Page 63 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
Seamus laughs and shakes his head. “The slow game might not be his style, but if your bratva was the only thing around, he’d have taken it if that’s all there was. He’d have known the Volkov Bratva would be perfect to get his family’s attention. And being Russian blood, of a Russian bratva…”
He doesn’t finish.
There’s a knock on the door and he stalks over, opening it.
The one I thought was Seamus, Torin, stands there, dark-blue eyes taking us in, then he turns to his brother. “We’ve got a lead.”
And before I can move, before I can say a word, Seamus is out the door, locking it behind him.
“Hey, sweet thing, wake up.”
I come out of the warm embrace of a dreamless sleep and open my eyes to find a fallen angel of a man looking at me. Those dark-green eyes are soft, and I can almost imagine how he’d look in love. How he’d touch someone with a gentle hand, a smile?—
Gasping, I rip myself away and scramble to the other side of the bed.
He laughs and straightens up. And I can’t move.
The hiss of a shower running and a small billow of steam from the bathroom wafts in, but that’s not why I can’t move.
Seamus stands there, wearing only boxer briefs, a sculpture of fine art come to life. He’s lean and muscled, and his cock fills out the front of the shorts in a way that makes it hard to lift my gaze.
Pun very much intended.
The clothes on the floor are stained with blood, and his knuckles are reddened as he sips his drink.
“Shower,” he says, “and get dressed.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips press together as thunder rolls over his face and his cock grows. He slams down his drink, drags me up, and pulls me, stumbling, into the bathroom. Then he shoves me under the hot spray.
I yelp, the stolen t-shirt plastering itself to my body.
He climbs into the enclosure. Then he pulls the shirt off and pushes me against the warm tile as he kisses me deeply, making my head spin. I kiss him back, angry but wanting more. I tug on his hair and push against him, staggering back until he’s pressed to the other side. Now I’m the one biting his lip, kissing my wayto his neck and, just to spite any female who might look at him, sucking hard on his throat and then kissing lower, biting his nipples.
He grabs my wet hair and pulls me close so we’re both under the spray, and using his free hand, he delves into my wet panties, sliding over my clit as he pushes two fingers into me.
I ride his hand as he returns the bite and sucks on my neck. I want him naked and in me, but he drives deeper into me until I’m ready to come, then stops suddenly, sliding his fingers out.
He strips me of my underwear, hands me a washcloth, and then gets out of the shower with the wet clothes.
“You can finish what you started,” I snap.
He drops the clothes in a wet heap on the floor and then shoves his boxer briefs to his ankles before kicking them off. He keeps the door open, eyes on me as he slowly begins to jerk himself.
I take a step, and he shakes his head. He groans and almost bends over as he comes, thick ropes shooting over the sides of his hand. I lick my lips without even thinking, wishing I could taste. His lips curl into a slow, seductive grin as he grabs the panties from the floor and cleans himself off.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he says. “And just so we’re clear, you’re not allowed to touch yourself. Now hurry that hot ass up. We’re going out for dinner. I got you a dress and shoes. Lucie picked them up for me. And if you try to defy me and get off, I’ll know, and I don’t think you’ll like the punishment.” He turns, and leaving the bathroom door open, he walks out.
I stare after his ripped, tattooed back. There’s an emblem, like a crest, with foreign words on it around the base. Across his shoulders is one single word with other words in each section of the emblem.
“Murphy,” I whisper. “Family. Unity. Loyalty. Freedom.” They all come with Celtic-style art, but it makes me uneveninside, and I wonder what it’s like to love like that. To have people who have your back while you have theirs.
I know that’s why the tattoo’s on his back, to symbolize that thought.
“No,” I mutter. “He’s still the worst and you know it. And he’ll kill you for the bratva if you’re not careful. So you need to remember you have to kill him first if he tries.”
In a year.
