Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

RILEY

It’s impossible to remain angry with a man who ravages your body with his eyes as you bare your soul to him beneath the full brunt of his attention. I’m dining on an expensive yacht’s deck on a twelve-hour cruise to Sicily, and—aside from the small crew tending to us—am highly unsettled by the thought of spending so much alone time with such an unpredictable man.

Out on open water, the world seems vast, and we’re simply two tiny figures frantically navigating life. Fate’s brought us together, ripped us apart, and now is having a good laugh at my expense. It’s much easier being angry than emotionally sabotaged this way.

He licks the red wine stain from his lips, and my breath hitches in my throat. He has no business looking like a CEO anticipating the glory of a hostile takeover.

And I’m the target in his sights.

“Did you wear the bathing suit like I asked?”

I reply with a simple nod. The white crochet bikini is tiny, with two triangles covering my areolas and a third my sex. Over top, I’m wearing a sheer white cover-up.

There’s no hiding from this man.

His shining blue eyes say he knows it, too.

“Nothing to say?”

A soft sigh escapes me. “Not really.”

With a pensive stare, he pulls a joint from his pocket, places it between his lips, lights it, and reclining in his chair, inhales.

My jaw goes slack.

He watches my reaction with amusement, and then blows out smoke. “I’ve been neglecting our arrangement.”

Sometimes, like now, it feels like we’re so close. Other times, far, far away. “You’ve been busy .”

“I fired them.”

Everything within me stills. “Because they touched the clothing you purchased me?”

His expression gives nothing away, but his next words ring loud and clear. “No one hurts you but me.”

I duck my head to hide the ridiculous flush flooding my cheeks. He might be smoking a blunt, but I’m suddenly high, dizzying so. Caution has me asking, “What happens when you grow bored with me?”

He crosses his ankles, his gaze steady. “That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

Seconds turn into minutes as I wait for him to elaborate. Then he curls a finger at me, gesturing me closer.

I stand and round the table.

Without warning, he tugs me onto his lap. “Better.”

“Is it?”

“Twelve hours is all I ask.” He leans his head back and takes another drag, the sweet, woodsy scent tickling my nose.

“Right. Twelve hours is all you ask ?” To do what, exactly? Dine on deck? Get stoned? Play with me, make me hope for more, then toss me aside on the shelf of forgotten toys?

He chuckles.

My eyebrows prop up the sky.

“Hyperbole.”

Insanity. That he’s offering me an English lesson along with twelve hours of God knows what.

“Smoke?”

“Um … I never…”

His face is close, so close, then he blows smoke over my head. “Always so perfectly corruptible.”

Everything about this situation is unfamiliar. I fully expected to be seated silently on an airplane and watching him work.

“And you enjoy corrupting me?”

“Press your lips to mine, and I’ll remind you that I do.”

I arch up, like a fool, and after taking another hit, he presses his mouth to mine. My lips part on his exhale, then he withdraws with a smile. “Close your mouth and suck the smoke into your lungs.”

I do, then cough.

He waits for me to recover before his lips crash against mine. Our tongues tangle, and his earthy taste hits my taste buds.

Everything about this is mind-blowing.

I like this side of him.

He breaks the kiss. “One more hit, and then I’ll lay you out across the front deck and fuck away days of getting off only with my hand.”

My hand shakes from his admission as I pluck the joint from his fingers and place it between my lips. He told me last night that he hadn’t gone through with his threat and touched any of those bitches. But I didn’t believe him, until now.

His eyes brighten as he watches me smoke.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach—I’m more attracted to him now than I ever was. I inhale sharply, and my throat suddenly burns. Gasping, I drop the joint, and then erupt into a coughing fit.

“Easy, baby.” He caresses my shoulders and back of my neck, and I calm beneath his touch.

“I dropped it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He rolls to stand with me in his arms. “I’m in the mood for something sweeter.”

SANDRO

I’m feeling more content than I have in years as she settles onto a blanket I’ve rolled out on deck. Tommaso’s receiving a huge fat raise for booking the yacht instead of the plane ticket I asked for. Yeah, it’ll take longer to get to Sicily, but the anticipation of sinking into Riley’s sweet body and fucking her until the sun sets on the horizon has me tearing off my dress shirt and kicking off my pants in a rush.

She lifts onto her knees to slip off the white cover-up. Her body strains against that tiny bikini. My girl’s so fucking gorgeous, it hurts.

My girl.

Mine.

For as long as I can keep her.

“You look funny,” she murmurs.

“You look sexy as fuck.”

It’s not lost on me I’ve wasted precious time denying I want her. My sore fingers from days spent jerking off are proof. A warning label should be attached to this woman; highly addictive and may cause lunacy, chaos, and ruin.

“Why do you keep looking at me that way?”

“What way?” I deny it, still.

“Like you can’t decide whether to hurt me or fuck me.”

When did she become this brazen?

To prove my point, her greedy gaze drops to my dick, and then my girl licks her lips. A rush of blood has me hard within seconds. Does a more perfect woman exist? A man will never grow tired of her reaction to his dick.

My dick.

My girl.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Next, I’ll be reciting Shakespearean sonnets or some other shit. I cup my dick crudely to ruin the effect she has on me. “Ask me to fuck you,” I command in a hard voice.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too?”

Fuck you, Shakespeare.

