Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

2. The Mistake

two

The Mistake

Ryōma’s hands on her hips as he held her back to his chest had sent her heart nearly racing through the roof. He’d started their dance almost politely, but it hadn’t taken long for the sway of their bodies to fuel the spark between them. Abigail wasn’t sure what expression he’d seen on her face when he’d spun her around to plaster her chest to his. She only knew that when he moved his lips to her ear and suggested they go elsewhere, she was all too eager to agree.

She barely thought to grab her clutch from the table and she had no idea whether or not the cab they fell into had actually been called for them. It didn’t matter for longer than a second.

Ryōma told the driver where to take them and promptly hauled Abigail into his lap. He anchored a hand over her thigh, arm curled around her, and let his other hand tangle in her hair as he tugged her in for a wet kiss.

Abigail moaned into the kiss, her hands coming up to twist in the fabric of his shirt. She’d never made out in the back of a cab before. Some part of her whispered that she shouldn’t be letting him touch her this way, that she knew better, but it was far too late for that logic. His touch was exactly the right kind of heavy, scalding even through her dress. Then there was the way he was kissing her. Like he was parched and she was the first cold glass of water he’d seen in days.

“Hey, control yourselves back there!” the cabby snapped.

Abigail tensed at the intrusion, panting as the kiss broke.

Ryōma cut a glare over her shoulder. “Eyes fuckin’ forward.” He used the hand in her hair to tilt her head back, exposing her throat, and proceeded to rain kisses across her skin. Lips, tongue, little nips of his teeth that had her gasping and curling her arms around his shoulders. He swept his tongue over the length of her collar bone and straightened again. “Can’t wait to peel this dress off you, baby girl.”

Her heart hammered and she dragged her nails down his chest until her fingers were poised just above his belt. “Kiss me like that again, and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” Preferably if he applied the same kissing technique to her long-neglected lady parts.

He smirked and pulled her closer, until their lips were almost touching once more. “If I slipped my hand under that skirt, would I find you already wet for me, Abby? ”

Heat pulsed through her and she shifted in his lap. Her thigh brushed against his erection and he sucked in a breath. “Yes,” she whispered.

The car came to a stop as Ryōma’s hand left her hair. The cabby barked a number at them that she didn’t immediately realize was a price, and they shuffled until Ryōma had handed over and again retrieved his credit card. Abigail didn’t look back as she scrambled behind him out of the car and into the lobby of the hotel.

Ryōma curled his hand around hers and strode straight up to the counter, requesting a room for the night. The entire night.

Abigail listened distantly as he added a request for late checkout, wondering if they were as obvious as she thought they were. And if she cared. She thought only one of those answers was yes and she probably would care more about that in the morning. In the moment, the warm strength in Ryōma’s faintly calloused grip seemed much more important.

The clerk’s gaze flicked to her while he waited for the machine to print the keycard, his eyes a little too low.

Ryōma released her hand to curl his arm fully around her shoulders, pulling her against his side and turning her slightly into him. The motion was enough to prompt the clerk to look away and keep his eyes averted as he finally passed over the keycard moments later. Ryōma took it and guided her away without another word.

In the elevator, he pulled her up between his thighs and kissed her roughly. One hand latched onto her butt as he held her close, letting her feel his arousal. His hunger .

The whisper of sanity that had threatened to return while they stood in the lobby went running once more and Abigail melted into him. She nearly beaned him in the head with her clutch when she went to wrap her arms around his neck. The kiss broke as the elevator settled on the second floor, her face flushed from the earlier alcohol, her own arousal, and a rush of embarrassment. “Sorry!”

He chuckled, took her hand again, and led the way around the corner to the room the clerk had assigned them. She somewhat remembered hearing the number, but it only held significance when she saw the door in front of them.

Room 207.

Ryōma unlocked it, shouldering the heavy door open and flicking on the nearest light as he pulled her inside behind him. He seemed to take a moment to glance around, swiftly stuck the Do Not Disturb placard onto the exterior handle, and let the door swing shut.

Abigail followed him in far enough to drop her clutch beside the keycard, wallet, and phone he deposited on the little TV table.

The next thing she knew, Ryōma had her up against the wall, his lips over hers and his hands sliding up her thighs as he hooked her legs over his hips. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and ground his erection against her core hard enough to have her arching into him. Her arms curled around him, fingers digging into the shirt over his back. Ryōma broke the kiss with a groan. “Need to see you fall apart for me, baby girl.”

Heat flashed through her and she crossed her ankles at his back, simultaneously raising her arms up in invitation. “I’m yours for the taking tonight.”

