Page 59 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
There’s a pause, and something shifts in his expression, a shadow passing over his features.
“God knows I’m familiar with the suffocating feeling of having someone else call all the shots. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
There’s pain in his words, buried deep but still sharp enough to cut. For a second, his carefully constructed armor slips, and I catch a glimpse of something raw underneath.
“You’re familiar with that feeling?”
His expression shutters immediately, walls slamming back into place. I could push, but after last night’s drama and the promise of a vacation hanging between us, heavy emotional excavation feels like it can wait.
I shift gears, throwing him a lifeline. “Hawaii.”
“You want to sip fruity cocktails on the beach?” His relief at the subject change is almost palpable.
I shrug. “Sure. But the real draw is the volcano.”
And then I’m off, gesturing wildly as I tell him about my dream vacation. “Kilauea doesn’t erupt all the time,” I explain, probably sounding like a volcanic Wikipedia page. “But when it does...god, Lorenzo, imagine seeing actual lava flows, steam vents, hiking trails around an active crater. We’d have to go on short notice when the reports come in, but that’s part of the thrill, right?”
I probably sound like a lunatic, but I can’t help myself. My friends and family all think I’m certifiably insane for wanting to get anywhere near an active volcano.
But Lorenzo just watches me with this expression I can’t quite read, his eyes tracking every movement of my hands, every word spilling from my lips.
When I finish my volcanic rambling, silence stretches between us. He reaches for his phone, and my stomach drops. This is it. This is where he tells me volcanoes are too dangerous or too weird or too?—
His arm tightens around me when I try to slide off his lap.
“Stay put, baby. I like you right where you are.”
“I can’t stay in your lap all day,” I protest, even though the idea isn’t entirely unappealing.
“After sleeping away from you last night, I’m tempted to make you stay in bed all day.” The heat in his voice makes my toes curl.
I nod at his phone. “What are you doing?”
“Checking my calendar so we can plan our trip to Hawaii.”
My eyes go wide. “You actually want to go with me? To a volcano?”
“Want to?” He sets the phone aside and cups my face in his hands. “I insist on it. We’ll set up alerts for when Kilauea starts showing activity. I hope you’re ready to share your adventures, Mia, because I plan to be by your side for every crazy, risky, last-minute idea you have from now on.”
Warmth floods me. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this. Wanted someone who wouldn’t try to talk me out of my dreams, who’d actually want to be part of them.
I lean forward to peek at his phone, but my closeness seems to short-circuit his brain. The device goes flying onto the nightstand as he falls back on the bed, pulling me down with him.
His hands tangle in my hair, and when he kisses me, it’s like he’s claiming something. Even with me on top, there’s no question who’s in control. My legs part instinctively, straddling his hips as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. His erection presses against my core, and I rock against it, electricity shooting through my entire nervous system.
Desire rides me hard, but this isn’t just about getting off. I missed him last night, missed this connection, this heat between us. I want to be close to him, to show him what he means to me through touch and taste and the way our bodies fit together.
I break away from the kiss and attack the buttons of his shirt, ripping the expensive fabric open with zero regard for the designer label. Buttons scatter across the floor like confetti.
“Jesus, Mia,” he breathes, but there’s fire in his eyes, not protest.
I kiss my way down his neck, tasting salt and something uniquely him. When I reach his collarbone and flick my tongue along the ridge, he shudders beneath me, and I feel powerful in a way that has nothing to do with being on top.
He’s letting me have this control, letting me set the pace, and it’s intoxicating.
I work my way down his torso, mapping every ridge of muscle with my tongue, until I reach his slacks. His erection strains against the fabric, making the zipper a challenge, but I manage to free him from his boxers.
His cock is thick and hard in my hand, a bead of moisture already gathered at the tip. I meet his eyes as I lean down and lick it off with the flat of my tongue.
