Page 68 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
That’s another thing. These Murphy wives remind me of my mother, what little I’ve seen of them. They seem happy, in love, and adored by their husbands.
They’re worlds away from Seamus and me.
But I’m comparing apples and oranges. Ours is a marriage based on mutual hate, mutual agendas that have very different wants at the end. Our marriage comes stamped with an expiration date.
It’s all smoke, fake mirrors, and hot sex.
I pull on the dress, which fits perfectly. And when I put on the shoes…
Even I have to admit I look good. I know I’m pretty. I use it to my advantage. Some have called me beautiful, and maybe I am. But it’s just a tool. One I’ll use against Seamus.
It doesn’t take long to apply lipstick, and when Seamus enters the room, he doesn’t say a word, just leads me outside the brownstone. We’re driven to a restaurant I know but haven’t been to in years. It’s Italian, a mix of old-school and modern dishes.
It’s exclusive, slightly stodgy, but we’re here, I assume, for a reason.
I look around as we’re led through the place, and I spot some Italian mafia guys, a few bratva. I get it. We’re here to be seen.
We’re seated near the back in a booth, where he can see out. A mafia move, one my father would have made and used frequently. Seamus drops his hand to my thigh.
He leans in. “This reservation costs, sweet thing. But I hear it’s a place the mafia comes to. Italian, Irish. Even Americans and some Russians.”
“And you want to show me off?”
“Gotta get the whole sham thing rolling, don’t you think? C’mon, it’ll be some realcraic.”
“By crack, do you mean fun? Because it’s never fun with you.” I look at him, trying to ignore the circles he’s drawing on my thigh. “You think someone’s going to be here, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer, and I reach under the table and trace the hardening curve of his cock in his pants which makes little thrills jump in my blood.
“Someone from Volkov?”
I stroke the head, and he moves his hand, pushing mine against his dick. “Careful now, or I’ll think you like me.”
“Never.” I pull my hand away and put it on the table, annoyed at the smile playing over his lips as he goes back to his erotic little patterns that make my panties wet. “Or maybe you want to see this Hank guy.”
“I don’t know who Hank is. But he was at Romanov’s the night of the wedding.”
“You know more. You’re a callous bastard, but you’re smart, I’ll give you that.”
He buries his face in my hair right at my ear. “Right back at you, sweet thing. Fucked-up, a cold, greedy thing, but smart.”
I try to keep my thoughts straight. “Okay, so… back to Hank?”
“There’s a deal going down, small, but someone from the Lev group and someone named Henry are meeting. I thought you might be able to help me spot them.”
“But I won’t recognize them,” I say.
His hand slides up farther, brushes my clit, and I gasp. “You probably won’t, but you might. And each time you lie to me this evening, I’ll do something sexual.” He looks away, not stopping the stroke against my clit, light and almost not there and designed to drive me to the edge.
I’m aware the waiter stands over us. I’m aware Seamus is ordering, but I have no idea what he says as he pushes a finger into me, making me rock on the edge of orgasmic relief.
Seamus keeps stopping, holding me on that edge, asking me about each person who comes in.
And he only stops completely when our food arrives.
I try and scoot away, but he hooks my legs under the table, holding me. “Eat. It’s lamb pasta. I’ve heard it’s amazing.”
He has a steak.