He made a guttural sound like a deep-throated growl, found her zipper as if he had previously memorized the location, and ripped the dress up over her head. His warm brown eyes roved over her, dilating a little more, and his hands returned to her skin to stroke down her sides. “So fucking sexy.” When he went in for another kiss, he angled for her neck instead of her mouth.

Abigail wedged her fingers into his hair and moaned at the surprising silkiness that greeted her. She arched against him as he licked and sucked toward her collar, his hips rocking into hers in response and edging her oh-so-slowly closer to oblivion. She let her fingers slide down the back of his neck as he popped open her strapless bra, the material tugged away almost at the same time as she jerked on his shirt.

Ryōma chuckled and palmed one of her breasts, his thumb gliding across her nipple. “Patience, Abby. Ladies first.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “What?”

He bent and swirled his tongue around the other nipple, teasing it lightly with his teeth as he pinched the first. She bucked against him. But he didn’t linger on her chest. Instead he dislodged her legs from his hips and lowered himself, sweeping her panties down the moment he had the opportunity. Then her legs went back up as he hit his knees, placed on his shoulders this time, and he licked his lips as his burning gaze locked onto hers. “Tonight, you belong to me.”

She opened her mouth—to question the statement, to argue it, or maybe just to tell him to get with it, she wasn’t sure—but he leaned in and proceeded to feast on her pussy with all the intensity that had sent her head spinning in the cab. All she could do was grab hold of his head and take the pleasure he was giving her. “Oh, fuck , yes!”

His hands dug into her hips and her butt as his tongue alternated between licking, pumping, and swirling around her clit. He was enthusiastic in his eating, the room quickly filling with wet slurping sounds and low, muffled moaning that almost competed with her heavier panting and building cries. Almost.

Abigail made no effort to warn him as her orgasm crested, her body clenching and her breathing becoming sharper. His tongue again pulled out from inside her and this time he moved to suck firmly at her clit, and it was perfect. She made a shrill sound as her body bucked in his hold, blissful heat ripping through her.

Ryōma lowered her legs from his shoulders, licking his lips with a wicked grin, then promptly swept her up and turned them from the wall. “You’re fuckin’ delicious,” he said shamelessly. He dropped her onto the bed. “I’m gonna make a goddamn mess out of you, baby girl.” He didn’t look away as he stripped out of his shirt and started working on his belt.

Her mouth watered. It was unfair how exactly her type he was. Most of his chest was tattoo-free, which surprised her, but enough of it came over his shoulders that she could tell there would be more when he turned around. And of course there were his muscles. So well defined they may as well have been painted into place. She watched his arms flex as he worked on his pants, dropping those to the floor, and she licked her lips.

She wanted her turn to taste him .

“You keeping the boots on?”

“Huh?” Abigail blinked, snapping her gaze up to his face before processing his words. She looked down and realized she was, in fact, still wearing her boots. “Oh. No.” It wasn’t until she was popping the shoe off and felt the weight of it shift that she remembered her gun was tucked inside. Thank goodness she hadn’t embarrassed herself that bad. She let the boots sit on the floor at the foot of the bed, and no sooner was she done with that than Ryōma was crawling over her.

“Abby,” Ryōma said on a groan, his hand gliding over her skin, fingers lingering at her chest.

Her back arched without conscious thought, her body craving more of his touch. “We don’t have to talk,” she said. “Just fuck me until I’m a screaming, whimpering mess. And make sure you choke me on your dick before you leave.”

He bent his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, one hand snaking down to tease her pussy. He licked at her nipple and flicked her clit simultaneously, stirring her up a little more. Then he popped off and growled, “Put your ass in the air for me. I need to fuck you hard.”

Abigail scrambled to obey, rolling onto her stomach and pushing into position. She pulled a pillow beneath her shoulders and turned her head to the side as she felt him move in behind her. “Make me scream again,” she begged.

Ryōma took hold of her ass, squeezing firmly before sliding his cock between her folds. “Until your throat’s raw, baby girl.” He notched himself in her entrance and his hands moved to her hips. He pushed his way inside her with a long groan and didn’t stop until he was fully seated. “ Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She gasped beneath him and ground into him as best she could. It had been much too long.

He grunted and set into motion, quickly falling into the hard rhythm he’d promised. He held her mostly steady and fucked in and out of her with almost brutal strokes, using her to chase his own pleasure but never quite forgetting hers. It was rough, it felt inexplicably carnal, and she loved it.

Abigail clutched desperately at the bedding, gasping and burning as she took him repeatedly into her body. Every now and again she heard a yes! fill the air in her voice, but she never noticed herself saying the word.

Ryōma stretched over her, one hand tangling in her hair and hauling her up until her back arched sharply. His other hand curved around, going for her clit. “Come for me, Abby. Clamp down on my dick and show me that release.”

