Page 24 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
The kiss is not sweet.
It is possession, pressed against my lips with the force of a man who has waited exactly long enough and not a second more.
His hands are on my hips now, dragging me closer, until my thighs bump the desk and his body cages mine in place.
I part my lips, not for air, but for him, and he takes the invitation like it’s owed to him.
His tongue sweeps deep, tasting, teasing, then biting down on my lower lip hard enough to make my nails dig into his shoulders through his perfect, expensive suit.
He groans against my mouth, then yanks the slit of my dress higher, sliding a palm beneath it to find bare skin, bare thigh, and then further.
My breath catches.
His other hand knots in my hair, tipping my head back, exposing the line of my throat to his teeth.
He bites once, just below the jaw, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make me want to offer him one in return.
"You don’t flirt," he whispers, dragging his mouth down my neck, licking the place where my pulse beats. "You don’t beg. You don’t play. That’s why I want to fuck you so badly I can’t think straight."
He hooks my leg around his hip, pressing his thigh between mine until the pressure drives a quiet gasp from my throat.
"And," I whisper, voice tight with want, "you think that wanting me is enough to have me."
"No," he says, one hand now at the small of my back, the other between my thighs. "I think the moment I touch you the way you want to be touched, you’ll stop pretending you don’t already belong right here."
He lifts me onto the edge of the desk in one smooth motion, dragging my hips forward until the heat of his breath is at the bare skin just above my panties.
And then he drops to his knees.
4
DANTE
She doesn’t move when I lower myself to my knees, but I feel the tension spike through her thighs, tight, proud, resisting the way she’s been wound up since the moment I walked in.
She’s so used to controlling the room that she doesn’t know what to do when someone controlsher.
Good.
That’s what I came here for.
I press my hands to her knees and drag them apart, slow enough to make her burn.
Her breath hitches as the crimson silk slips further up her thighs, pooling like spilled wine around her hips.
With two fingers, I draw her panties down, then toss them aside, with no complaint from her.
"You’re wet," I murmur, voice low and pleased. "And we haven’t even started yet."
Her fingers tighten on the edge of the desk, but she doesn’t look down or answer.
She’s still pretending this doesn’t affect her.
Still pretending that sitting spread open on a Salvatore’s desk, with his mouth inches from her cunt, is just another move in a long game of power and survival.
I let my breath ghost over her.
Just enough heat to make her clench.
