Page 22 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

Her phone buzzes, and I glance at it. Private number. So, of course, I answer it.

“Where are you—?” a female voice says before the hot, black-haired vixen knocks the phone from my hand and it smashes down on the floor.

We stare at each other. “Your boyfriend sounds interesting.”

“My life’s got nothing to do with you.”

“You robbed Romanov. As his security, it’s my business.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re as much security for him as I am. Did Assisi or Iosif decide to hire Irish mafia, or do you have a deal with one of them?”

I run my mouth along her throat, tasting her with my tongue, her skin alive, a buzz of energy beneath my lips, and I suck on a spot before I bite down on her.

She cries out. Breathy, full of need. Her hands come down on my ass, pulling me in against her.

“Are you always a cat in heat, or is it me who brings it out of you?” I ask her.

She lets out a low growl and tries to push me away. “Maybe I’ve got some masochistic need where I like to torture myself by?—”

“Let me see… by getting filthy with Irish scum. Been there, heard that, though not in the good ol’ US of A.”

“Go back home, then.”

“I am. Half American, sweet thing.” I take her chin and tilt her head up to the light. Her eyes aren’t brown; they’re the colorof the darkest purple black, fucking mesmerizing, and her full lips are still red, even without her lipstick.

She has high cheekbones, pale skin, and her long black hair brushes low, near the middle of her back, the cut highlighting a face like the kind of art that doesn’t need a frame.

“Who’s Olaf?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him before.”

There’s truth in that, full of frustration. She’s after something. And I’m thinking it just might have to do with that crest. “And yet you stabbed him.”

“I’d stab you, too.”

I hand her my switchblade. “Be my guest.”

She flicks it open and I spin her, grabbing the back of her neck before forcing her over the sink. I push her so her face is close to the mirror, her fine ass grinding against my junk.

“Well,” she spits, “at least you’re packing.”

I’m about to say we both know that since I already shot someone for her, but then I laugh as her meaning sets in. I rub myself against her. “You want some, is that it?”

She whimpers, her teeth clenching and her fist tightening on my knife as it clinks against the sink. “You wish.”

I flip up her skirt, hook my thumbs beneath the black lace of her panties, and step back.

“No, don’t?—”

“I haven’t done anything,” I say, pulling her panties out so they ride along her slit and rub her. “Yet.”

She rocks against the thin fabric, and my cock is danger zone hard, so hard the piercings I have hurt in that painfully fucking good way. It slows things down, but not for long since the scent of her, the way she feels and sounds, the taste I’ve already had make her an aphrodisiac from head to foot.

“Please…” she says, her voice a low moan. Then she grips the edge of the sink with her other hand and her catnip fire angerflares into a blaze as she meets my eyes in the mirror. “If you’re going to fuck me, do it.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” I rip her panties to the side and then I unzip, pulling out my hard cock. I don’t even need to run my fingers over the ladder on each side of my cock, top and underside. I’m that hard, and she’s that wet.

Instead, I push her lower back down so her feet have to spread to keep her from smashing into the glass, and I thrust into her, a growl of satisfaction on my lips.