Page 11 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

As his comment registers, my earlier irritation reignites. Am I some magical, big-breasted siren who’s lured him in? Does he actually believe, after weeks of relinquishing complete control, I have power over him?

“Then go,” I respond, and mean it. I might beg him to fuck me, but I won’t plead with him to stay.

The silence between us builds to a crescendo.

“You make my life impossible.”

It’s the only warning I get.

He lunges, knocking over his chair as he grabs me by the waist, hauling me off my feet, then rolling me back across the kitchen table. His arms wrap around me as he nuzzles his face between my breasts.

“I didn’t mean it.” I weave my fingers through his hair. Soothing him. Comforting him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Riley.” He growls my name against my skin.

In moments like this, he allows me inside. Deepening our connection in a way words never could. His vulnerability as tangible as my fragile heart. I sensed the shift in him the week before his late-night visits stopped. Relentlessly overpowering me every way he could was normal but wrapping me in his arms afterward and praising me until I fell asleep was new.

What changed to make him stop coming?

His lips find my nipple. I smirk—they always do. God, I missed his mouth on me. Teeth scrape flesh, followed by pain softened with pleasure. I arch into him, relinquishing myself completely.

“Cazzo,” he mutters then tenses. Just like that, everything shifts. “This shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”

His admission guts me. He doesn’twantto want me. “You’re breaking up with me.” Hurt catches on each forced word.

He steps back—an answer in itself—and I hop off the table.

Tipping my chin up, I dare look at him. And immediately wish I hadn’t.

His dark, brooding gaze locks on my face. Almost as if he was looking at a puzzle piece without a puzzle present to solve. Almost like we never stood a chance, but somehow we find ourselves in this moment.

“It’s complicated,” he grinds out.

“Explain it to me, then.”

He stares at me. One second. Two. Then, he scowls and a steel wall slams down so hard between us, my teeth rattle.Not today, Riley. Not ever.

He disappears into the connecting bathroom. The faucet runs, and I listen to him splashing water on his face. I stand frozen. One part wanting him to leave; one part desperate for him to stay.

He returns, as cool, calm, and collected as the man I invited home that first night.

Silence thickens the air, but it’s me who breaks it.

I pull my shoulders straight and draw on every ounce of pride remaining. “Am I just a fuck to you?”

“And if I say yes?”

His callous question is a punch in the stomach. This isn’t within the rules of the games we play. This isn’t me being a good girl or him pushing my boundaries. I might willingly, even eagerly, relinquish power, but what I won’t do is be some doormat he can walk all over. “Go on. Leave. I’ve survived worse than you.”

He frowns.

With a shaky hand, I gesture toward the door. If there’s anything I know how to do, it’s endure.

Everything pauses.

“Goddamn you,” he growls, and before I can guess his intent, I’m swept into his arms and carried toward the bedroom.

Sunlight filtersin between the blinds, waking me. A smile carves my lips. Late-night hours and early-morning summer sunshine might not play nicely together, but shades of my old self are resurfacing. Every day I wake up stronger than the day before.