Page 33 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Mafia Boss
“If you need to come, all you need to do isask.”
13
FINN
It took some negotiating with Noah’s therapist, but we arranged a daily messaging time, so Millie doesn’t worry about her brother. Admittedly, I had to threaten death, but we compromised with life and that they are both monitored for their interactions, albeit for very different reasons.
I watch over Millie so she can’t plan an escape, and after a few days she’s even getting to check her emails, because the routine of her sitting in my lap and me watching over her shoulder is delicious. I breathe in the apple scent of her hair, nuzzle her neck, and generally indulge myself.
“You’re distracting me!” she exclaims when I nip her ear.
“You’re taking too long.” Even though she uses that tiny keyboard at the speed of light, where I would grumble and make typos and give up after two words. It reminds me how much younger than me she is.
It should feel filthy to have this girl so close, and it does. But it also feelsright.
The dots are bouncing to indicate Noah is replying to her message. She’s asked how his “compulsory training” is going. That’s how he refers to it. An imaginative way of describing me surrounding him with my men and telling him if he wanted tokeep his job and his life, he would be working sincerely with the gambling counsellor that I’ve paid an outrageous amount of money for, and not asking too many questions about why.
I was probably a tad forceful, but when I made the connection between Millie running off from the pub and generally looking down as I stalked her, and her brother’s expensive hobby, I wasn’t in any mood to compromise.
Blowing on her ear makes her giggle, so I do it again.
“Finn!”
“That’s plenty of time you’ve had,” I grumble. “Wrap it up.”
“I need to know about?—”
I grab the phone and toss it away. Within a second I have her top down and her nipple in my mouth and she’s moaning. And then we forget about everything else.
“What are you making?” She peers over her mug of tea, sipping it while I’m making dinner. Her hands are in the pink fluffy handcuffs, and she’s wearing a cute pink sundress that almost matches.
“Do you like chips?” I indicate the potatoes I’m cutting.
She pinches her eyebrows together. “They’re French fries.”
They are skinny, I admit, but they’ll cook quicker, and I prefer them crispy.
“Are you calling my potato sticks small?” I point the tip of the kitchen knife at her with a wry look.
She puts down her tea and leans forward. The neckline of her dress flops forward and I get a peek at her cleavage.
“Tiny.” Her eyes sparkle.
“You shouldn’t try to tell an Irishman the correct way to eat potatoes,” I growl. But I’m entranced by her. Obsessed. There’sno way I can continue with meal prep without risking my fingers being cut off as I’m not paying attention.
“Miniscule.” She raises her hands and wiggles one little finger provocatively. “Barely worth eating.”
“Is that what you think of the size of my…?” Because if we’re talking about my cock, she’s very wrong, and we both know it. “Potatoes.”
Rising, she slips around the table to where I’m prepping food on the other side, her hips swaying even as her hands are clasped demurely together.
Not an accident, I’m sure.
“Petite.” She’s goading me.
I keep the knife steady, and she moves until the sharp point touches the dip between her breasts.
“You’re being very rude about my cooking, for a woman who has been eagerly eating whatever I offer her.” Her tits. My god she’s everything. I let the knife rest there, above her beating heart and those plush orbs I want to suck. Then she bites her lip, and that little gesture gets me hard, instantly.
