Mafia Captive (Mafia Menage Trilogy 1)

“Okay,” she agreed, seemingly unconcerned at the prospect of getting in the car with a near-stranger. I should’ve pointed out that her decision-making could put her at risk with another man, but I didn’t want to spook her. So I said nothing, swallowing the urge to correct her.

There were other, darker ways I’d like to reprimand her. More times than I could count, I’d envisioned the way her shapely ass would bounce beneath my hand as I spanked her.

But she was far too pure and perfect to be subjected to such perversions. For her, I could hold back that particularly savage part of myself. I’d spare her from the worst of my animal urges.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to touch her.

I allowed her to catch up a step, and when she was within reach, I placed my hand at the small of her back. She didn’t protest. Instead, a light shiver raced through her body.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered slightly, and I suspected she wasn’t simply chilled from the cool night air. “Um, I’m still not used to this weather. I’m a Georgia girl.”

“What year are you?”

Please don’t say freshman. If she was eighteen or under, I couldn’t justify fucking her. Not if she was more than five years younger than me.

“Sophomore,” she replied. “This is my second year at Harvard, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the cold.”

I took the invitation to wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her closer to my body heat. She leaned into me, tucking herself against my side like she belonged there.

I couldn’t hold back the satisfied smile that twisted my lips.

“You should wear a jacket,” I admonished, although I was grateful for the excuse to hold her.

“I wear about five layers or more to class, but I don’t like to wear a coat to the bar. I don’t want to lose it. I usually jump in and out of an Uber, so it’s not too bad.”

I didn’t say it aloud, but I’d appreciated her more form-fitting dresses many times. I didn’t at all mind that she decided to forgo her multiple layers.

We arrived at my car—a beaten-up black Corolla I’d bought in cash from a more unscrupulous dealer. I hadn’t wanted the purchase to be traced back to me. Every move I’d made since relocating to Cambridge had been calculated to cover my tracks.

I’d been careful. It was highly unlikely that anyone would find me. The risk to Ashlyn was minimal. And even on the slim chance that a threat did arise, I could protect her.

My chest swelled as she pressed herself even closer to my side, trusting me completely. I’d defended her from that creep in the bar, and it’d felt damn good to unleash my violent instincts to protect rather than to punish. Especially when Ashlyn stared at me with those big blue eyes like I was some kind of fucking hero.

With every passing second, her nearness intoxicated me, and it was becoming easier to convince myself that I could claim her. That I should claim her.

That fucker who’d put his hands on her might not leave her alone, no matter what I’d threatened. It would be better for her if I was around to keep her safe.

My resolve firmed as I guided her to the passenger side and opened the door for her, taking her hand as she slid into the seat. Unwilling to break physical contact so soon, I leaned in and buckled her seatbelt, allowing my hands to linger around her body for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“I can get it,” she protested, but her breathing hitched.

“You could,” I allowed, smirking with satisfaction. She hadn’t batted my hands away, and her protest had been husky with desire.

I was definitely getting that goodnight kiss.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked when I got into the driver’s seat. I glanced over at her, assessing. The streetlight caught in her lovely eyes, making them shine like gemstones.

“What? Oh, yeah. The Stu thing. I’m fine.”

Stu. I’d known for weeks that the bastard was interested in Ashlyn. I’d seen how he watched her, how he leaned in close when he talked to her. I hadn’t liked it, but she hadn’t been mine. I couldn’t stop other men from hitting on her when I had no claim over her.

But when he put his hands on her, all that had changed. The violence that brewed within me—the savage instincts I’d tried so hard to deny—had risen up with blinding force. It’d taken all my willpower to stop myself from smashing my fist into his nose and ruining his pretty-boy face.

“Thanks,” she said. Her dainty hand covered mine. “You didn’t have to defend me like that.”

“Yes, I did.” I couldn’t have stood back and watched him touch her. She was too pure for his taint.