Page 51 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
I hate feeling jealous. It’s petty and possessive and everything I swore I’d never be. But watching woman after woman eye myhusband like he’s a prime cut of beef makes me want to stake my claim in the most primal way possible.
I stand up and plop myself down in his lap.
Well, I try to. The alcohol makes me miscalculate slightly, and I nearly slide right off his thigh before his arms come around my waist.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he murmurs in my ear, his breath warm against my neck, “but is there a specific reason you want to sit on my lap?”
“No particular reason,” I lie, shifting until I’m settled on one thigh with my arm around his neck. “I just like it here.”
“I see.” His eyes glitter with amusement. “So you’re not jealous?”
I scoff. “As if.”
Even I don’t believe that pathetic denial.
Lorenzo chuckles, his hand sliding up my thigh beneath the table. With my short dress, there’s plenty of exposed skin, and when his fingers brush against my panties, my breath catches.
“Good,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss just below my ear. “Because there’s nothing for you to be jealous about, baby.”
His fingers slip beneath the satin, and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. My thigh trembles as he explores, and I have to bite back a moan.
“Those women want you,” I manage to say, even as my body arches into his touch.
I feel him smile against my neck. “What was it you said earlier? That there’s something fun about knowing I’m yours, no matter who else might want me?”
I’m definitely pouting now. “It’s not as fun as I thought it would be.”
He slides one finger deep inside me, and I have to grip his shoulder to keep from crying out. “That’s because you haven’t accepted that I’m yours yet. Don’t worry, baby. I’m not the type to cheat on my wife.”
Wife. The word hits different every time he says it. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a mistake and started feeling like truth.
My thoughts scatter as he adds a second finger, pumping slowly while his thumb finds my clit. I glance around frantically—we’re tucked away in the dimly lit corner, but still. The risk of getting caught makes my pulse race for entirely different reasons.
“Don’t you dare get jealous,dolcezza,” he growls against my ear, his fingers moving faster. “Those women don’t have a damn thing I want. Why would I look at anyone else when I have you? When I have this sweet pussy that drips for me...”
His mouth latches onto my neck, and I’m drowning in sensation. The music pounds around us, people dance and laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m falling apart in his arms.
“You’re close, aren’t you, baby?”
“Y-yes,” I breathe.
“Want to make a scene? Want to cry out my name so all those other women know exactly who I belong to?”
God, it’s tempting. But this feels too intimate to share, even in the middle of a crowded club. So I pull his mouth to mine just as my orgasm crashes over me, kissing him deeply to muffle my cries.
He doesn’t stop until I’m jelly in his arms, and when he finally withdraws his hand, he licks his fingers clean with that satisfied hum that makes me clench all over again.
I slide back onto the seat beside him on unsteady legs and take a large gulp of my cocktail. Lorenzo shoots me a wicked grin.
“Feel better now? Understand you have nothing to worry about?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But I have to ask—why get married when you have women throwing themselves at you constantly?”
He shakes his head. “They only want my money.”
I give him a skeptical look. “I doubt that’s all they want.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t matter what I looked like. That first woman—Amy?—”
