His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(18)

Perfect or not, I don’t have time for him, so I try to push past him, ignoring the jolts of warmth that flow through my fingers and to my core as I touch him. He grabs my arm, firm, almost painfully tight. Even without pulling, I know he’ll let me go if I try to break free, but he knows I won’t. He holds me not with his strong hands, but with the power of his will.

I look up into his eyes and the cocky bastard just winks, like he knows exactly what his touch is doing to me.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, doll.”

Doll? Normally the pet name would piss me off, but something about watching it spill from his perfect lips makes it pass over me like cold honey, giving me chills that I don’t want to go away, like his voice is a physical thing that can slide inside me and activate all my nerves and senses, priming them for his approach.

“How did you get my number? How did you find where I live?” I ask.

He frowns. “Come on. You knew I was going to do my research on you. I couldn’t just let you walk out of my life. Not after what you saw. Not after what you did to me,” he whispers the last, moving his face close to mine until his breath brushes hot against my neck.

Against my will, I moan softly, realizing he has pulled me closer to his body until his hardness is pressed against my belly. “I-I have to go to work,” I say quietly, feeling my good sense and logic quickly giving way to desire.

“Work? There’s no game tonight.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. Does he think the entirety of my job is just showing up to the game and looking pretty while I say a few quick lines about the score? “I’m supposed to be on the news floor, writing copy.”

He squints like I just spoke another language, but apparently doesn’t care enough to ask more. “When do you get off?”

I blush, mind going totally blank. I know he doesn’t mean anything sexual, but looking into those dark eyes and breathing in his irresistible scent is blinding me to anything else. All I can think of is getting off, like getting off while his length is inside me.

His eyes narrow with laughter when he realizes my dilemma. “You really can’t stop think about fucking me, can you?”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but I manage to glare at him. “Get over yourself. You’re not that…” There are a hundred ways I could end the sentence, but I come up short when I search for the word to fit him. What isn’t he? Was I about to say not that hot? We would both know it for a lie in an instant.

He moves closer. “Not that what?”

“Nice,” I say stupidly.

His smile is all flirtation and fire. “I haven’t even begun to get nasty with you.”

I shudder. He says it like a promise. My clit throbs and it feels like every nerve ending is standing at attention, begging to be touched and caressed, ready to feel every single inch of him.

“I need to leave. I’m going to be late,” I say, meaning to push past him, but making the mistake of putting my hands on his chest. I suck in a breath, feeling the hard, carved muscle of his broad chest beneath my fingertips and the fire of his skin rising through his dress shirt.

Before I can even think, his mouth is over mine and his hot tongue is teasing my lips. I moan softly into him, squeezing his back tightly as I push my body against him. Then reality hits me and I pull back, breathing heavy. “I can’t do this. Not again.”

He tilts my chin up with his index finger. “Then we’ve got a problem, because I haven’t stopped thinking about that beautiful fuckin’ pussy of yours.”

My core clenches at the heat in his words and the way he looks at me. I know I could walk away. I could slip out from his grasp and he would only watch as I went down the stairs and headed to work. I know it…but at the same time, there’s a danger in his eyes that gives me a thrill for all the wrong reasons, like he might not let me go. Like it’s not a choice.

I bite my lip. “I can’t take too long,” I say, not believing the words even as they come out of my mouth. I’m really going to let this happen? After all the shit I gave myself for letting him fuck me, I’m doing it again. I just want to feel his power again, to feel the way he cherishes owning me and makes me his, like I’m the most important and precious thing in the world, even if it’s only temporary.

He takes me by the throat and pushes me to the wall, not quite painfully, but hard enough that my breath catches in my throat. I look into his eyes and see danger and darkness, but it only intensifies the sensations.

“Yellow means ease off, red means stop.” He rasps into my ear. “Understand?”