Page 23 of Twisted Little Games (New York City Mafia #3)

The weight and heat of his body on mine short circuits my brain. I hate that his face is so close to mine and so gorgeous. My body relaxes underneath him against my will, melting into the comfortable mattress. Still, I’m not ready to let it go. “Who are all those…women?”

“Friends.”

I roll my eyes.

“Friends who worked for an awful man.”

“Whores who worked for a pimp, you mean?” I ask, quickly putting it together.

“Yeah, that. They’re good girls who just needed a place to crash for a few days…”

Oh, and he just so graciously offered his apartment to a harem of freaking prostitutes? “How long have they been staying here with you?”

His eyes close on a wince. “I haven’t been home in a few weeks, so it wasn’t a big deal.”

Not a big deal? Is he fucking kidding?

“Did you fuck them?”

“Well, yeah. They’re whores.”

I scoff and shove at his chest to get him off me. Despite using all my strength, he doesn’t move. If anything, he just gets heavier, flattening me even more into the mattress.

“Only if they wanted to, and I didn’t pay them,” Tristan explains.

“You just let them live here rent free!”

“I didn’t offer them my place to fuck them. They just…really enjoy sex. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“They fuck men for money!”

“Not anymore. They’re all going back to school to get their GEDs or trying to find real jobs while they’re staying here.”

Whipping my head from side to side I tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

Tristan’s eyes narrow and then his lips twist. “Are you jealous?”

“Am I jealous of whores? God, no.”

“Yeah, you are. I think you’re jealous that I fucked them.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sometimes it was two or three at the same time —”

My palm hauls back as far as it can in the tight space between the bed and his body to slap the shit out of his face, even harder than the previous time.

Tristan grabs both of my wrists and pins them above my head to stop me from hitting him again. He easily dominates me, making me so freaking wet despite being so damn angry at him.

“I haven’t fucked any of them since I started watching you.”

“Bullshit! They live in your apartment!”

“And I was barely here longer than to take a shower and change most days because I was sleeping in my truck outside your apartment or the courthouse or watching you flirt with those assholes at lunch.”

“What? I wasn’t flirting with anyone. And all those men are rich donors.”

“I know that, but I don’t like it.”

“Tough shit.”

“Hypocrite.”

With an indignant huff, I tell him, “I never slept with those men!”

“They want to fuck you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says. “Because every straight, single man who sees you wants you. How could they not? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

A tiny bit of my anger disintegrates thanks to his compliment. “And every whore who comes near you wants you and a free place to live apparently.”

“Yes, I slept with the women downstairs, but I never jerked off to them.”

“What does that have to do with any-fucking-thing?”

“Because it was just sex, a release, and then it was over and done. Physically and mentally.” He wets his lips with his tongue, drawing my attention. “Do you know how often I jerk off thinking about you?”

I shake my head and try to swallow down my stupid arousal.

“Constantly. Even before I ever touched you.”

“Now you’re just making shit up.”

“I would watch you in yoga class, bending over in those white pants, which should be illegal by the way, and I couldn’t even wait to get home to take my cock out.”

“Oh my God. You watched me at yoga?”

He nods. “And came so hard in my truck. Your ass in those pants has haunted me for weeks. I couldn’t tell you how many times I imagined bending you over, jerking them down, and shoving deep inside your tight cunt.

I knew before I felt you that you would be so damn snug because you’re so fucking uptight. ”

I am always uptight, except when I’m with this man. This foul-mouthed, demanding criminal. There’s something about him that weakens me, making me lose all my inhibitions.

Like usual with him, there’s a shift inside of me, cooling the anger and warming up feelings much more dangerous. There’s more to the mobster than meets the eye.

“You put pajamas on me.”

“What?” Tristan’s forehead crinkles in confusion.

“The night you brought me home, you put clothes on me before you slept naked behind me.”

“Yeah, because I needed the barrier to keep from slamming inside you.” He rocks against me, letting me feel his erection against my belly.

“I would’ve let you that morning,” I admit quietly. “Before I really woke up…”

Closing his eyes, he groans and grinds down on me.

“I think the reason I was so mad at you wasn’t because of the videos you used to blackmail me, but because I thought it was all an act to set me up.”

His dark eyes open and peer down at me. “You thought what was all an act?”

“The way you touched me in the club, everything you did on the video. I thought you were pretending to want me just to get the blackmail you needed.”

“Are you kidding?” he mutters. “I didn’t get what I needed. What I needed was to be inside you, and I knew you would never let me. If I had pushed that far at the club, I think you would’ve pulled the trigger the next morning.”

“You emptied my gun.”

“And I’m sorry about that. If you hadn’t realized it before tonight…” he trails off.

“He would’ve killed me.”

Tristan releases my wrists. His lips crash down on mine, and his tongue forces its way into my mouth as his body grows heavier, as if he’s trying to prevent me from leaving.

Reaching up, I slide my fingers into his dark hair, tugging on it the way he’s tugged on mine. The way I wanted to do the first time he went down on me, but I couldn’t with my arms restrained over my head in that damn swing.

Tristan groans like he approves while I part my legs, allowing his body to align in the perfect way with mine.

“You’re playing a dangerous game tonight, sweetheart,” he warns against my lips. Reaching down, he tugs my shirt out of my pants to get his big, warm hand on my bare skin. His palm cups my breast through my satin bra a second later, squeezing as his hips roll, teasing me.

“No more games,” I tell him. “I need you inside me too.”

Our kiss deepens for a moment before Tristan draws back and rips my shirt down the middle, shredding the buttons to reveal all that’s underneath. “I want you naked and screaming my name tonight, not God’s.”

“If you think you can give me something to scream about,” I joke. “And I want you…”

Tristan’s roaming hands freeze as he stares down at my face, waiting for me to finish my thought. “I want you to wake me up screaming in the morning.”

“God, yes.”

My pants are his next victims, as he destroys the button and zipper. I fight to remove my coat, suit jacket, and shirt while he tugs my pants and panties down my legs, stopping only long enough to remove my shoes and hose.

I can’t believe I’m getting naked in his bed, that I’m going to have sex with the criminal while half a dozen women sleep below us.

But I’m tired of denying myself.

And I want Tristan to fuck me so good those women hear me scream his name over and over again.