Page 71 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
Malice.
As I steer my bride back to our table, I slide an arm around her and kiss her deep as two Russians who’ve been watching us avidly continue to do so.
Fuck my life, I could lose myself in her.
The taste is like wildfire. Shit, she’s like wildfire. Ferocious, unpredictable, and impossibly beautiful. Because fire is beautiful.
When I pull my head away from her, her eyes are big, her pupils dilated and impossibly inviting. Lips red without her lipstick. This woman doesn’t need makeup to shine. She’s that gorgeous.
Pity she has no heart.
Also, I remind myself as the waiter comes over with the champagne, strawberries, and dark chocolate mousse, she threw a knife at me tonight.
Which means she’s definitely got a death wish.
“Don’t keep kissing me,” she says, trying to squirm free. “You’ve got men to chase, am I right?”
I pick up a strawberry half and scoop up some mousse, smearing it over her lips and feeding it to her. Then I lean in and lick them clean, kissing her once more, just because she told me not to with her mouth and begged me to keep doing it with her eyes.
“Happy marriage, sweet thing.” I feed her a sip of champagne. “Your Russian pals are basically taking note of everything we do.”
“Where—?”
But I grab her chin to stop her from looking. “Does it matter? Act like you’re into me.”
Ava does, perfecting the flirty facade I know so well. She touches my cheek, my thigh, exposing her wrist and ear with a flick of her hair. Then she feeds me berries and mousse and licks my lips, kissing me slow, linking our arms to drink the champagne.
She does everything but hump me in the restaurant.
It should be a turn-on, seeing her so willing and playing the part of the doting wife.
But it isn’t.
I know what turns her on, and it’s me. But she likes the fight and teeth and blood and bite. She wants the chase; she wants toplay to win. The real Ava turned on is a clawed creature of myth. She’s seductive, not because she is trying to be, but because she can’t help herself.
I want that.
I crave that.
This is tepid in comparison.
But it tells a story, and I’m so fucking pleased when Hank and Lev leave that I pull her to me. “We’re going.”
I pay the bill and we get up. I haul her against me, and when a man eyes her as we walk out, I actually snarl.
Because none of these fucks can handle the real woman inside her little coy shell. She’ll rip them apart and feast on their entrails.
The fake Ava? I can see her being appealing, but if they even think they can touch her, I’ll come back and kill them.
All of them.
Every last fuck who’s salivating or hiding a hard-on over those endless legs of hers, her high tits that are so suckable it makes a man insane, her beautiful face, and imagining the real joys of those full lips wrapped around their small dicks. Them and their X-rated fantasies deserve an agonizing end.
By my hand.
I’ll make her watch and fuck her over their corpses.
I’ll—
