Page 2 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

Has it only been an hour since he had me screaming in pleasure in his lap? He’d sent a jet to get me and was waiting for me on the tarmac when I arrived. I felt his eyes on me the moment I appeared at the top of the aircraft steps and all the way to the black SUV idling on the tarmac.

As soon as my butt hit the cool leather of the passenger seat, Dante dragged me across the console.

I bite my lip, feeling myself growing slick again. It must be the long-distance thing. Although Dante makes me come every single night we speak on the phone, it’s still nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh.

My reaction to Dante isn’t something I fully understand. I wasn’t even interested in dating until I met him. Now I can’t seem to think straight when he speaks to me, much less touches me. And I can’t get over his looks.

The restaurant’s dim lighting bathes Dante in a warm, amber glow, accentuating the chiseled lines of his jaw. His light gray eyes smolder with an intensity that makes my breath catch every time. A thick five o’clock shadow adds a rugged edge to his features, contrasting with his enticing, full lips.

Earlier, his hair was neatly tied back, but now—thanks to my eager fingers—the inky locks fall freely, brushing against the crisp collar of his shirt.

Dante leans in, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. “You’re in for quite a weekend, Addy. You’ll see and do things you’ve never done before.” His lips curl into a provocative smile. “Starting now. Come here.”

Before I can process his words, he tugs at my hand, and I’m once again on his lap.

“Wait,” I whisper, my eyes widening as my heart starts to race. “What are you doing?”

In response, Dante pulls me flush against him, his large hands splaying possessively across my lower belly. I can’t help but squirm as I feel the thick outline of his arousal pressing against my backside.

I steal a glance around the empty restaurant, a blush creeping up my neck. It’s oddly quiet for a five-star Italian place in such a busy part of town.

Dante notices my nervousness and chuckles softly, his breath warm against my ear. “Don’t worry, bella. It’s just us tonight.”

“But what about the staff?” I whisper, scanning the room. The maître d’ who welcomed us and the waiters who served our main course have since vanished. I manage to suppress a moan as Dante suckles on the sensitive skin below my ear, but it escapes when his large palm strokes upward and cups my breast.

“I’m sure they’re around somewhere,” he murmurs against my skin. His thumb and index finger find my nipple, rolling it, then pinching it hard. I jerk and moan louder, helplessly grinding against him.

“Dante,” I gasp, the sound both a plea and warning.

His hand leaves my breast, trailing higher until his fingers spear into my curly red hair—a nod to my Irish roots. He gathers the mass over one shoulder, fully baring my neck and jaw to his wicked mouth. Keeping his hand tangled in my hair, he takes complete control, dropping kisses from my exposed shoulder to the corner of my lips and back.

I’m panting, straining to meet his mouth, desperate to feel his breath, his lips, and the smooth glide of his tongue against mine. But his firm grip holds me steady as he continues his teasing.

He rasps against my skin. “I hope you’re not too attached to this dress, because I plan to tear it off you.”

A shiver of excitement runs down my spine, yet I can’t help my smug smile. It’s a simple white curve-hugging dress with a ruched bodice, off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a plunging neckline. I almost feel bad for the man. Almost.

I get why Dante reacted so strongly when he first saw me at the airstrip today, and his struggle since then to keep his eyes above my neckline; before now, he has never seen me in a dress. Even I don’t remember the last time I wore a dress.

“I take it you hate it then?” I tease, my voice husky with desire.

“It’s obscene. Downright revolting,” Dante growls, his eyes darkening. His hand glides up my thigh, fingers teasing the hem of my dress before tracing tantalizing circles on the sensitive skin inside.

I giggle nervously. “I agree it’s bad. You have my permission to rip it to shreds. When can we leave?” My breath hitches as his fingers inch dangerously close to my core.

“Leave?” Dante’s lips curve into a wicked smile. “We’re not leaving yet, bella. We’re staying for dessert.”

A gasp escapes me as he hooks his finger into the crotch of my panties, dragging the fabric away from my slick folds. “Dante,” I whisper, “we’ll get kicked out.”

He chuckles darkly. “No, we won’t. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Stop? Hell no. I shake my head, too aroused and intrigued to even consider it.

“In that case . . .” He adjusts the tablecloth, ensuring we’re completely covered. “Be quiet. Keep a straight face.” He disentangles his other hand from my hair and links it with mine. “Squeeze my hand if you need to, but don’t make a sound, capisci?”

Before I can respond, he slides a long, thick finger inside me. I bite back a groan, my head falling back against his shoulder. Staying quiet is going to be a monumental challenge.

“Shh, Addy,” he whispers, his breath fanning against my neck. “Look, the waiter is heading our way to see if we want dessert.” He adds a second finger, pumping faster, the heel of his hand sliding against my clit. “Be a good girl and tell him what we want.”

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