Page 109 of Dirty Mafia Torment

She squirms, trying to break free. “Don’t babe me, asshole.”

Oh, she wants raw? Let’s go there.

“Now that we ate, let’s fuck.”

Her entire body goes slack.

“Here’s how it’ll play out. I’m releasing you and stripping. You’re taking the hose over there and hosing me down. Then, you’re riding my face and, when I say you can, my dick. Capisci?”

She’s quiet for so long, I begin wondering if I imagined her earlier enthusiasm and the anger that followed when she assumed I was rejecting her.

Fina. Fina. Fina. You’ve so much to learn.

“This is casual sex,” she states. “Don’t be getting feelings for me.”

I laugh. “Getting feelings for you?”Already have them, babe.

She jerks free of my embrace. “Asshole.”

I’m not done stripping and still considering her reaction when a cold stream of water knocks me backward. I sputter, then glare at her.

Her smile is like a gift, and it lights up the barn.

I peel off my soaked sweatpants and boxers, drape them so the fabric swallows the chains, then stretch out with my arms and legs wide. “Do your worst.”

And she does, letting me have it. Utterly delighted by making my dick and balls shrivel beneath the chilly blast. I count the cackles, ready to double the amount in moans.

She wants the full Renzo effect?

Then let’s fucking go.

FINA

I drop the hose,laughing so hard I’m crying.

Renzo just stands there—arms spread, legs apart, water dripping from his hair, his chin, his nipples … and his maddeningly perfect dick.

Soaked to the bone and still sexier than sin.

Why not take what I want? He certainly plans to; his laughter when I said the sex would be casual was proof enough. That laughstung, but I brushed it off. What did I expect, another marriage proposal?

Been there. Done that.

Epic fail.

“You gonna stand there staring at me?” he asks, one brow lifting. “Or get your ass over here?”

Nerves flutter in my belly, but I cross the space between us. He towers over me—he always has—but something about the way he watches me now makes my knees weak.

“Take off your dress.”

My fingers tremble slightly as I reach the buttons. One by one, I undo them, feeling the heat of his gaze trace every inch of skin I reveal.

“Let me,” he says, rough and commanding, stepping in and brushing my hands aside. He peels the dress off my shoulders, but instead of letting it fall, he lifts it like a sheet caught in a sudden breeze, then spreads it deliberately over the driest patch beneath us.

He wastes no time on my bra, stripping it away before settling himself on the expensive fabric, gloriously naked, arms propped behind his head, every inch of him daring me to look.

I bite my lip, suspended in that delicious, razor-edged space between fear and thrill, unable to tear my eyes away.