Page 13 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
This section of the house is old, all gleaming dark wood and green wall hangings left over from years ago when women in enormous dresses would walk up and down to exercise themselves in bad weather. The pale light of late morning from the windows flickers onto Jenna like a strobe as she races down, each pane of glass highlighting her in turn. She’s more compelling than any picture. Vibrant, and running far more quickly and determinedly than I expected.
I love that she’s making me work for it.
And I’m so relieved I could burst out of these clothes that she hasn’t tried to hide or escape. That naive trust spurs me on, forcing me to push my muscles to run faster. My suit isn’t the best for this activity, these formal shoes I had on for blending in as a businessman while stalking her date aren’t as grippy as herbare feet. But I make up for lack of appropriate attire with utter determination.
At the third corner of the square that makes up the house, I’m within touching distance, and she knows it. She doesn’t look around. All her energy is focused on keeping ahead.
There’s the harsh echo of our footsteps, mine heavy, hers light. There might be carpet down these hallways, but the sound still reverberates oddly, like the mansion is complaining about our savage game in its formal old stone surroundings.
I should stop her before she could hurt herself. Jenna was in bed just minutes ago and could be weak after being drugged. But I don’t snatch her up and carry her to rest safely, as I should.
No, I continue to chase her, right on her heels, making a threatening sound at the back of my throat.
She squeaks in response, and dodges away. Her hair flies out behind her, silken blonde strands that beg to be gathered into my fist and used to hold her.
I want to own her. Possess her.
As we round the last corner and we’ve returned to the fourth side of the building where we started this game, I realise I’ve made my decision. Or rather, she’s proven to me, as she said she would.
A little rabbit she might be, but she’s strong, determined, and she knows what she wants.
I’m going to let her have it, trust that she won’t regret this.
Even so, it has to be on my terms.
I snatch her up as we reach the door to my bedroom, pulling her into my arms.
“No, no, I made it!” She fights me, trying to get past. “I won!”
“You did, zayka,” I tell her, but I don’t let go. “You win.”
But she doesn’t stop. I trap her against the wall, her slight body held firm even as she tries to wriggle away.
“Nyet.” The guttural Russian word is harsh.
I jam my thigh between hers and my erection rams into one side of her soft belly. That probably hurts, because I’m that hard. I grind into her, and she whimpers.
“You aren’t going into the bedroom to have your kiss, you little siren.” That would be a temptation too far. I don’t trust myself to hold back if she is in a bed, writhing under me. It’s bad enough here.
She makes a sound of dissent and shifts, her hands greedy on my shoulders, dragging me to her.
I will savour this slowly and with control, even if I have to enforce that on both of us.
Snatching her wrist, I pin it above her head. Her other hand flutters, and I catch it, so she’s stretched up, fully exposed to me. As though she knows I won’t stop, she makes only a token resistance.
“I won?” She slows her movements, realising she’s trapped.
“You did. Ready for your first kiss?” I ask, and my heart slams against my ribcage, a wild beast desperate to get out. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she says no.
“I passed the test then.” Her green eyes light like sunshine through a tree canopy on a summer’s day.
“If you say you want a kiss, I’ll believe you.” I wait with bated breath.
“Yes.” Her eyeline drops to my lips and holds there. “You chased me and caught me. I want my first kiss.”
“Fuck,” I groan. This woman will be the death of me. She couldn’t be any more arousing if she tried, and I really don’t think she is.
I suspect she’s guileless, just saying what’s in her heart, not realising that this game will break my mine.
