Page 18 of Abducted By the Mafia Don

“How about a kiss so we’re the same as all these other couples?” he murmurs as he dips his head.

“Okay,” I breathe, and I get all the prizes for understatement.

Dom though, is an actor worthy of shiny gold awards that are heavy enough to brain someone with, because he lets out a groan like he’s been longing for ten thousand years to kiss me, holding my waist and lifting me clean off the floor.

My eyelids flutter closed.

Then our lips touch, and I realise the disadvantage of faking that we’re already married. Because my breath is stolen. He kisses me like it’s his right to take my lips, my air, my soul sucked out through my mouth.

This kiss gives no consideration for the fact I’m inexperienced, or it’s the first time we’ve done this. It takes. Itdemands and refuses to listen to anything but a moan of pleasure that inevitably is torn from my chest.

His tongue is in my mouth in a bold sweep, hot and possessive, as though I’m his fuck toy.

He shifts his hand and plunges it into my hair, careless of the hours the hairdresser spent making the curls beautiful, and I don’t care either because he holds me gently but firmly, just pulling at my scalp enough to make me feel his strength and dominance over me. His power, all leashed for me.

My clit pulses.

This kiss is a whole-body experience, from my toes that are off the ground now as he presses me to him, to the tips of my hair, held in his big hand. Sparks shower through me as I feel a bulge in his trousers, hot and hard.

He’s aroused. By me.

Then as quickly as he initiated the kiss, he sets me down and draws away. He meets my gaze and for a split second all my shock and confusion and desire are mirrored in his expression. Then his dark eyes glint with golden brown, and he smiles, soft and almost sad.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yeah. I…”

This is fake. That was a fake first kiss.

I flick my gaze to the side. One of the wives is watching us, while holding a baby, an indulgent look on her face as she talks to her husband. He glances over, then rolls his eyes.

“I think we fooled them. Not bad for a first go.” I make light of it.

“What do you mean?” my fake husband demands.

“Just that I… Well.” I’m blushing, and I wish I hadn’t brought this up.

He waits, brows low, completely focused on me. It’s as intense as his kiss, his attention. There’s no getting away from it, but it’s not like I want to.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” I confess in a rush.

The shock that dawns on his face is almost comical.

“How…”

I think of my mother, having me far too young, and never seeing me grow up. I think of Granny’s cutting wit, and emphasis that education and money are a better investment than boys who only leave you knocked up and penniless. I think of how none of the boys I know do anything for me.

And then I look into Dom’s fathomless dark eyes, and I burn.

“Never had the right opportunity,” I say.

He sighs, and reaching out, cups my jaw. “You should have told me,” he rumbles. “We could have practised first so you weren’t… Distressed.”

“I wasn’t.” Quite the opposite. Although if you count horniness as distress, then yeah. I guess so.

How am I going to fake being Dom’s wife when the way I want him is painfully real?

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