Matched to the Mafia (Seeking Curves)

I pulled away with an almost scandalized gasp leaving my lips, and he chuckled deeply, one that held genuine amusement.

“You act so shy now, Bianca?” His lips were still close to mine, his mouth gently brushing mine with every word he said. “Yet where was that shyness when I was licking your pussy the other night?” He tightened his fingers on my nape, and I couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from me. “Or when I stretched you wide with my big cock and made you take every single inch?”

Oh God. I was getting so aroused, and this was the worst possible time.

“You have to stop, or I won't be able to form a coherent conversation when I finally meet your mother.” I felt him grin against my mouth before he gave me another soft kiss and pulled away.

I exhaled, my head clearing now that he wasn’t pressed right up against me. Slowly, his desire ebbed, and a seriousness took its place.

“My mother will love you, Bianca. You’re intelligent and witty, articulate and gorgeous. The only thing she might scoff at is that you’re not Italian.” I felt my eyes widen, because surely he had to be kidding. He smirked at me, and I lightly smacked his arm as a smile tugged at my lips. “But don’t take it personally. She was brought up to feel and think that way, and I certainly don’t care about what your heritage or ethnicity is.” He leaned forward again and growled, “You’re fucking perfect in my eyes.”

I shivered and sucked in a breath, but thankfully he didn’t kiss me again. I wouldn’t have been able to stop the need in me if he’d taken control once more. Where Enzo’s touches were concerned, I could hardly control myself.

I looked back at his mother’s home and reasoned that a traditional Italian family, especially one revolving around the mafia, was probably stringent on bloodlines. But a warmth bloomed in my chest as I thought about Enzo and how he wasn’t willing to give me up and didn’t care what anyone said concerning his relationship with me.

I exhaled slowly and glanced at him. With one last smoldering look, as if he were fighting with his control and whether to just fuck me right here in the car, he got out of the Mercedes and walked around to open the passenger side door for me.

For as hard and dominating as Enzo was, he was old-fashioned in the gentleman department. It was strange how such small acts like opening doors or pulling out chairs could make a woman feel special and treasured.

And Enzo excelled at making me feel like that immensely.

He placed his palm on the small of my back, and together we walked up the stone steps to the front door. It opened as if his mother had been waiting for us, probably looking out a window. I felt myself blush again at what she’d probably seen Enzo and me doing in the car just moments before.

Great first impression.

Enzo’s mother looked me up and down, but there was no scrutinization or judgment in her eyes. In fact, there was almost an appreciation, if I was going to be so bold as to assume.

“Mother, this is Bianca Alfonso.” Enzo still had his hand on the small of my back, a reassuring, calm presence that kept me grounded in the situation.

I didn’t know why I was so nervous. I was a grown woman, yet this moment seemed pretty monumental. It seemed like things were moving in a very serious and fast direction for my and Enzo’s relationship.

“It’s really nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Santini.”

“Alfonso?” his mother prompted, and I felt the firm pressure of Enzo’s fingers at my back. I could practically feel his amusement. “You’re not Italian?” There was more curiosity in her tone than anything else.

“No. Portuguese. On my father’s side.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to tell her that, but it was clear she was very proud of her heritage—maybe even old school about it—and I could understand her wanting the same culture and life for her son.

Her smile blossomed on her face, and I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding it in. For some reason, her approval of me meant a great deal, even if Enzo said it didn’t matter one way or another.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Bianca.” Mrs. Santini reached out and took my hands in hers, surprising me as she gave them a little squeeze, coupled with a smile. “But please call me Nina. Mrs. Santini was my mother-in-law.” She smiled wider. “I can see why my son fell for you as fast as he did. You’re absolutely stunning.” She held my arms out and appraised me. “Beautiful.”

And just like that, I felt that tension leave me, that uncomfortable awkwardness of meeting her for the first time totally vanishing.