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God. How could I have missed it? Now that he’s standing here in front of me, all darkness and ruthless power, his real name blaring in my head, I can clearly see it. What I’d mistaken for sadness and pain is nothing more than the dangerous aura thrown off by a man born from a merciless world. A member of the deadly Gianni family.
“You were taking a nap?” He moves toward the couch, bending over me, his eyes boring into mine as he leans in for a kiss.
He tastes different now that I know who he is. Or maybe he’s always tasted like this, but it’s only now that I’m realizing exactly what’s slithering across my tongue. Lethal ruthlessness. And to my utter shame, my body responds to it even more powerfully than it did before.
I inhale his scent, moaning as he deepens the kiss, following him upward hypnotically when he breaks it.
As if he’s just now noticing, he turns abruptly to the window washer. His eyes narrow, then he looks down at me.
“Come,” he says, gripping my wrist and tugging me over the back of the couch.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could take me home. I think it’s time I speak with my father.”
Without replying, he pulls me closer to the window. My heart catches in my throat when I see that I didn’t right the chair at all, just somehow tossed it in a different direction. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it.
Instead, he moves me until I’m inches from the glass. Standing behind me, he wraps his fingers around my wrists and presses my palms to the window.
“Keep your hands there,” he orders.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he trails his fingers over my breasts to the buttons of my shirt.
“Shh.” One by one, he undoes them. When he’s done, he spreads open my shirt and pulls down on my bra until my nipples pop over the top. “Just think, Emily, you’re six inches from him. He has no idea that on the other side, a beautiful young woman is about to get fucked. Does that turn you on? Or would you rather he be able to see your perfect tits right now?”
There’s something in his tone that sets off even more red flags in my mind. It screams danger. It begs me to run.
But unless I plan on running circles around his living room, there’s nowhere for me to go. So I remain immobile. Don’t even make a peep. I’m not sure I could if I wanted to. Not when his hands are like fire on my bare skin and my body overrules my thoughts.
“Are you wet, Emily?”
“Yes,” I whisper truthfully. So wet and so ready, my clit is already throbbing.
Roughly, he unzips his pants and yanks down on my jeans, and then he’s inside me. Thrusting madly, fucking me against the window, his hands vise grips on my wrists. And the insanity brought on by the sensation of him in me makes me want to scream!
However, I don’t get to come, not this time. This time, he takes his pleasure, fucking me like the beast and devil I called him. Not caring if I’m slammed into the glass in his desire to get off.
The closer he gets to his climax, the harder he pounds into me, and the more I realize everything has changed.
But it’s not until he’s done, filling me with every last drop, that I get a clear picture of the peril I’m really in. Because being a mobster isn’t the worst thing he could be. It’s being a mobster who wants revenge.
His dick still pulsing inside me, he leans in and whispers in my ear the words that make my gut clench and my heart nearly stop.
“I know you killed my father.”
19
NOAH
Taking me by surprise, Emily shoves back with all her might. I stumble, but my grip on her wrists doesn’t loosen.
“Let me go!” she screams, squirming enough that my dick slides out of her, but she still can’t get free. It takes her a while of yanking and fighting to finally exhaust herself. “Please let me go.” It’s a plea this time.
“No.”
After driving around for hours, my mind a warring jumble of thoughts, I returned home only to sit in the car for another hour. I came in, ready to do my duty. But when I saw her there, a sleeping beauty in my bed, it didn’t matter that her eyes were closed. I couldn’t do it.
Angry with myself, with life, with the ruthless loyalty to family that was crammed down my throat for years, I left again.
I needed to think. To process. To shut out the fucking quarreling voices in my head. All posed questions and possible solutions to a dilemma that shouldn’t be one.
