Page 52 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

I wiggle, trying to get him off me, but all I do is manage to work myself on his dick and he smiles, the glimmering self-satisfaction almost too much to take.

“You shot at me. You threatened me,” I say. “I’ve got a list.”

This is familiar ground where I can let the game play out. And it’s only day one. I have the rest of the year to go. Everything’s tied up with the strands of my plan. I need him alive because I need a husband. And what better one to have than the one who took my bratva—no, took my cousin—from me.

And with him my future.

So I’m just scraping it back.

I don’t even know when we’ll be allowed to look at the Volkov books or finally step in to take over.

Calm down.

These things take time. But it’s mine. It’s in my grasp.

“Well, let me see… I’ve got a list, too.” He starts fucking me a little faster and I draw my knees up, unable to help myself, wanting more, needing more. I can smell that dark scent of his, that amber, dark herbal smell that’s even more evocative with him inside me, filling me up.

I want to throw myself into this, let it all sweep me away, but I fight it anyway. Because I can. Because I need to.

He’s a vortex, I think, one that can suck me right in, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to find my way out again.

I think of my guilt. For liking this.

Guilt for hating him because by killing Stan, he stole my future, so it seems only right to use him to get back what’s owed to me.

Guilt for not caring about Stanislav as much as I should.

And finally, my guilt over not being able to take care of my sister.

I’m a monster, too.

The guilt slips just out of my grasp, and even my thoughts slip until I’m back in the grip of the pleasure that Seamus brings. He takes hold of my face, and he fucks me harder as he says, “Yeah, I’ve got a list, too. One that fucking proves your hate.”

“I never denied it,” I breathe, hooking my feet to bring him in deeper still. “What do you expect when you steal and try to kill?”

“You lie to me. You’ve lied since the moment I set eyes on you, climbing down in that damned fucking bodysuit from the second story of Iosef’s mansion. And I’ll say it again. You’ve tried to kill me. You called for help. Remember that?

“You had someone knock me out and then you discussed killing me. You pointed a gun at me and you slashed me with your knife.”

“So,” I say, spitting the words, “we’re even. You want the smuggling routes; I want my business. We can hate each other in the mutual understanding we’re both safe until the twelve months are up.”

We’re going around in circles, the viciousness growing like we can’t help it.

Like we need it, crave it.

“Good to fucking know where I stand, sweet thing.”

And this entire conversation is happening as we are in the throes of pleasure that neither of us are capable of understanding. He slams hard into me and shudders, coming, his cock twitching, and then he pulls out, leaving me needing and wanting. Then he tucks himself away as he grabs the dress and rips it off, as well as the bra, so I’m naked, sprawled before him.

Seamus leans over me and shakes his head, then he pushes off. Seconds later, glass clinks and liquid pours into it.

I try to sit up but can’t because I’m still recovering from that mind-bending sexfest.

Seamus didn’t spare a thought for Stan. Not one.

And it makes me furious I don’t care like I should about the fact that my cousin is dead. That I just hate Seamus for killing my future.

I roll on my side as the bed sinks a little and a glass appears. I snatch it, finally able to sit up, not bothering to cover my nakedness.