Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

RILEY

I’m hot, and tired.

So tired.

My brain’s foggy, my eyelids heavy. The conversation going on around me cuts through at random.

“She’s waking up.”

“The dosage was too small.”

“He said to inject the bare minimum.”

“Give her another shot, or she’ll wake up.”

My head rolls back as I struggle to do so.

“Porca miseria! She dies, and we die. Look what happened to the kid.”

“Give me that.” There’s a prick in my neck. “Buckle her seat belt. He’s boarding right now.”

“Wheeere…” I murmur, but the words don’t form.

“Shhh, cara mio. Play your cards right, and you might survive.”

I fight sleep, but it’s no use, and I nod off.

“Open your mouth,” his voice gruffly says.

He loves ordering me about.

Loves demanding I do dirty, filthy things. Like relaxing into him as he thrusts deep into my throat, submitting to him as I choke and struggle for air.

A dream. I’m dreaming again.

His thumb presses against my bottom lip, then rolled paper touches my tongue. “Drink up.”

I tighten my lips around the straw and suck. The water’s cold and refreshing. And I’m thirsty, so thirsty.

My head lolls against his chest as he adjusts me on his lap.

After a while, a spoon replaces the straw. I struggle to open my mouth around it.

“A couple spoonfuls. Then you’ll sleep off what remains of the sedative.”

My eyelids flutter. Sedative? Am I not in my apartment? Isn’t he the man holding me in his arms? I gasp, and he shoves the spoon into my mouth.

Applesauce.

I swallow it, and that’s the last thing I remember.

I’m trapped in a faded memory filled with vague impressions.

Him , in the shower with me. Behind me, with his arm snaked around my waist and chest pressed into my back. I’m pinned against the glass, naked and disoriented.

Shampoo stings my eyes, compounding my confusion. He’s washing my hair?

He forks fingers through my locks, making sure to coat each strand before rinsing the suds away. He’s meticulous. Businesslike.

Bossy, moving me about like a rag doll. Like I’m his favorite toy to play with.

And punish.

I turn my head slightly to steal a look, but he’s not having it. He shoves my face forward, and then winds my hair around his fist until I’m completely immobile.

His heart races against my back.

And mine flutters, because I know what happens next.

His lips on my neck. His cock shoved between my clenched thighs.

“Beg me to fuck you like this.”

“Yes. Please…” I croak.

He tugs my hair. “Say it.”

“Please fuck my thighs.”

His teeth graze my sensitive skin, then he nuzzles my ear with his nose. “Once more, but this time, say my name. ‘Alessandro, fuck my traitorous little body.’”

Wait … what?

“Let me hear you, Riley.”

My heart thumps wildly. “Please … Alessandro …”

He positions my palms on the glass. “Brace yourself,” is all the warning I get before he thrusts forward, violently and without reservation. I still, giving in to the familiar hardness between my thighs. Basking in his possession.

This feels so real .

Inch by beautiful inch, he withdraws with agonizing slowness, and then shoves forward hard. My breasts flatten against the glass as he pins me to it, fucking me furiously. He hooks an arm around my waist to prop me in place when my knees give out.

I groan, anxious for the glide of his cock through my slit, ready to go off like a rocket.

Except he doesn’t shift higher.

I need him there . Why hasn’t he shifted higher?

And no comments about my excitement?

No praise for my submission?

The dream begins to fade. No. Please, no. I’m not ready to let it go. I can’t lose him all over again.

The warmth against my back disappears, and I slide down the glass, water washing his seed from my bottom.

Stay. Please .

Exhausted, I curl into a ball on the shower floor. Still, words I wish I could have said form.

Don’t leave me again.