Page 28 of Auctioned To Her Dad's Mafia Enemies

“I think I’m clean,” I say.

He frowns. “There’s one place I haven’twashed.”

He’s right. He licked me there but leftwashing the place between my legs until last. The way his cheeks turn pinktells me he feels very different about this. “I’ll leave you,” he says, but Igrip his arm.

“No,” I whisper, holding my breath as I waitto see what he’ll do next, letting my thigh’s part enough for his hand. Itremble with anticipation, fascinated by his restraint as he goes still behindme. He hesitates; his breathing ragged. I close my eyes, waiting. His fingersare already soapy, so when they part my folds, skimming over my clit, it’ssmooth and easy, and I arch my back and hiss at the sensation.

Antonio is slow and tentative, touching me,washing me with reverent but thorough care, and my pussy clenches, cravingmore. He groans, the sound so pained, it makes me gasp, and then he eases mefrom his lap, pushing up quickly, his clothes so sodden they drop a rush ofwater. How is he going to get back to his room without drenching the place? Iguess he isn’t worried because he slicks his hand over his face and hair, grabshis shoes from the floor, and disappears through the bathroom door.

Confusion draws my brows together, and I shakemy head. So, licking between my legs is okay, but washing me between them brokehim? Antonio Venturi is a complex man, and it seems that I am a strange woman.Or mad. Only madness can explain my flip between rage and desire. Or maybethere’s a closer relationship between the two emotions that I imagined.

I pull off my wet nightdress and wring it outbefore hanging it over the towel rail then I reach for a fluffy white towel. Iwrap my hair and stare at myself in the mirror.

When Antonio forced me to look at myself, Ihadn’t recognized the woman he gripped by the throat, and now, my reflection isstill unfamiliar. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are strangely bright. Mybody feels alive in a way it never has before.

One orgasm? Is that all it takes?

I see a ruthless killer worship at my feet,and I’m suddenly dragged into a deep thrall. His mouth was as soft as the downpillows in the bedroom, his tongue coaxing, searching out my pleasure like heheld a map to the shortest path.

I shake my head and look away, following thewet trail he left with the floor mat hooked beneath my foot. The door isn’tlocked. It isn’t even shut. Antonio dashed away so quickly that he forgot thathe was supposed to secure his captive. In the hallway, everything is quiet. Iglance to the left at the four black doors that hold other bedrooms inhabitedby other men. I look right into the open-plan living area that seems empty.Where is everyone?

Fuck. Is this my chance to escape? I’m wearinga towel.

Just as I’m about to step back into my room, arumbling, painful sound emanates from further down the corridor. At least, Ithink it sounds painful until I realize what else it might be. Antonio racedaway with an erection that could obliterate the world. Did he…?

My face flushes hot at the mental image of himstanding with his back against the door, dripping, while he palms his thickcock in rough strokes, thinking about what he just did to me. I shake away thepicture, pick up the wet, wrinkled floor mat, and take it over to the hamper inthe corner. I find clean panties and dress in a white lounge suit that’s madeof the softest luxury fabric, then I tiptoe out of the room. The sun is bright,even though the tall sliding doors to the balcony are tinted to prevent glare.I approach slowly, my damp bare feet sticking to the cool floor. I stare out atthe expanse of the city where freedom resides.

I turn to find the front door and approach itslowly, craning my ear to listen. Voices carry from somewhere outside, probablyVenturi soldiers. Escape was never anything but a fleeting hope. I’m a bird ina cage; one they do not want to release.

I test the handle for the balcony doors andfind they slide easily. Outside, the air is cool, but not unpleasant and I makemy way to the edge, gripping onto the glass balustrade, staring down at thepeople below. Small as ants, they make their way past, oblivious to my plight.I’m Rapunzel without the hair to toss over the balcony or the prince waiting atthe bottom to rescue me. I lean far over to try to work out where I am. Thecity isn’t familiar to me, not after so many years. When I left, I was a childwho didn’t know much outside the walls of my own home.

Hands grasp my arms and haul me backward as Isqueak in protest and whip my head around.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Antonio growls.His face is twisted with anger. But he’s panting like he’s afraid. Did he thinkI was going to jump?

“What are you worried about, Antonio? Did youthink I’d rather die than see you again?”

He holds me so close to his body that I canfeel the rapid thud, thud, thud of his heart.

“Come inside.”

He backs us up and closes the door, onlyreleasing me when it’s locked. His gray eyes are dark with gathered stormclouds, his mouth a grim line. He turns his attention to the kitchen, avoidingme. “You need to eat.” He sounds just like my mother. What is it with Siciliansand their misplaced belief that food is a cure-all?

“Did my father come forward?” I ask.

He tuts and strides into the kitchen. I takeit to mean no. No surprise there.

The sleek units stretch around a corner,revealing nothing of what’s inside. He yanks open the door to a huge integratedrefrigerator and stares inside. Just as he’s about to reach for a tray of food,approaching voices make him pause. The front door flies open and serious Lucastrides in, followed by a smiling Alexis, and the atmosphere immediatelychanges.

12

LUCA

SHIFTED LOYALTIES

I stop in my tracks at the sight of Aemelia inthe kitchen with Antonio. Something has shifted in the atmosphere in thepenthouse. There’s no tension. She leans toward him, her body language relaxed,and they seem comfortable together, like old friends passing the time ratherthan captor and captive. Aemelia’s hair is damp, loose, and already beginningto curl at the ends, and Antonio’s is also wet. My eyes narrow as I take in thedetails—his change of clothes, the way he stands closer than necessary, the wayshe glances at him before speaking.

“Why is she out here?” I ask, my tone sharp.

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