Page 110 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

Ava contracts and shudders and she shoves at me, pushing me off.

But then she rolls me so I’m on my back and she starts to attack my pants, to get to my cock. Oh fuck, I don’t know if there’s a better sight than her pulling me free, swallowing me down, working my dick like she’s a fucking porn star.

But I’m not in the mood for her to dominate. I also don’t want to come yet, so I pluck her off me and rise up. Then I spin her on the hardwood floor and push her down so her ass is in the air and she’s on her forearms.

I pull her panties to the side and thrust in deep.

I’m not interested in a slow build.

Hard, fast, fucking filthy.

And she pushes back, grinding herself on my cock. “More, give me more, you fucker.”

“Shut the fuck up and take it. I’ll fuck you how I want, when I want.” I grab her ass, holding it as my cock disappears into her, only to drag out, her inner walls clinging like she’s trying to suck me in.

Fuck, this view is something.

Ava moans, tiny grunting sounds, as I slam into her, and everything in me swells, aching, electrified. She starts to tighten. With her first full contraction, I come, hard, my cock twitching as she spasms on me.

I thrust once more and then pull out, turning her over, kissing her hard with her back against the floor.

Finally, I pull out, and I pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder only to toss her on my bed so I can kiss her slower and deeper.

I think I’ll take my time exploring her, stripping her down to the bone, and then?

I’m gonna fuck her all over again.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand while Ava sleeps. I grab it and get up from the bed.

I know the number. It’s Da.

He rarely uses his prison cell phone.

Rarely calls us, that is.

“Da?”

“Ah, Seamus, yer mam says yer all good.” Da passes information on through Mam. The phone calls might be monitored, they might not, and he’s a careful man in everything he does, even if his Irish blood runs hot and wild.

“Everything good?”

“Aye,” he says. “Yer mam mentioned a friend of mine. He was enjoying the Scottish sun, but I hear he’s into experimenting with some of that Cuban music and visitin’ Stateside.”

My heart thumps as I unravel what he’s saying to me. “I might have seen one of his friends. Scar?”

“That’ll be him. Kier Hanlon.” Da laughs. It’s a low-key, hearty laugh that’s in no way full of humor or goodwill. “Heard he’s into shipping. Likes to make things his own. Got a daughter, Kelly. If you see him, be nice. Very nice. Yer mam said she’ll call over the weekend. Take care. Give yer brothers my love.”

“Love you, Da.”

He hangs up. And I sink down onto the couch.

We’ve been looking for someone named Kelly, but now things start to make sense. If I read between the lines, Da just told me that a man named Kier Hanlon uses the name Hank Kelly here. I sit straight up. Maybe he’s in bed with the cartel. Shipping tells me he’s looking for a good smuggling route.

The best one around would be Volkov.

I text my brothers. And ten minutes later, we’re in the garage, Cal smoking when I know he’s supposed to be quitting as he listens to me relaying the details of the call.

“I didn’t even look him up,” Torin mutters.