Page 30 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
I don’t care anymore that she’s too young for me. Her memory is back, and until the word “red” spills from her pretty lips, I will indulge every sordid fantasy.
Including that darkest dream of all of trying to keep her. Of claiming this innocent girl as mine, and never letting her go.
She makes me work for it, though. I appreciate that, and laughter bubbles up from my chest as she doesn’t take the easy route and stay on the path. Nope. She veers off through the trees.
My Jenna is fast and agile, weaving through the undergrowth and bounding over dips. But it’s still dark, shadowy despite the sunshine peeking through the foliage. I crash behind her, using my greater weight and height to roll through the places that she skirts around. When she stumbles, my heart does the same. But she catches herself with a hand on a branch, and propels forwards.
I must let out a sound of relief, because it’s only a couple more steps when she glances over her shoulder to check where I am. I see it almost in slow motion.
Her distraction. The unexpected root that trips her. The way she topples, helpless and off-balance.
Feral impulses shoot through me, vivid and sharp.
I’m not close enough and I roar with annoyance as she falls.
The root snags on her shoe, and she tugs it, panicking, and instead of coming loose, it comes off. Now free, she’s rising to her feet—one bare—as I grab her up and scoop her to me by the waist.
In a second, I’ve pinned her to the nearest tree. When she tries to tug away, I shove my leg between hers and catch her flailing arms, holding her wrists above her head in both of mine.
I stare down at her, enjoying the pink in her cheeks and the heave of her whole torso from running. I grind my erection into her belly and let my thudding heart rate begin to settle.
Seeing her hurt—or even at risk of being injured—does something to me. It brings out a protective, territorial beast who must protect his mate.
“What do you want?” she pants out.
There’s trepidation in her words and in every line of her body. I bet adrenaline is coursing through her blood, potent as it is in mine. I’ve been a perfect gentleman. So far.
She expects that will end.
And fuck, I’d like it to. I’d slap her to the ground right now, and take her, my hand at her throat.
But that’s not what I do.
It’s so much simpler, this little torture. It’s what she’s most afraid of.
“Say you want me.”
And I swear her breath, already laboured from her run, speeds up. A panic that I’ve gone for the jugular in a manner she didn’t expect.
“If it’s true, say it,” I insist. I don’t kiss her, or let her go. I stroke my thumb over the soft, warm, rapid movement of her pulse at her wrist. So small and fragile. Just little bones I could snap and bright blood beneath her skin.
But that’s not the way I want to break my zayka.
“I don’t?—”
“Liar.”
“I don’t know why.” She shakes her head, and those forest-green eyes are full of confusion. “Why do you want that?”
I lean in, crowding her, and dip my head to her ear.
“Because I love this game.” And her. “But predator as I am, I only devour willing prey.”
She swallows audibly.
“You had better be ready. You’ll have to be wet and desperate and panting, because I’lltakewhat I’m owed.”
Her flinch back isn’t feigned. It’s the instinctive response of a creature intimidated and about to be rigid with terror. I want her to be just a little concerned that I’d do it, as I threaten, because that’s part of the appeal for her and me. I’ve considered every word she’s written from all angles, and she wants to be scared.
