Page 110 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

Isabella doesn't either. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, a question in them that has nothing to do with murder investigations or family loyalties.

She places her palm against my chest.

The simple touch burns through my shirt.

My body heats, my dick thickens.

I should stop this. I should remember all the reasons this complicates everything.

Instead, I pull her onto my lap in one fluid motion. She gasps, now straddling me on the settee, her hands braced against my shoulders.

I wait for her to protest or push away, but she doesn't.

I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with all the pent-up frustration and desire I've been fighting since the last time I touched her.

Her body melts against mine, soft where I'm hard, yielding where I'm demanding.

My hands slide under her sweater, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling her shiver at my touch. She rocks against me, drawing a groan from deep in my chest.

"Isabella…" I break the kiss, giving her one last chance to stop this madness.

She answers by pulling her sweater over her head and tossing it aside, her eyes never leaving mine.

I've never considered myself a man of hesitation. In my world, doubt gets you killed. But with Isabella's warm weight on my lap and her bare skin under my hands, I pause.

Not from lack of desire.

God knows, that's burning through me like wildfire. But because something's shifted between us.

“I’m going to help you no matter what. You don’t need to do this as some sort of gratitude.”

Isabella answers by taking my face in her hands, her eyes locked on mine. "That’s not why I’m doing this. I need this. I need to feel something real."

Well, alright, then. I capture her mouth again, kissing her with everything I've been holding back. My hands explore the curveof her waist, the arch of her spine, committing every inch to memory.

She works at the buttons of my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders.

When her hands trace the scars that map my chest and shoulders, I hope she sees the evidence of my warning there. I’m walking proof of the dangers in our world.

"These tell your story.” Her fingers linger on the jagged line near my collarbone.

"Not one fit for bedtime.” My hands slide up to her bra, unhooking it and freeing those magnificent tits of hers.

"I'm not asking for pretty stories, Roman."

Something about the way she says my name, like she's claiming it, sends heat coursing through me. My dick is demanding relief, so I deftly remove the barriers between us and guide her over me.

I want to impale her, but then I remember this is only the second time she'll be doing this.

I take a breath to temper the desperate urgency I feel. "Take what you want, baby, how you want it."

She hovers over me, looking unsure but determined. Then she lowers, taking me in, and sweet fucking hell, is it good. I groan as electricity fires along my dick.

She lets out a moan as well, her head falling back, exposing her neck.

I don't waste any time suckling it as I fondle her tits and suck them in turn as well. Her pussy contracts with each pull on her nipple, and I'm in fucking heaven.

"I… I don't know what to do."