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"Or a Freudian slip."
"Or a slip of the tongue." She trails her finger around the rim of her Champagne glass and my balls tighten. Goddam! Now, she’s teasing me, while she still continues to deny the attraction. Every little action of hers is calculated to tease me. She has the way of a seductress, a siren song on her lips, and the look of a huntress in her eyes. She’s unharnessed, unbridled, a wildling come to turn my world upside-down. An untamed vixen who’ll steal my heart and my soul, and whose name will be stamped in every cell of my body.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Something like a forewarning ripples up my spine.Get away from her. Leave. Get out as soon as you can, before things get too complicated.
A-n-d the very fact that I have that thought, that for the first time in my life I, Hunter Whittington, am thinking of leaving the battlefield without even trying to engage with my opponent, gives me pause. I’m not a coward. It takes balls to embark on a career in the public eye. It takes nerves of steel to decide to run for the highest office in this country. It takes courage of conviction and a special kind of crazy to embark on the journey I have. And I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t love a challenge. If I didn’t relish the opportunity to win a confrontation. If I didn’t enjoy finding my way through obstacles. All of which she seems to personify. I drag my finger across my lower lip.
"I’d love to slip my tongue inside you," I murmur.
Her gaze widens. A pulse throbs to life at the base of her neck. She bites down on her lower lip, and I feel the tug all the way to the base of my cock.
I tighten my grip about my own glass of Champagne. "You liked that, didn’t you?"
She huffs. "I expected better than a cliché from you."
"Clichés exist because they’re true."
"And I thought you were capable of more original thinking?"
"You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now."
She holds my gaze boldly. "Why don’t you tell me?"
I release the hold on my flute, then lean forward and slide the glass from her grasp. I turn it to where the mark of her lips graces the rim and take a sip of the sparkling wine. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"
Her lips part, then she raises one brow. "Try me."
"I want touch your curves and fondle the dips in your body. I want to hold you and kiss you, and bite you and suck on you. I want lick you, taste you, sink my fingers inside you. I want to take you to the edge over and over again, until your blood is coursing with pheromones, until you’re so high from the experience, you’ll be spoiled for anyone else. Until all you can think of is me, all you taste is me, until your every breath belongs to me, until" —I place my hand over hers— "I bring you to your knees and have you begging me to show you every depraved thing I can do to you, until I bring every secret, perverted dream of yours to life, until you’re begging me to show you just how far I can push you, until you surprise even yourself."
Her breath hitches.
"I want to arouse you to the extent you have no other thoughts but how it will be to have my cock buried in your pussy, my fingers in your arse, my tongue in your mouth, and how I’ll take you to the edge until you beg me to come and even then I won’t let you—"
"Unless?" She breathes.
"Unless you beg me and plead with me and submit to me."
To find out what happens next read Hunter and Zara’s story in the Christmas one night stand HERE
Read Sinclair and Summer’s story HERE
Read Michael and Karma’s story HEREWant to read a deleted scene from Mafia Lust featuring Lena and JJ? Click HERE
Read an excerpt from Mafia King – Michael and Karma’s story
Karma
"Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day…"
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Goddamn Byron. His words creep up on me when I am at my weakest. Not that I am a poetry addict, by any measure, but words are my jam. The one consolation I have is that, when everything else in the world is wrong, I can turn to them, and they’ll be there, friendly, steady, waiting with open arms.
And this particular poem had laced my blood, crawled into my gut when I’d first read it. Darkness had folded within me like an insidious snake, that raises its head when I least expect it. Like now, when I look out on the still sleeping city of London, from the grassy slope of Waterlow Park.
Somewhere out there, the Mafia is hunting me, apparently. It's why my sister Summer and her new husband Sinclair Sterling had insisted that I have my own security detail. I had agreed... only to appease them... then given my bodyguard the slip this morning. I had decided to come running here because it's not a place I'd normally go... Not so early in the morning, anyway. They won’t think to look for me here. At least, not for a while longer.
I purse my lips, close my eyes. Silence. The rustle of the wind between the leaves. The faint tinkle of the water from the nearby spring.
I could be the last person on this planet, alone, unsung, bound for the grave.
