Page 4 of Stolen Mafia Vows
“Would you like to?” He somehow manages to speak and lick the inside of my ear as if it’s the most natural thing on earth. Like he practices the move … a lot.
“Yes.” Also, the truth.
“Sorry to break up the party.” Ruairi has rejoined us, and I didn’t even notice. He sets three cans of soda and some snacks down on the coffee table and resumes his seat. “Who’s up for a game of Rummy?”
Eoghan pulls away from me, but his thigh is still pressed hard against mine. I can feel the heat of his body from the top of my skull to my painted toenails inside my high-tops. It almost feels as though, having branded my skin with his tongue, he is now claiming me with his thigh, and instead of wanting to run away, I’m prepared to wear a cap that says I BELONG TO EOGHAN BYRNE.
Like, what the hell is wrong with me? I wasn’t raised to be submissive. My brothers taught me how to handle myself in a fight, and here I am desperate to know how it would feel to be touched where Eoghan—a guy I just met—said he would touch me.
“I’m in.” Eoghan watches me, his expression unreadable.
“Me too,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
Eoghan might be the most insanely gorgeous guy I’ve ever met, but there is something vulnerable about him that makes me want to throw my arms around his neck and feed him apple pie and happy stories from my childhood. How is it even possible to feel such overwhelming desire for someone, but at the same time imagine cozying up in a rocking chair with them in front of a roaring fire with Frank Sinatra songs playing inthe background?
Is it me? Am I a paradox? Am I a virgin with a slutty soul?
I glance at Sienna who is still studying the screen of the tablet in her hands searching for sexy underwear to impress my brother. And bizarrely, the thought no longer makes me freak out.
Eoghan doesn’t move his leg. Either he isn’t distracted by the feel of my thigh pressed up against his or the way his arm caresses my breast when he reaches to pick up his cards, or he wants me to know that he’s enjoying it.
So, I push back. I rest my elbow on his leg when I pick up my cards and get a thrill when he adjusts the bulge inside his pants to get comfortable.
I can’t believe this is happening to me.
But at the same time, I love it.
I focus on the game. I’ve spent years learning to count the cards with my brothers; it’s what happens when your family owns a string of casinos. So, I win the first round easily.
And the second.
And the third.
Ruairi watches me with a lazy smile, his gray-green eyes slanted at the corners.
Eoghan’s gaze doesn’t meet mine, like he’s trying hard to focus on the game because he doesn’t trust himself to look at me, not with his brother gate-crashing whatever this is going on between us.
And this new me can’t resist the temptation. Ruairi has deliberately placed the cans of soda on the far side of the table where it’s easy for him to reach them. So, I lean acrossEoghan’s lap, crushing my breasts against his legs, and leaving them there a beat too long, to be sure that he understands before I straighten with a can of Diet Coke in my hand.
Is it my imagination, or did he groan out loud?
Ruairi chuckles. “We should play the next round for money.”
“I have a better idea.” I chew my bottom lip when Eoghan’s gaze finally travels to my face. “Why don’t we play for my cell phone number?”
Because it seems there is no limit to how far I’ll go to get the area between my pussy and my ass sucked. My pussy flares its nostrils at me like a fire-breathing dragon at the suggestion, like she’ll hold me to ransom if I let her down on this.
“I hate to break it to you,” Ruairi says, “but I’m not interested in winning your cell phone number.”
“You’re not going to win.” I don’t even look at him.
“Challenge accepted.” Ruairi hands over the deck of cards for Eoghan to deal them out. “Winner takes all.”
I feel the flush in my cheeks, but it’s quickly replaced by the steely determination not to let Eoghan’s brother win. He made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want my number, and I made it perfectly clear that I won’t give it to him, but I sense that this is more than simply about winning a game of cards.
This is a way of life. Ruairi is used to getting what he wants, and he’s used to getting what his brother wants too.
But I’m not an object to be bartered with. And perhaps I should’ve told him that he isn’t the only person here who has spent a lifetime getting spoiled.
