No!
I bite the inside of my cheek. My nipples pebble, my belly trembles, and my thighs feel like they have turned to jelly. "Christian," I finally plead, "please."
"Please, what?"
He grazes his fingertips against the top of my pussy lips, and moisture beads my core.
"Bloody hell," I whisper, "what are you doing to me?"
"Do you know you sound even more British when you’re turned on?"
I huff. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It’s certainly different. Most people relapse into the accent of their childhood in situations of high emotion. You, however, have gone the other way."
"My time in England was one of the happiest times of my life." I swallow. "I guess I wanted to cling to the British accent because it has such good memories for me."
"And you never were happy to be from a Mafia background." He brushes his lips against my temple. "Yet here you are, in the arms of a Mafioso, begging him to fuck you."
"Fuck," I squeeze my eyes shut, "fuck, fuck, fuck."
"I didn’t say it to make you regretful, Flower."
"You’re right, though. I spent all my life running away from the Mafia; I should have realized that your background always comes back to haunt you. That you have to face your past before you can move on."
"I’m not your past, Flower," he says in a hard voice. "I’m your present and your future."
"No," I shake my head, "I don’t want that."
"Fine." He pulls his arm from under me and rolls away. The cold instantly overpowers me. I shiver, goose bumps pop on my skin, and I drag the cover up and under my chin. It’s no substitute for the warmth from his hard, naked body, which had cocooned me.
I hear him pad over to the other side of the room. A door snicks shut, and I realize he’s stepped into the bathroom. I swing my legs over the side, pull the cover up and over my shoulders, then walk into the living room.
I take in the comfortable sofa flanked by two chairs in front of the fire. Next to it is a side table with a basket of yarn, complete with knitting needles. Also, there is a sewing kit which is open, with satin ribbons trailing from it. Next to it is a chess set and various board games. Whoever furnished this place knew to provide various ways to amuse yourself inside.
I turn to find him walking into the living room. Still, completely naked. I rake my gaze down his sculpted chest, his concave stomach, the divots that run down each side of his belly to his groin, forming a perfect Adonis belt, and between that, his cock, which is already standing to attention. Hell, doesn’t this guy believe in downtime?
He smirks, and my cheeks heat.
He walks in the direction of the back of the lodge then returns with our clothes in his arms. "Here." He hands mine over to me.
"You ran them in the wash?" I blink rapidly.
"Figured we'd need our clothes this morning, so…" His tone is casual.
"So, you woke up in the middle of the night and ran the washing machine so we could have clean clothes in the morning?"
"Your point being?" He scowls.
"Hmm," I tap my cheek, "so you don’t think of doing laundry as a woman's job or something suitably chauvinistic?"
His eyes gleam. "Now that you mention it..." he drawls.
My scowl deepens, and his lips kick up.
"Take it easy, Flower, I was just kidding you. I admit, I have a housekeeper who comes in daily to do my laundry and take care of my place, but yeah, in a pinch, I can run a washing machine."
"Don’t do us any favors." I raise my gaze skywards.