Euphoria burst through her as though he’d commanded it, tearing another shriek from somewhere deep inside her. She shook in his arms as the pleasure rolled through her and it was several seconds before she realized he had released her hair in favor of folding that arm around her torso, too. He held them both on their knees, arms tight around her as he shuddered with his own release.

Abigail fought to catch her breath. Holy fuck. That was so hot.

Ryōma toppled them both to their sides, rolled her onto her back, and slipped his tongue into her mouth. “Gonna fill you so full you’re dripping my cum for a week.” He nestled himself between her thighs, his cock still at half-mast .

Abigail reached up and dug her fingers into the backs of his shoulders. “Let’s fuck all over this room.”

He grinned and licked his way across her jaw, rocking against her. “Dirty girl. I like it.” He eased back, stroking himself as she watched. “But first, get on your knees and open your mouth.”

Ryōma cracked his eyes open at the insanely early hour of eight-something, the thrumming in his head and weight of his eyelids telling him he’d had one too many the night before. Or at least that he was getting too old to be drinking two types of alcohol and pulling all-nighters at the ripe old age of thirty-three.

Something stirred beside him, accompanied by the softest of feminine moans, and he rolled his head to the side to see a wild mess of raven hair pillowed around the sleeping face of the woman from the bar. The sheet had been shoved low enough to reveal most of her breasts, as if he didn’t already remember every sinful thing they’d done the night before. He let his gaze linger, appreciating the faint discolorations he could just make out in the low light of the room that he was sure he’d put on her skin. Her lips were parted ever so slightly in sleep, tempting him more. Sleeping fucking beauty.

He snorted at himself and rolled silently to his feet. He needed to clean up and check his phone. It had been his night off, and he’d left the volume up as he always did, but he had to make sure he hadn’t been more out of it than he’d realized. Nothing important seemed to have come in, so he lowered the volume to give her a few more minutes to sleep while he showered, but then he hesitated.

Ryōma cast another glance at the bed and noted that she had rolled fully onto her back. The sheet had slipped completely off her breasts, exposing them to the room and his greedy gaze. If she was fake-sleeping, she was doing a fucking fantastic job.

He quietly popped open her clutch, sliding his fingertips inside until he could feel the hard plastic edge of what he was searching for. There was just enough light between the hall light they’d never turned off and the crack in the so-called blackout drapes to enable him to read the information printed on her license once it was in his palm.

Abigail Dunn, age twenty-nine. It was a New Jersey license with a recent issue date, and he recalled her mentioning back at the bar how she’d only moved to Newark within the past year. That tracked, but he also found it odd that she’d replaced her license. Or maybe she hadn’t had one before? He took a moment to memorize her address, then returned the card back to her clutch and clicked it shut.

He scooped his pants up off the floor and ducked into the bathroom.

She was still asleep when he stepped out again, freshly showered and wishing he kept a travel toothbrush in his pocket. His lips lifted in a grin at the sight of her half rolled over, her hair sliding over her face and neck, her arm pushing her breasts up. For a second, he considered shedding the pants he’d just pulled back on and seeing how far he could get before she woke. But he dismissed the idea before his dick could do more than twitch at the thought.

Instead, Ryōma reached out and gently raised the sheet up to her shoulders, providing her some semblance of coverage. They’d both been drinking the previous night. He didn’t regret how the night had gone, but he couldn’t say how she might feel. And since he’d decided to see her again, he wanted her to feel comfortable rather than not.

Ryōma lifted his shirt from the floor, shook it out, and pulled it over his head. Watching her sleep was only going to fill his mind with the wrong kinds of thoughts. He moved to the small table in the room—where he’d bent her over for the second time last night—and found the standard hotel stationary that had been shoved beneath the provided telephone. The pen had rolled all the way to the floor, but he retrieved that too and scrawled a quick note to let her know he was going in search of coffee and would be back shortly. He debated for a beat, then added his number in case she needed anything before he returned.

He set the note on the pillow beside her, figuring some clichés were good for something. With his phone and wallet returned to his pockets, he lifted the keycard and quietly let himself out of the room. Hopefully the hotel had supplies available and he wouldn’t need to grab a ride off the property.

A soft click shattered her peaceful dream, sending Abigail tumbling into a memory. She knew it was a memory, knew it wasn’t actively happening, knew she had already survived it—the same way people talk about knowing they’re asleep—but she couldn’t immediately haul herself out of it. For several terrible, gut-wrenching seconds, Abigail was trapped in her child’s body, pressed against the back wall of her bedroom and sobbing as gunshots exploded through her home.

Little Abby sat still, trembling in fear and doing her best not to breathe despite the tears rolling down her face, even after the explosions stopped. Her eyes locked on the door and she knew she had to open it. She knew she had to go out and see what had happened. She didn’t understand why her mommy and daddy hadn’t come to check on her, or reassure her, after all of that. So, finding her courage, she slid her feet to the floor.

