Page 10 of Twisted Little Games (New York City Mafia #3)

Kirsten

I wake up content, cozy, and overly warm. Which is strange since it’s the middle of winter, and there’s usually a draft coming from my bedroom windows.

A strong arm holds me tight across my breasts while a large palm sprawls over my stomach underneath my pajama top, pulling me against the massive force behind me that’s demanding entry.

The arm, the pressure, it all feels really damn good. My panties are soaking wet before I even rock my hips back, grinding my bottom against the hardness I need poking me just a little bit lower if I weren’t wearing any clothes…

My eagerness is rewarded with a deep masculine groan. “Good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

I open my eyes, more awake than if I had drunk all the coffee in a Starbucks. I never go home with a date or bring him back to my apartment, so how the hell did he get here?

Jumping out of bed, I scramble to open the top drawer of the nightstand where I keep my loaded gun. The muzzle is aiming toward the head of the bed before I even take in the face of the intruder.

It’s a handsome face that looks so damn smug I want to smack him or shoot him. He shows no visible fear at me pointing the weapon at him as he stretches his bare, muscular arms over his head, still grinning as he keeps his half-lidded eyes on me. “Morning regrets already?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to get out of my apartment.”

Not a single inch of his big, powerful body twitches. Why isn’t he moving? And how the hell did he end up in my bed?

“Did you drug me?” I ask, concluding that’d be the only way for me to forget the details of the night before. I remember being in the sexy club, fooling around with the masked man who saved my life, but nothing else. Well, nothing but screaming in pleasure until my throat grew sore…

“Did I drug you?” the stranger repeats, then scoffs with a roll of his dark eyes. “All I did was pull that stick out of your ass by giving you a few desperately needed orgasms.”

Flashes of images begin to assault my mind when he says ‘orgasms’.

Last night, I went to that stupid club in search of the handsy, masked man who saved my life, intending to thank him. And, as I expected, the guy was eager enough to accept my method of thanks with me on my knees.

With the mask on I felt empowered, like I could be someone else for a few hours with him.

I could let go and be myself without fear of someone finding out and ruining my career.

And after I gave him a blowjob, the roughest one I’ve ever endured, he went down on me multiple times in that damn swing.

A sex swing! Did we fuck? No, I don’t feel sore between my legs, and based on his immense size, I know the masked guy.

I, thankfully, didn’t have sex, since protection would have been the furthest thing from my mind.

Still, I don’t know this strange man, and I don’t remember how he got into my apartment. It could be my masked savior, but it’s hard to know for sure.

“You passed out after all the thrashing and screaming, so I brought you home and tucked you into bed,” he explains. “Your keys were in your purse, which I grabbed.”

I shake my head because I’ve never been so out of it that I wouldn’t remember being carried home.

“You’re the masked guard.”

He nods once.

Oh crap. And he knows my name. If he figures out who I am, the job I hold, all it would take is one word from his lips to screw me over.

His lips remain twisted in a grin as he stares at me in that knowing way.

Of course, I can’t look at his mouth without remembering how good it felt between my legs.

“You brought me home and just decided to crawl into bed with me?” Why does he look familiar now that his mask is off?

He huffs and shakes his head. “You still don’t know who I am, do you?”

How is he doing that, answering all my questions before I can even voice them?

“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll come to you soon enough,” he tells me with a wink and widening smirk.

And that’s when it hits me.

I’ve seen his face, that smirk in a photo. Not just any photo, but a mugshot.

“You’re a Ferraro!”

God, I’m an idiot. After being careful for so many years, one night may ruin my entire career. He knew who I was. This was all a fucking setup.

“You really should ask a man his name before you wrap your lips around his —”

My indignant gasp cuts him off as my arms shake, making the gun wobble.

I fooled around with a defendant!

Not just any defendant, but one of the mobsters who has a reputation for bludgeoning and murdering people who piss off his boss.

“Get out or I will pull the trigger!” I warn him. I’ve never shot anyone before, but if I had to, I wouldn’t miss him.

Still, he doesn’t move, as if he thinks I’m bluffing.

“Fine. Stay. Wait for the police to show up so they can haul your ass away to jail! I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”

He chuckles. “Aww, your little threats are cute, sweetheart. But they’re a waste of time.”

