Page 142 of Dirty Mafia King

ALESSIA

I’m shivering, but not because it’s cold. It’s late, and I’m standing outside Bastian’s bedroom, about to force my way inside. What I’ll do afterward isn’t clear. All I know is I’m tired and overwhelmed by the need to comfort him.

The door handle turns in my grasp.

I quickly enter his dark room before the door can slam in my face. He’s sprawled in a chair by the fireplace, and my words get stuck in my throat.

He raises his head at my approach.

“Alessia.”

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“How did you get in here?”

I flinch.

“I’m going to have a word with Freido.” He furrows his brow, clearly annoyed by my friendship with his top man.

His harsh expression doesn’t detract from his appeal. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned, revealing tan skin interrupted by traces of jet-black hair. His legs are stretched out before him, and a hand clasps the other wrist. A black silk tie lies by his bare feet.

I hurry forward and drop to my knees before him.

He rubs his jawline, then curses beneath his breath. “What do you want?”

You. The good and the bad.

Yet offering him sympathy, or pity even, won’t work with a proud man like Bastian. Control is his thing, and right now, he’s lost it. What I can do is comfort him with my body and distract him with my words.

“I still have the plug in my ass.”

His eyes flash.

“I never … I don’t know how to safely remove it.”

He stares at me, and I wonder what he reads in my expression. Desperation? Hope? Fear of rejection?

“You should go.” His tone is harsh, clipped.

“If that’s what you want.” I rise, disappointed but not defeated. Not yet. “I’ll ask Freido to help me with my predicament.”

He springs to his feet. “Like hell you will.”

I race toward the door, but he catches me, then pins me against it. “You know just what to say to torment me, don’t you?”

I hide my smile.

“Only you can tempt the beast and live to do it another day.” He presses into my back so I can feel his erection.

“I want you,” I murmur, “that’s all.”

I dressed to tempt him, wearing a sheer pale blue nightgown with dainty pearls lining the collar and hem, and a thong in the same color, a butterfly-shaped line of pearls on the front and the thin strand evenly dividing his initials in the back.

“Everything is so fucked up right now except for you.” He slaps his hand against the plug.

“Oh,” I cry out as it drives in deeper.

“The things I want to do to you. Choke you while you come. Blindfold you and bind you to my post. Make you plead for pleasure and beg for pain. But most of all, I want to fuck the innocence out of you.”