His low, dark chuckle promises wicked things. My heart beats faster.
“No, doll,” he says, sobering in a way that excites me. “I mean in bed. Tell me what you like.”
“So this is up to me?” I ask, curious if he’s really going to give up control. It was either the right or the wrong question to ask because, that quickly, all traces of humor leave his face. He’s suddenly very serious.
“I didn’t say that,” he says, shaking his head. There’s a sober tone to his voice that sets my heart to racing. “Someone’s really trying to start off our night with a trip over Daddy’s knee?”
Oh, fuck.
My heart beats so hard the blood pounds in my ears, nearly deafening. I swallow to calm my nerves and shake my head. “Nah,” I say nervously. “No need for that.”
“You say you don’t want that,” he says meditatively, stroking his stubbled chin. “Then why does the idea of going over my lap excite you?”
“It doesn’t,” I lie, ignoring the way my heartbeats turn frantic. I try to toss my hair, but instead of coming across as all gracious and nonchalant, a few strands stick fast to my lip gloss. I pull them away. His eyes are so intent on me, it feels as if he’s got X-ray vision.
I watch his lips on the glass. He doesn’t sip, he sucks the alcohol right out and somehow makes it… sexy. Hell, everything he does is so sexy, I’m already aroused as fuck.
With a sigh, as if he’s disappointed in my behavior (and why does that excite me, too?), he places his drink on a side table and walks over to a large, tufted ottoman in front of an overstuffed armchair. All the while, he’s tapping his fingers against his thigh as if he has all the time in the world.
I look wildly about the room. The shades are drawn, which puts me a little more at ease. I was afraid whatever he’s about to do would be on display for anyone and everyone in the city of Boston to see.
But, no. We’re alone.
“Come here, doll.” Taking a seat on the ottoman, he pats his knee with his big hand.
“And… do what?”
He quirks up a brow at me.
“Prove to me that going over my lap doesn’t turn you on.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
I watch as the humor fades from his expression. For the first time, cast in the overhead light, I note a scar on his chin and a glint in his eyes. I glance at his wrist again and wish I could see the rest of the scrolling ink that’s tucked under the cuff.
“I am,” he says with a cool, calm confidence that gets my attention loud and clear. “Now come over here before I have to fetch you.” His voice lowers to a warning tone. “And if I have to do that, you’re going to wish I hadn’t.”
Another lap pat.
“Come. Here. Now.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Mario
Every time she talks, I crave her a little bit more. Every time she moves, my body responds instinctively, wanting to taste and touch and worship her. Every time her eyes meet mine, I give a little bit of my heart away.
No. I can’t let myself go, not with her. The woman’s dangerous.
Which is exactly what you love about her.
Normally, I’m the one holding the danger card. But this time…
She wants this so badly, she’s practically salivating. But I know how this works. I already know she’ll enjoy this, and I’m here to savor every minute of our night together.
Time feels as if it’s slowed, but I’m used to living life in the fast lane. Fast cars and beautiful women, liquid courage and money that flows through my fingers like water. I’m not used to relishing moments like this. But tonight… tonight feels different.
I shut off my phone and went dark. My brothers will fucking kill me for this, but it feels like tonight, it’s worth it. They could trace me to my location and probably will, but if I’m not responding they’ll leave me alone unless it’s an emergency.
She doesn’t know who I am, but every member of staff in this hotel does. They’ve kept a room for me and guards stand at every door. She doesn’t know that, either, but she’s also intelligent and observant.
I wish I’d thought of a more unique place to take her, something more than a fucking expensive hotel, but it’s our only time together and I know our needs—especially privacy and anonymity—will be well provided for here.
And I can’t have her know who I am. If I start pulling out addresses of safe houses or one of my private residences in the North End…
I’m not sure why my identity needs to be kept a secret from this one. I don’t normally give a shit.