Page 6 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“We didn’t lie on the grass together.”

His lips curve into another smile, conjuring the dimples at the same time, and heat pools low in my traitorous belly. “You’re right. Perhaps we should rectify that.”

Without warning, he grips my wrists and spins me around as if we’re dancing, so that my back is pinned against his chest, and my arms are crossed, the guns still in my hands.

“Let me go!” I struggle to free myself from his iron grip, aware that any bullets I fire now will aim wide.

“Or what?” His lips are against my left ear, his breath warm on my face.

And, fuck, I can feel his erection pressing against my lower back, and my heart doesn’t know what to do with it.

I go perfectly still. Wriggling out of his arms isn’t an option, and he knows it. Throwing my weight forward will be like trying to drag a cart load of bricks over my shoulders, and if he thinks I’m falling for his ‘let’s get to know one another’ trick, he’s clearly never fought a Bratva enforcer before. Or perhaps he took one look at me and told himself he’d already won.

In which case, I’m going to enjoy proving him wrong.

I lean back against him so that his upper body is supporting my weight, raise my feet off the ground and tuck my knees into my chest, headbutting him in the collarbone with the back of my skull at the same time.

He doesn’t drop me. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my arms.

Instead, he drops to his knees, lowers me to the ground underneath him, and pins me down with his weight. I struggle to release my arms, but they’re still folded underneath me. His hips straddle mine. His cock is like iron pressing between my butt cheeks, and I feel the blood pumping around my body and straight to my pussy like my body is enjoying this way more than it should be.

“What’s your name?” he breathes in my ear.

“Go fuck yourself,” I manage, realizing my mistake before the words land on the grass.

His weight has replaced the air that left my lungs with those three words, my chest feels as if it’s going to cave in, and it’s impossible to draw a full breath.

“Are you always this friendly? Or are you trying to make me feel special?”

“I’m not here to make friends.” I’m panting. My heart feels as though it’s about to explode, and the tingling between my legs is confusing the fuck out of me.

“That’s a real shame.” The giant removes my guns from my hands as if I’m a kid holding candy and tosses them aside. “This would’ve been a whole lot more fun without the breakdown in communication.”

“I didn’t come here to have fun either.” I’m starting to feel dizzy with the lack of oxygen pumping to my brain, and still he keeps me pinned down with all his weight.

“That much was obvious, a ghrá, from the blades you’re packing.”

He slides one hand down my leg, tracing a line of flames across my skin, and removes a knife from my boot. Then he presses the tip against my neck without piercing the flesh, his lips so close to mine, I can smell liquor faintly on his breath.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?” My chest is screaming at me to get him off me and fill my lungs with oxygen. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who tried to kill me.” His accent feels like a breath of fresh air rolling across my overheated cheeks.

He shifts his weight then without realizing, a subtle movement in his hips as if he’s trying to get comfortable with the tent in his pants, and I seize my opportunity. I jerk my hips upward, thrusting my ass against his solid erection. I know it’s worked when he groans in my ear, arching his spine just enough to give me space to roll.

My arms are still folded across my chest which means that all my momentum is driven by my lower body. This is my second mistake. Because he’s still pinning me down, but now we’re face to face, his erection rubbing against my throbbing pussy, and I wonder if this was his intention all along, and I simply played straight into his hands.

Anger ignites inside my chest.

No one plays me like this and gets away with it.

Here behind the containers, our only light source is the moon, but I’m so close to my assailant that I can see his blown pupils and the green rim around them. My heart starts doing some crazy dance that I wouldn’t be seen dead trying to perform in public because I was right about the color of his eyes, while my head tries to argue that it’s scientifically proven that pupils expand in the dark.

That’s all it is.

I refuse to dwell on it.