Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

She was delicious. The way she struggled against me, the way she fought, the smooth skin on her throat and neck, those lips, god, I bet she’d bite me hard if I tried to kiss her. I wanted to find out. I moved my tongue and lips up along her jaw toward her ear.

“Promise you won’t run,” I whispered, cupping her ass tight.

“Fine,” she spit. “Let me go, bastard.”

I released her. She stepped back, shaking with rage. Her eyes flared up at me and I smiled, my blood racing. I wanted her back against me, wanted to feel her ass in my hands, wanted to cup her breasts and lick her nipples and make her back arch as my fingers caressed the small bones of her back, touching each one like a staircase to the base of her skull.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll take you home.”

“Don’t you have a party to attend?” she asked. “Or are you just going to harass me all night?”

“They’ll be fine without me,” I said. “Now come on. I want to make sure you get home safe.”

She hesitated, but when I started to walk to the car, she followed. Her skin was bright pink and she breathed fast, her breasts rising and falling with each suck of air, and I didn’t know if she was flustered with anger or lust or both.

God, I think it was both.

We didn’t talk on the way home. We didn’t need to. She sat there seething, and I thought of her lips and body against mine, and the taste of her pussy on my tongue, her wedding dress thrown back, her body exposed and aching for me.

8

Mags

I worked very hard to avoid Dean for the next few days. Fortunately, it was easy—after they backed him as the Don, he was suddenly much busier.

Bea was a constant, comforting presence. She cooked meals when the chef wasn’t working and I’d sit at the table and gossip about the staff. She was funny and clever and an incredible cook.

“You should get paid for this,” I said, taking a big slice of the most incredible apple pie I’d ever seen in my life. “Seriously Bea. Whatever he’s paying you, double it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could do that,” she said. “I’m happy to do it, really. I like baking.”

“Never took to it,” I said, shoveling a bit forkful into my mouth. A small radio played Top 40 hits nearby and the gleaming stainless steel of the semi-professional kitchen looked like the inside of a refrigerator. “But I really do like the end product.”

She smiled and sat down across from me. “Listen dear, I’ve been thinking,” she said, and I sensed that this wasn’t going to be great, so I put more pie in my mouth. “What do you plan on doing while you’re here?”

I shrugged a little and waved the fork around. “This,” I said with a full mouth.

She made a face. “Chew and swallow, dear.”

I obeyed and sighed. “Dean asked me the same question,” I said.

“Did he now?” She raised an eyebrow. “What’d you tell him?”

“I told him I planned on sitting around for the next five years,” I said. “He didn’t believe me.”

“I don’t either,” Bea said. “Why not help me cook? Or we can find a hobby for you, or maybe you can go back to school.”

“School?” I asked. “I doubt he’d let me do that.”

“There are online degrees,” she said. “Lots of them. And we can afford them, God knows it.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I said softly, taking another enormous bite. I was going to choke, but that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

The doorbell rang, deep and booming. Bea jumped to her feet like a trained animal. “Think about it,” she said, brushing her hands on the apron. “We can talk later.” She scurried off to get the door.

Poor Bea stuck in this house, but at least she had a purpose. Even though it’d been a few days, I was starting to think that Dean was right about me.

Which only made me mad. The bastard didn’t know me and yet he acted like he did. I kept thinking about that night after the club when he pulled me against him, kissing my neck, feeling my ass, all to tease me into submission, and I hated that it worked. I was embarrassed that he could so easily manipulate me.

But then again, I couldn’t stay bored for five years out of spite.

Bea returned a minute later, looking chagrined. “It’s your uncle, dear,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll hide out here.”

“He’s here to see you, actually.” She gestured back toward the living room. “I have him in there.”

I didn’t move. “Can I still hide in here?” I asked.

“Better not,” she said.

I sighed, stood, and looked sadly at the pie. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered.