Page 23 of Abducted By the Mafia Don

“You’re mine, Taggie.” She doesn’t respond. Of course she doesn’t. She’s asleep.

“I want us to be a family, and you to wear my name for real. Not because you’re scared, but because you love me.”

It’s a raw confession.

“I need to be inside you in every way.”

I sigh as I look at her. I can’t have that. Can I?

A glance down at my hand, and to her parted lips and a filthy idea occurs to me.

So wrong. And yet even as I tell myself that, I’m sitting on the edge of her bed—good thing this is an outrageously expensive mattress, so it only gives beneath me—and bending over her.

I scoop white ejaculate onto my fingertip, and hold it just above her mouth, watching with savage delight as it drips in.

“That’s it. Take your husband’s come. Swallow it,” I murmur.

She doesn’t. But it calms some primal part of me that I’m inside her. My seed is on her tongue.

I need more.

Wiping my hand carelessly on my underwear, I shift so I’m braced fully over her, one fist on either side of her shoulders.

“It’s difficult to explain this feeling, Taggie.” I don’t know why I’m talking to her as though she can hear. My girl obviously sleeps like the dead. “I want to bepart ofyou.”

I brush kisses over her cheeks, soft as rose petals, then pause.

“My sweet little doll.” Pursing my lips, I let a drop of saliva fall, stretching out until it connects us, until finally it breaks and it’s there.

Another small bit of me, in her.

I wish it were a baby. One day, I swear, it will be my baby filling her belly.

10

TAGGIE

“Is there a way to make my bedroom hotter?” I ask as he walks me upstairs at the end of another night of socialising. This was a less formal event, a dinner party. Dom sat next to me, his arm around my shoulders, as I chatted with Jessa Lambeth about fairy smut. He didn’t talk much, just listening and toying with my hair. Dropping the occasional kiss to my cheek with measured affection.

Always the distant gentleman, my fake husband.

I’m going to try tobreakhim.

Dom shoots me a dark look. “You’re cold?”

“A little.” I wonder how far I can take this? “I think I’d sleep better if it was warmer, and I wasn’t squashed under the blankets.”

“You’re finding it difficult to sleep?”

“Oh, no, I reassure him. I just wake up cold.” And alone. “I thought it would be nicer to be warm. Granny’s house is always warm. Probably too hot for most people.” I laugh and cross my fingers behind my back to dispel the lie. Surely Granny wouldn’t mind me slighting her excellent housekeeping if she knew it was such a good cause.

A horny cause, admittedly.

However perfectly he plays the loving husband in public, he never touches me when we’re alone and I’m awake. But last night’s brushes of his hands on my skin have kindled a burning need in me. I want him to lose control.

So I’m going to lure him. Tempt him. If he needs me to be asleep to reveal his desires?

Okay. Game on.