No, don’t!

Abigail jerked awake, her heart racing, her breath coming in short gasps. It took her a good thirty seconds to recognize the space around her, both for what it was and for what it wasn’t. She wasn’t in her apartment, but a hotel room. The light from the hall was still on, though the light itself wasn’t overly bright, so she could see enough to make out objects and positions .

Abigail sat up properly, the sheet falling to her lap. Cool air tickled her skin and she realized she was naked. She was naked, in a hotel, her head kind of hurt, and she’d had that damn dream again. All of that was a bad sign. What did I do to myself?

She turned to shimmy to the edge of the bed and her hand landed on a piece of paper—a note, obviously left for her. Her mouth went dry and she snatched it up before adjusting to fumble for the bedside lamp so she could actually read it.

The content was simple enough. It was the name at the bottom that brought everything into diamond sharp focus.

Ryōma.

Fuck. Me. She’d slept with him. The memories surged forward all at once, a little hazy around the edges but clear enough to be true. She hadn’t just slept with her target, she’d practically thrown herself at him. She’d melted at his first touch, wrapped herself around him, and gone along with every inappropriate thing he’d suggested after.

The cab. The lobby. The elevator. All the delicious, nasty sex they’d had since they’d stumbled into this very room.

Her eyes lifted from the paper, her mouth dry as she slowly looked around again. She remembered the way he’d pinned her to the wall. She remembered the way he’d bent her over the table. She remembered getting on her knees on the floor for him and sucking his dick. She remembered the way they’d tangled themselves up on this bed in various positions, the way his hands felt grabbing at her breasts and gliding over her skin. She remembered the way it felt to touch him, too. To be so full of him she almost couldn’t breathe.

Abigail dropped the note and smacked both hands to her face, cursing herself. She was never touching another drink as long as she lived. If anyone ever finds out, I’m so screwed. Forget fired. This is so much worse than fired. She’d really fucked up. A bitter laugh choked her and she dragged in a breath.

Yes, she’d done something she absolutely should not have done. Something she could never, ever admit to anyone. But she might still be able to get ahead of it. She needed to get herself together and slip out, then hope to casually run into Ryōma again in a day or a week or something and hope that their fun romp would loosen him up enough for a more in-depth chat. Sans alcohol. She’d have to find a way to decline alcohol without giving him the impression she regretted what they’d done.

Something in her chest tightened.

Abigail locked her jaw. She did regret it. No matter how great it had felt at the time, she shouldn’t have done it. Even if he wasn’t more than likely a very bad man, one night of no-holds-barred sex did not justify risking her entire career and the life she had only barely set on track for herself by extension.

That thought firmly in mind, Abigail finally propelled herself from the bed. She grabbed up her discarded clothes and locked herself in the bathroom to do what she could toward freshening up. At the very least, she could relieve the pressure in her bladder and wash some of the residual stickiness off her skin. She eyed the shower, still glistening from recent use. They really had defiled every part of the room, and now everywhere she looked, a memory she couldn’t afford to have waited to haunt her .

I’m so screwed.

If Special Agent Mercer found out about this, the woman would take glee in retrieving Abigail’s badge and snapping cuffs around her wrists.

Abigail shoved the thought as far down as she could manage and stepped beneath the spray of the showerhead. For a stupid second, she found herself disappointed that the shower didn’t smell like him. Of course it doesn’t. He would have used the hotel provided products, just like she was going to have to, because none of this was pre-planned. And it was better that way. She couldn’t be going around smelling like the man she was supposed to be coercing into an interrogation room.

She tilted her head into the stream of water and choked on a strangled laugh. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to wander back for a moment to the feel of Ryōma’s hands reaching around her body and massaging her skin. A small gasp escaped her as a wave of warm tingles rolled through her, as if it were more than an hours’ old memory. But that was precisely what it was, and she was determined to make sure it stayed that way. So she put it—and all the others—into a box in her mind and reached for what remained of the soap.

When she was as dry as she could get herself in the steamy room, she slipped back into the clothes she’d donned for her trip to the bar. If nothing else, she was at least grateful she hadn’t been wearing them long beforehand. It was a small mercy. She had no idea where her hairband had gone, so she patted her hair down one final time before leaving it to hang and finally stepping from the room .

She nearly shrieked at the sight of the man she’d been hoping to avoid sitting with his legs stretched out on the bed, waiting for her.

Ryōma lifted a familiar cup from the side table nearest him, a drink stopper plugging the lid. “I took a guess about what you’d want, but the coffee’s still hot if nothing else.”

Her heart beat faster. He hadn’t just come back, he’d brought her coffee. Fuck. Me.