Why won’t he fucking leave? Why isn’t he scared of me shooting and killing him or having him arrested?

I need to find my phone. Whatever is going on with him, I’m embarrassed and a little terrified. A lot terrified since there have been death threats. I need backup.

Glancing around my bedroom, I search for my phone. Where the hell is it? Last night, I turned it over when I checked into the club, as required, and then…

The gangster in my bed snaps his fingers. “I forgot to grab your phone before we left last night. Just got your purse and coat. Oops.”

“Stop doing that!” I shout.

“Stop doing what?” He places his arm over his head again and squirms deeper into the covers, getting more comfortable in my bed.

“Stop answering me before I ask questions.”

“Sorry. I’ll just lie here and wait for your pretty mouth to spit them out.” He eyes my lips with an arched eyebrow, waiting…

“Give me your phone.”

“Sure, thing, sweetheart.” Ugh, that fake term of endearment grates on my nerves.

His grin is about to split his face before he leans over, opening my nightstand drawer and digging inside.

The sheets slip down with his movement, showing me his broad bare back and enough ass crack for me to realize he’s naked.

He’s naked in my bed and was just pressed up against me while I was sleeping!

“Here you go.” He tosses the device on the bed near me without hesitation.

This has to be some sort of trick. He won’t actually give me his code to unlock his phone or use it…

“Code’s one-one-one…and, you guessed it, one,” he tells me without prompting.

Keeping the gun in my right hand, I snatch the device with my left and use my thumb to punch in the passcode, which works.

“Before you call the police, how about you take a look through my camera roll,” the son of a bitch says calmly. “There are some videos I think you’re going to want to see.”

I should ignore his comment and punch in 9-1-1, but my curiosity gets the best of me. Besides, what’s another minute going to hurt? I need a little more time to figure out how the hell I’m going to explain to the cops why a defendant is naked in my bed.

The most recent video in the camera roll is taken in a dark room. At first, it’s hard to tell what I’m looking at. Then, when I can, I nearly drop the device.

It’s me, strung up in the sex swing, my thighs spread wide open.

My head is tipped back so far, I can’t see my face, and I’m not moving, just hanging there.

The camera moves closer, close enough to see the arousal dripping down my inner thighs and every-fucking-thing in between.

Then the view moves up to my bare breasts before a man’s hand reaches out to lift the mask from my face.

That stirs me, but with my arms still fastened above, I just shake my head with a mumble, and the hand puts the mask back in place.

A flush that had spread across my cheeks races down my throat, to my chest, until it encompasses my entire body. I think I may erupt like a human torch in the middle of my bedroom.

“It was you all along…” I state, feeling like an idiot.

If he responds, I don’t hear him as I scroll to the next video. This one is taken from farther away, but the man on his knees, his face between my legs is clear. I startle at the sound of my loud moans before scrolling to the next video, unable to watch another second.

But the third one is even worse.

I’m on my knees with my mouth full of the man in my bed as he thrusts so deep into my throat I gag and try to pull away. He lets me but only for a second before he roughly shoves down my throat again and again, faster and faster, as if he’s enjoying my discomfort and being in complete control.

“Do I really need to spell this out for you?” the asshole in my bed asks. “You’re a smart woman. I bet you have it all figured out by now.”

“You…you’re blackmailing me.”

“All you have to do is dismiss the cases against me and my cousins, and no one else will ever see those videos except me.”

The club doesn’t allow phones, so how the hell did he sneak his in? And based on the angle of the other videos, he had to have installed a camera in the ceiling.

But then, who checks the security team? As an employee, he’d have time to sneak into the room and plant the device without anyone else knowing.

It was all a set up.

Even the night before. I just wonder how he knew I’d come back…

“You planted the man in the alley so you could swoop in at just the right moment!”

“No.” The way his jaw ticks and his face goes from smug to angry in half a second is scary. “That wasn’t me.”

“Then how did you just so happen to be there at the exact second he shot at me?” I exclaim in disbelief. “Were they blanks?”

“No, the bullets were real. And I was there because I’ve been watching you for weeks. When you left the club, I left too.”

Watching me? “You mean you’ve been stalking me?”