Consumed by Desire: A Dark Mafia Romance

He pulls me toward him and I finally release myself from the shame and torment. I shift myself, move my hips, and straddle him, arching my back and pushing my ass down into his lap as I shove my mouth against his, kissing him with a wildness I didn’t know I felt. His hand tightens in my hair and he kisses me back, and I move down against him, bearing myself down on his cock as he slowly stiffens between my legs.

God, it’s just like I remember. The moment I let go, all my self-control evaporates and I throw myself at him. My ego disappears, my fear puffs into smoke, everything shrinks down and I can live with a startling, beautiful focus. There’s only him, our lips, our bodies. I can’t help it—I need it—I need to feel him thick between my thighs groaning, biting, sweating, promising to always take care of me. Promising to make me feel good, but never promising not to hurt me.

I bite his lip hard and stare into his eyes, my hands bunching into his hair. “If I help you with the Russian, you have to promise not to kill him. Swear you won’t kill Danil.”

Casso’s smirk drives me wild, but his hard cock makes it seem like ecstasy. “And why would I promise that?”

“Because otherwise you can go fuck yourself. Promise you won’t murder Danil no matter what happens. Not without my permission first.”

“I will avoid hurting him at all costs.”

I know that’s the best I’ll get, so I pull his hair and I hope it makes the bastard groan. He doesn’t disappoint. He never does.

His eyes flash and he tilts his chin up. I kiss him slow, moaning as I grind myself tight against his crotch, and when I feel like I can’t take anymore, when the ecstasy is agony and my world is a pinpoint, only my lips and his and the fine line between pleasure and pain, only then do I rip myself away. I stagger back, putting distance between us, and nearly trip over a small pile of stones.

I can’t do this. I can’t mess this up again, not again. Not when I don’t have anything I want, and he holds all the cards.

“Running away? I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s your specialty.” His words are lightning bolts against my defenses. He picks up the abandoned wine bottle and finishes it. When the last red drop falls on his tongue, he throws the battle and it smashes in the darkness.

I shake my head, hair moving wildly. “We’ll work together, but no more than that.”

“No, princess, no more than that.” But his eyes say he’s lying.

I run back to the house.

Chapter 8

Casso

I refill Nico’s glass and sit down beside him, my elbows on the bar. The game room’s quiet, the pool table’s set up and ready for a game, but neither of us feels like playing. He toasts me and drinks, and I sip my whiskey, staring at my distorted reflection in the bottles. Thinking of Olivia the night before. Her legs straddling my hips, her ass grinding down against my stiff cock as she tugged at my hair. Don’t hurt the Russian. Why the hell not?

“You’re in a bad mood,” Nico comments, which isn’t all that astute. No kidding I’m in a bad moon. Olivia’s back in my life and I’m apparently not allowed to murder a man that’s pushing into my territory.

“Things are complicated.”

“With Olivia?”

I clink his glass with mine. “You’re the big winner.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when the great playboy Casso was brought low by a woman.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He grins. “That’s your sister you’re talking about.”

“Just saying, nothing’s ever simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be all bad, you know.”

“Are you about to tell me that I can have a happy little life just like you and my sister? Because I am extremely uninterested in having that conversation again.”

“I guess Karah got to you already.” He laughs softly, a low rumble. “Then I’ll say what she won’t. You don’t have to fall in love with Olivia. You don’t even have to like her. But you do have to be a good husband and a good father if you two have kids.”

“It’s hard to hear a lesson in honesty from a guy that weaseled his way into my family and murdered my father.”

His face falters and I grin viciously. I shouldn’t use it against him like a cudgel but I can’t help myself—the wounds might’ve healed, but the scars are still there. I understand his motivations and I’m even glad he had the balls to do what needed to be done—for my mother’s sake especially, even if that wasn’t what he meant—but I still wonder about our friendship. Was it all fake? Was any of it real?

“Regardless of what I’ve done, it’s still the truth.”