Page 18 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince

SIENA

O nce we’ve both orgasmed, I lean back, stunned at what just happened. It’s not like I’ve never had an intimate experience before, but this was different. I’ve never let myself go like that, so easily, effortlessly really.

I’ve never swallowed a man’s come either… and it wasn’t even a challenge. In fact, when the orgasm was pulsing through me, I enjoyed it.

Now he stands over me, naked, his thick manhood wilting. There’s a new tenseness in the air that wasn’t there before.

“I should get dressed,” I murmur.

He smirks. “You don’t have to.”

I look sternly at him. “Yes, Dario, I do. And so do you.”

He narrows his eyes. I think he might call me out on my hot-and-cold mood swings for a moment, but then he shrugs and picks up his briefs. I find my clothes and pull them on.

We sit together on the bed, his hand resting on my knee. Even after two releases, my body responds to the proximity.

“So, you got your island hookup,” I say. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be the real thing.”

“You’re the one who seems to think I just want a hookup, angel,” he says. “I’m happy to see where things go…”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I say, ignoring his words, the temptation in them. “I honestly just thought that would be a massage.”

“I wish I could say the same. Actually, that’s a lie; I don’t.” He wraps his arm around me. “Are you going to tell me you regret it?”

“I’m scared,” I whisper, too quiet for him to hear.

“What, Siena?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t do that.”

I sigh. “I said I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me.”

Is that the truth? I heard him on the phone, the darkness in his voice. But he’s protecting me, isn’t he?

“I usually stick to my word. I’m normally pretty awesome at that, actually, if I can toot my own trumpet. But with you, it’s difficult. Damn near impossible. And that scares me, okay, Dario? I don’t know if I should or shouldn’t feel that way… it’s just the way I feel.”

“Maybe you’re setting unrealistic expectations,” he says, squeezing my leg, his unshakable smirk on his lips. “Resisting me, Siena, really? You can’t do that anymore than I can resist you.”

“I think I just want to go to sleep, clear my head,” I say.

He lies on the bed. “Then let’s sleep.”

“No–separately.”

He flinches. I feel unfairly guilty… and a little silly.

I want to climb into his arms and sink into his warm embrace, but then one thing will lead to another, and before I know it, I’ll be daydreaming about him tomorrow instead of a future with my mother.

And let’s say this went somewhere, somehow.

Is he going to move to Atlantic City with me when it’s time to start Mom’s business again?

“Message received,” he says, getting up.

I’m sorry , I almost say, but I stop myself.

“Shall I put the sheet back up?” he asks.

“I think it’s fine. It’s not like we’ll see anything new.”

He smiles tightly. “But if I see you like that again, you can’t expect me to be civilized. And I don’t want to hear crap about ‘just friends’. We’re past that.”

“I’ll keep my PJs on, don’t worry.”

“You say that like I don’t have to use every ounce of willpower to resist you when you’re wearing those PJs.”

I roll my eyes. It feels fake, forced.

Lying down, my body hums with a contented sensation that feels new.

I’m not sure how long I lie here, wondering if sleep will ever come, before I finally drift off. In my dreams, nothing is complicated. I lie in a large bed on silk sheets, smiling up at Dario as he strokes his hand through my hair. I knew the moment I saw you…

I wake to the sound of a ringing phone, stand up, half asleep, and find the source of the noise. I answer it without thinking, without realizing it isn’t my cellphone.

“If you don’t do what we want, we’ll find you, motherfucker.”

I suck in a breath.

“We’ll find you and we’ll slit your thr?—”

Dario snatches the phone from my hand. He’s standing in just his underwear, and he looks pissed. His expression is unlike anything I’ve seen on his face before. His broad chest rises and falls with almost violent urgency.

He brings the phone to his ear. “I’ll call you back.”

Hanging up, he glares at me.

“Who was that?” I demand.

“Why are you answering my phone?”

“I asked you first.”

“That’s not how this works,” he grunts.

“They said they were going to slit my throat–well, your throat. They thought it was you. Who would say something like that? And why? What the hell, Dario?”

“One of my clients is pissed at losing his investment. Now he thinks he can threaten me to get his cash back. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

He’s evasive, turning away, unable to meet my gaze.

Is he lying to me?

“Your clients for your finance job? What are you–an investor? A stockbroker? A hedge fund manager?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Something like that.”

“Dario!”

He spins on me. “You don’t need to worry about this,” he snaps. “Some asshole is calling me and talking a bunch of crap. That’s it. The end. It’s not your concern.”

I move away from him. “Okay, fair point.”

“Siena, I didn’t mean to snap.”

I hold my hands up when he approaches me. “No, you’re right. This is none of my business. I’m getting overfamiliar.”

“Overfamiliar,” he repeats, shaking his head. “After last night?—”

“Forget last night.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“It was never supposed to happen anyway.”

“I don’t care what was supposed to happen. It happened, and I don’t regret it. Do you?” When I don’t answer, he growls, “Well, do you?”

“I need to get ready for work. I’m sorry for answering your phone. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He massages his forehead, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, Siena. This stuff is stressing me out.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just get on with our lives, okay? Our separate lives.”

He winces at the word ‘separate’ as though it causes him physical harm. I know I’m playing with his feelings, and honestly, I’m playing with mine too. But just because I slipped up, and we got steamy last night, it doesn’t mean we owe each other anything.

“If you think you can just go on like normal,” I tell him, “I can too.”

“Define ‘normal’.”

“Back to what it should’ve been before last night. Just… friends. I won’t pry into your personal life or your work life. You’ll let me focus on my work.”

“I’m not forgetting last night,” he says. “I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“I need to shower and change. Is that going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a morning run with my godfather, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair.”

I grab my stuff and head toward the shower, conscious of a rift opening between us.

As the water slides over my body, I return to the phone call. The threat. The viciousness of it.

My instincts were humming before. Now they’re screaming.