Page 82 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

“Ballpark figure. Ten dollars? A thousand?”

“The person who’d know this answer,” I sputter, “is buried six feet under.”

That seems to appease him and his off-the-cuff questions.

“Come here.”

I hesitate, but then do as he bids and walk over to his desk.

He pats the desk before him. “Up.”

My eyebrows rise.

Hands on my hips, he hoists me onto his desk. My breasts bounce from landing so hard. Traitors, offering him a reward he doesn’t deserve.

Predictably, his eyes track the movement. “Tempting.”

I hide my displeasure while I wait him out.

“Go on. Tell me I’m an asshole.”

I frown, wondering if I’m hearing him correctly.

“Now’s your chance. Alessandro, you’re a fucking asshole.”

I part my lips, except the words won’t come out. My silence fills the room like a thundercloud. There aresomany names I could call him. But I don’t—can’t. Because even though he believes I betrayed him, I know otherwise. And one day, he’ll hopefully recognize the truth. For now, I’ll help him along the way.

“For Christ’s sake,” he exclaims, hating the silence. “Say something.”

“I loved you once.”

Oh. My. God. Of all the things to say, why blurt that? Helping him along the way doesn’t mean throwing it all out there. I just placed my heart in one of his hands and a knife in the other.

He recoils like I sucker punched him.

Strike one, Alessandro.

Strike two, Riley.

His brows pinch. So distrustful. So ready to believe I’m someone other than a one-night stand turned into an obsession.

“What the fuck?” he mutters. Fuck is his answer toeverything. It’s all we did in New York. Desperately. Recklessly, like the solution to life’s problems could be found in my submission. I should have been asking questions. He should have told me his name.

He’s deep in thought and impossible to read, as my declaration devours the oxygen in the room until I’m choking for air. His silence is unbearable as it’s now my turn waiting for him to speak.

The tiniest shake of his head breaks the spell. “Mouth or finger?”

“What?”

He slides his chair forward, hooks his arms beneath my knees, and tugs me forward. “Your choice, Riley. Mouth or finger?”

I blink at him. My name. He used my name.

Placing his forearms on my inner thighs, he parts my legs. “Answer me.”

“You’ll lick my …”

“Mouth it is.”