Page 16 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

I raise a brow. “You asking for better compensation for your time?”

“No.” Pause. “Just saying, I was surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“This isn’t your typical style.”

Hardcore is what he means. I get off on dominating my partners in every way imaginable. Bondage. Breath-play. Kinky scenes, where the balance of power always leans my way. Yeah, I fuck my partners; it’s the reward after intense play. My cold demeanor even translates outside the bedroom into my daily life; my assholery is that legendary. What I don’t do are sleepovers, cuddles and motherfucking kisses. Make them beg, make them relinquish control, and after I’ve had my fill, leave. I’m notorious for it.

I never make repeat visits just to hear her sweet voice.

“If you want a blushing innocent,” Tommaso persists, “you can get that in Rhode Island.”

I glare at him, and his eyes flash—he knows damn well he’s six seconds shy of my fist in his face. The bullshit reminder must be payback for my making him wait in the SUV all night. “Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t move.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Your apartment is secure. You can bring her back to Soho.”

Just the idea makes my suit unbearably warm. Suddenly feeling suffocated, I unbutton the collar, my grip on my thoughts softening as my cock hardens at the suggestion. Her tied to my bedpost. Her tight cunt milking my cock. Her glazed green eyes bright with wonder.

I push down the emotions. “Easy pussy. I’ll find a replacement once shit’s settled.”

“Right.”

“Just drive.”

Tommaso shifts the Cadillac into gear, and we pull away from the curb. I scowl at my muddy shoes. I left her building using the back door, avoiding the camera I discovered in the front entrance—filming my every goddamn move until I wizened up—then cut through the adjacent yard and exited onto the street around the corner, where Tommaso was waiting. He usually parks on her street, but with the larger new SUV, parking is easier a block over.

“For what it’s worth, I liked her,” he informs me. A man who cage-fights for fun and beats the living crap out of men for money. His father worked for mine, and we’ve known each other since childhood. Never once has he expressed liking anyone or anything.

I flex my fingers, the memory of her rich auburn hair—wound around my hand while her soft whimpers fill the air—flashing through my mind. Everything innocent in the world wrapped up by my darkness.

“All your likes should be focused on pleasing me.” Shifting, I remove my suit jacket and toss it onto the seat. A scrap of red silk falls free. I immediately scoop it up and roll the material in my palm. “Know what else I’d like you to do?”

“No, boss.”

A heavy weight pulls deep inside my chest as I stuff the thong back inside my suit pocket. “Never mention her again.”

Silence descends as he turns the corner and then stops at a red light at the intersection of her block.

Frustrated, I slide the jacket onto a coat hanger, but as I shift positions, movement flickers down the street.

Two men, midblock, on the sidewalk outside her building.

“See them?” I demand.

“Yeah. It’s a big fucking city with a lot of people. Probably nobody.”

I don’t miss the doubt within his tone. As we watch, the men climb her stoop and disappear inside.

The fuck?

“Turn.”

“Boss, we’re in lockdown,” Tommaso warns, as if I need reminding. “We should head back to Soho until the all-clear.”