Mafia King (Mafia Royals 3.5)

He’d called my bluff.

And now I had to wash his back.

His very buff back.

Me and my big, fat mouth.

I liked goading him.

He made me feel—more normal that way.

So, with an irritated sigh meant for myself, I pulled his t-shirt over my head, then very slowly walked around the corner and into the shower.

Both showerheads were on.

Steam billowed everywhere again.

Without turning around, Tank handed me a washcloth, and I went to work, my eyes traveling down his tanned muscular back like a woman starved.

It wasn’t like I’d never had sex.

Just last year, I’d decided to get it over with and had been so disappointed that I literally lay there and went, “That was it?”

It was just a random guy from Eagle Elite. We were at a party, and I pulled him into a room and started making out with him. I’d wanted it over with. I’d wanted to feel—to feel something other than that deep, etched sadness.

And he had done nothing to make me feel better.

If anything, I was so disappointed when it hurt and then when he pumped his hips a magical three times—only to spill into me with a roar that definitely wasn’t deserved—I mean, he didn’t even do any work!

My body was still in pain.

I was sticky.

And I kind of wanted to pull my knife on him.

Okay, not kind of.

We never spoke again after that, and though I’d made out with a few guys since then out of sheer boredom, nobody had ever made me feel how Tank did—from just washing his stupid old-man back.

Ugh.

I wanted to slap the rag against his skin.

Instead, I moved my hand in a circular motion as if I were super confident and could stay there all night long.

“Done,” I announced.

“Your turn.” He turned around, his green eyes flashing as he took the rag from my hand and then made a turning motion with his hand.

Slowly, I did just that and let out a little gasp when he moved a tendril of hair, tucking it into my messy bun as he continued washing, moving the washcloth up and down my back, then side to side.

Chills erupted down my arms despite the hot water. When I thought he would say something snarky or just drop the washcloth, his hand moved again, the cloth swiftly passing from my lower back to the front of my hips, then up across my belly button and beneath my breasts as he slowly massaged and seduced.

A shudder ran through my body like an electric current. How was he doing this with a stupid washcloth?

How was I responding so fervently to a small touch like this?

“Last year…” Tank moved closer until his wet chest pressed against my back, his thick length pulsing against my lower back and butt. “I almost kissed you last year.”

“What stopped you?” I asked.

“It was either kiss or kill. And perhaps the sickest part about this entire dilemma is that I think it would have been easier to kill you than to kiss you and have you walk away or reject me.”

I grabbed his wrist, the washcloth frozen by my breasts. “And now? Now, what do you want?”

My pulse thudded in my ears as I waited.

He was my bodyguard.

But my brain never forgot about the badge he carried around.

And about what that meant with a last name like mine.

“Kiss.” He let out a rough exhale. “Definitely kiss.”

He flipped me around in his arms and lifted me against the tile wall, his mouth crashing against mine as I tried to match him kiss for kiss, tongue for tongue, his hips pressed into me, making it impossible not to feel the throbbing heat of him.

With a grunt, he pulled away, his green eyes gleaming with lust. “Is the safe word still Sea turtle?” He winked. “Just checking.”

My jaw hung a bit before I spoke. “Did you really just kiss me and make a joke like my dad wouldn’t murder you if he found out?”

“I kissed you, but you seduced me. Big difference.”

“I did not!” I put my hands on my hips. “I’ve never even—”

His mouth covered mine again, and with a whimper, I dug my hands into his hair, tugging at his golden-brown locks, shamelessly rubbing my body against his.

He broke away, panting. “Did, too. Every day for the last year, you’ve been tempting me to either strangle you or turn you over onto my knee and spank the hell out of you for being so argumentative…so, really, this is all your fault. I’m sure he’ll see it my way.”

“It was just one kiss,” I argued.

“Two.” And then he lowered his mouth again, a gorgeous smirk forming across his lips. “Three.” Another kiss. “Four.” He backed away.

With a growl, I pulled his head back. “What? Can’t count past four?”

He grinned against my mouth, then slowly lowered me to my feet.