Page 43 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
“Yes. Good night, Dario.”
“Good night, hot stuff.”
“That’s a strange thing for a friend to say,” I huff.
“Never heard of friends with benefits?”
“I told you, I’m not a hookup sort of gal.”
“Then I’ll need to make a proper lady of you, treat you like the queen you are.”
“Ew–puke. You sound like one of thosenice guys.”
“Nothing wrong with being nice, is there?” he quips.
“But they’re not nice, not really. They just pretend to be.”
“Good thing I’m a downright demon then, Siena.”
“Seriously, good night.”
I climb into bed, close my eyes, and try to sleep. But I can’t seem to drift off. Minutes pass, then hours, and it’s like I’m hypnotized by the sound of Dario turning the page, the almost silenttsk, making me think of him lying there shirtless, just beyond the sheet.
“Can’t sleep?” he finally says.
“How’d you know?”
“You’ve been tossing and turning all night. You need to relax.”
“Yeah… easier said than done.”
My pulse jumps as I hear him stand, anticipating what he’s going to do next. I watch in silence as he pulls back the sheet, and steps onto my side of the room.
“I’ve got an idea since you stormed out of the massage,” he says.
“An idea?”
“To help you relax.”
Tell him no. Tell him you mean it…
Maybe I could even actually mean it if I tried hard enough.
“Are you offering to give me a massage?”
“You say that as if it’s dangerous.”
It is. It’s a risk. Fighting this desire and physical chemistry is so difficult.
“Just a massage?” I say.
“If that’s all you want,” he replies.
I shouldn’t agree to this. It goes against everything I’ve been saying.
“I do feel tense…”
“Then say no more, Siena. Let me benice.”