I’ll keep her as my sidepiece. Locked inside my villa, out of sight and harm’s way. Toss away the key so she’ll never escape. Because she’ll want to. If my girl—with her fucked-up past, daddy issues, and eagerness to submit to me, who’s offered herself up with such astonishing trust that I demand but don’t deserve—discovers the truth, she’ll say the three words she’s reluctant to utter.

I hate you.

My father won’t change his mind. Alessia Amato is back in Rhode Island, waiting for the church bells to ring. Trapped in a hate-love triangle—with me on one end and my stubborn father on the other. Don Lucchese is happy. They are counting Benjamins at the financial benefits of bringing the daughter of a prominent politician into the famiglie. Governor Amato’s new business tax breaks in New York are just the start.

And Renzo, the shithead who should be in my shoes, runs amok while giving two middle fingers to the world. He thinks he’s so clever. Yet no one understands him better than his twin. If I’m made to suffer, so will he. The difference is it’s what’s best for him.

Just like being the Beneventi heir suits me better.

Why make it more difficult than it already is?

“Alessandro.” Her voice cuts through.

I draw on a rage simmering like lava beneath the surface.

Except I’m stoned.

And she’s staring at me with soft kitten eyes. “Are you having weird side effects from the pot?”

“What?”

“You disappeared for a moment.”

And I’ll disappear inside her warm pussy for twelve hours more. “You hungry for my cock, baby?”

“Yes.”

All thought goes straight to my dick.

We lock eyes.

Without shying away, she slowly, ever so slowly, tugs her bikini top aside.

Fuck. I’ll never get over the sight.

“Lick me.”

My ears perk up … Did she …

“I want your filthy mouth on my pussy.”

“Either I’m never letting you smoke again or buying a fucking dispensary.” I grin like a madman. If my goal was to corrupt her, holy fuck have I succeeded.

“Please, Alessandro.” She rolls back onto her elbows and parts her thighs. My eyes shift from her face to her breasts to the tiny stretch of material barely covering her pussy.

Something inside me snaps.

I drop to my knees then, as she gasps, shove my face into her waiting warmth. I suck at the material and shake my head like an animal, ripping the bikini off her body with my teeth, then spitting it to the side.

“Oh my God,” she exclaims.

I hook my elbows beneath her knees and raise her hips. Her arousal fills my nostrils, sweet, musky, and all mine. Hell yeah. I can feel her tightness milking my cock already, and I have barely touched her.

It won’t kill me to be gentle, right? Ironic how I threatened to prolong her gratification if she ran, yet I’m the one who’s been running. Denying myself her addictive pussy and instead distancing myself, keeping her on her knees and always an arm’s length away. A fool who preferred not to believe her for fear of losing her.

“Is this your idea of delayed gratification?”

I tear my eyes away from her sweet pussy. And then I fucking grin. “You’ve been thinking about it, baby?”

“Yes.” Her simple admission is music to my ears. Except there’s one problem—the beast within me who won’t be delayed, denied, forgotten.

“No.”

Her glossy green eyes widen.

I lick her from the bottom landing strip to her clit, and then raise my head. “I want you coming hard, repeatedly.” I do it again, with more force, and she wiggles and squirms in my arms. So responsive. So eager.

So exquisitely perfect.

I dive in and go to town, licking her and fucking her like a man possessed. And I am … Why deny it any longer?

She grips my hair and gently tugs me closer. I let her. If my girl deludes herself into believing she has any control, so be it. Though I do go harder and faster, plunging mercilessly into her while pressing my thumb against her clit.

She moans my name, and I still. “Alessandro. Please, Alessandro.”

How many orgasms will it take to make her forget that fucker Al?

I tilt her up, drive my tongue deep, and grin like a fool as she goes off like a rocket. Withdrawing, I suck on her clit until she can’t take any more.

But we’re far from done.

I crawl over her limp body and, with an unsteady hand, drag my raging erection across her excitement. Whatever control I still have slips. I need inside like fucking yesterday.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flash open.

I thrust deep.

It’s hard to say what gets me off more, her wide-eyed bewilderment or her greedy pussy squeezing around me, missing me almost as much as I missed her. “I’ve failed.”

“Failed?”

“At breaking you in.” I withdraw, and then slam home. “All the fucking back in New York, and you still fit snug as a glove.”

She reaches up to cup my face. “There’s really only ever been you.”

Fuck. Her admission makes me want to howl. I’m a possessive fucker, yet something about her brings it out in extremes.

I’ll figure out a way to keep her.

Mine.

I lean in and kiss her, catching her surprised gasp in my throat. And then with great control, I move, pulling back and sinking deep with slow, methodic movements.

Sweet Riley’s tongue matches the rhythm. Fucking my mouth as my cock fills her up. I’m rarely slow and never soft, and always after my own filthy pleasures. This is different. And as her beautiful breasts bounce beneath me, her warm body surrounds me, and her heart races against mine, like a man in uncharted territory who knows when he’s landed a good thing, I give in to the intense pleasure.

Our lips never part. Not when she’s moaning. Not when I’m struggling not to release my load into her like a randy teen. Prolonged gratification, my ass.

Her thighs clench my hips tighter, seconds before my girl breaks our kiss with a scream.

I slam home deep, and then shake with pleasure as I pump her full of seed.

Cock still buried inside her, I lie part on her, part off.

Stealing time, like a thief.

Holding her, as if I’ll never let her go.