussy with her shirt. “You have a hole in your leggings, and they’re covered in cheesecake and cum. I think you should use my shirt.”

I went into my closet and came back out holding a soft black T-shirt.

It hit her then. She looked at the shirt. Then the bed. Then the chair. Then the windows. Her gaze snapped back to me, slow realization dawning as everything clicked into place.

“This is your bedroom,” she said.

“Yeah.”

She opened her mouth, clearly gearing up to argue, to protest, to list reasons this was a terrible idea.

I stepped close before she could build momentum, lifted a finger, and gently pressed it to her lips. Just enough to quiet her and make her freeze. “Sleep,” I murmured as I leaned in and kissed her, much softer than I wanted. I tucked the shirt into her hands before reluctantly pulling away.