Holy shit. He’s a breathtaking masterpiece in a gray suit.
Dark hair, brooding eyes, a sharp jawline peppered with stubble.
His gaze travels down my face and over my body until it stops at my chest. He lifts a hand, one of his fingers reaching out to brush the skin between my breasts. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. His touch holds me hostage as my whole body reacts to it, a low and pleasant hum radiating through my blood.
What the hell is going on?
The contact is brief, not lasting for more than a second or two, but it feels like he just imprinted himself on my skin.
He lifts his thumb to his mouth. “Mmmm. Delicious, just like I knew you’d taste.”
It’s then I notice the slight burn on my skin where he touched me, and the speck of blood that’s now smeared over several inches of my skin. Somehow, I must have unknowingly cut myself with the scissors. And . . . and this guy just tasted my blood.
Swinging my eyes back to his, I’m trapped in his penetrating gaze once more. Every neuron in my body fires, and it’s difficult to form a coherent thought.
The same thumb he just touched to his lips is suddenly in front of my mouth, and he stares at me intently. “Open up, sposa.”
My brain latches on to the fact that he just called me ‘bride,’ a terrible time to be reminded of my marital status and the reality that I’m expected to consummate my marriage tonight. My stomach churns at the idea of Luigi putting his repulsive dick inside me, but I push it back down. I can worry about that later.
Pressure against my lips snaps me out of my thoughts as this stranger presses his thumb in my mouth. My tongue acts on its own, twirling and sucking around it, as if on reflex. Or maybe it’s my subconscious enjoying this small instant of defiance, of doing something terribly forbidden, because I know I’ll never feel even an ounce of the same attraction for my husband as I do for this stranger.
Sometimes, our bodies form a connection that is purely based on instinct, which is the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for my reaction to him. His mere presence has turned my brain into a buzzing mess of static.
The sound that escapes his throat is almost feral, and before I have a chance to react, he pulls his thumb from my mouth and drags it down my chin and neck. When his hand closes around my throat and squeezes softly, a shiver of pure pleasure runs through my entire body.
His eyes are dark, liquid pools of pure lust, and I’m sure mine mirror his.
Agonizing moments later, his grip tightens at the same time he slams his mouth on mine. His lips are rough, his tongue invading my mouth like he owns it. His other hand lands on my hip, his fingers digging into my naked flesh and tugging me against the hard planes of his body.
A moan bubbles up in my throat, and he swallows every last bit of it.
I’ve never experienced anything like this, my senses completely overloaded.
I brush my hands against the expensive material of his white shirt. It’s soft under my fingertips, but the urge to rip it to shreds, so I can feel his hot skin underneath, is almost irresistible. His masculine woodsy scent surrounds me, and his thick length presses into my stomach.
Without thinking, I rise on my toes.
I need more of him.
I need him to touch me.
Everywhere.
I need him to turn my world so far upside down that it can never be righted again.
Just when his fingers brush the top of my panty line, a noise in the hallway snaps us out of this all-encompassing spell.
Taking a step back, I stare at him.
What the hell just happened?
And what was I thinking? Someone could have walked in on us. And if there’s one thing Papà has drilled into my cousins and the rest of the Fiore family, over and over, it’s to not fuck up. There are no second chances in the Mafia, not even for family.
We stare at each other until one corner of his mouth lifts, and he gives me a little salute.
“Ciao, passerotta. Until we meet again.”
With that, he leaves me standing there with my lips still parted, my panties wet, and an ache between my legs I’ve never felt before.