Page 24 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

She watches, her gaze burns, but she doesn’t run. If I didn’t have plans, she’d make an excellent head of the Mulligan clan.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

I approach, slowly, the scarves loose in one hand, and her gaze drops to them. “Curiosity.”

“You want something.”

She shifts, her eyes narrowing on me as I stop in front of her. “What?—”

“You said that.” I bend to her ear, my mouth so close to her flesh I can feel her. “You told me you had questions.”

I let the words sit, but I’m not done toying with her.

I want a taste. I want to see what she’s made of, right down deep in her soul.

Most would fill the silence, but she doesn’t. She’s waiting, too, hanging on with a tenaciousness that both intrigues and pleases. A fight isn’t worth it without a worthy opponent.

“You want a taste of what this place can offer,” I say softly.

“What do you mean?”

I slide a hand over her hip, fingertips tingling as they brush against the exposed skin of her lower back. It’s soft as velvet. Hot from her desire, like a fever rages there, just below the surface. “This club gives anyone who walks in here the permission to indulge in their deepest, wildest fantasies, to sink into pleasure without strings or repercussions, without guilt. You could go back out there. Plenty would want you, but I think you want what I can offer.”

She lifts her head, turning, her mouth almost touching mine as she seeks out my gaze from beneath the mask. “And what is that?”

“Your deepest yearnings. The control you cling to taken away. Permission to come so hard you’ll beg. Be at my mercy.”

“I…”

I trail my fingertips down the side of her face, her breath hitching. “Or you came here with another agenda.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “No.”

“No?”

“I…I just…”

I let the silence linger. “You know why you’re here. What is it you want?”

She swallows as I use the scarves to trace a gossamer trail over her throat.

My mouth is close to hers, and her breath is warm on my lips. Instinctively, she raises her chin, offering. And I lean in.

“I asked you a question.” I skim my mouth along over the heat of her skin, blowing over it, not touching her lips with mine. Not yet. “I expect an answer.”

“The reason everyone’s here,” she says, her voice almost breathless as her tongue touches the dark, sensitive skin of her mouth.

“What’s that?”

“Need? Curiosity.”

I move to her ear and breathe into it, a controlled stream of air, and she squirms. I slip my hand over her cheek, down to her throat, and her pulse drums beneath my fingers. “Liar.”

Raising my eyes, I look at her, then drop my gaze to her mouth. That prize. I move in again, so close we’re almost kissing, but I don’t give her that.

Even as much as I want it.

A kiss is power. And to deny that power makes me stronger and makes her beg for that pleasure. Its intricacies are more evocative than sex. A kiss is a way to a soul, hers. It opens intimacy and exposes the soft, hidden center.

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