Page 32 of Abducted By the Mafia Don
And I’ve been thinking about his name for me. Bambola. My fake-husband calls me hisdoll, and all evening as he spoiled me with extravagant books, I pondered how to repay him.
And that was when it occurred to me. If a doll-wife is what he wants, then that’s what I will be for him. I can goad him into giving in to what we both desire by being exactly the doll he calls me.
“Have you not been sleeping well?” There’s worry around his eyes. He doesn’t return the packet, turning it over in his big, black-inked hands.
Hands I want on me. Unrestrained.
“Oh no, I’ve been sleeping fine.” The sleep isn’t really the issue. It’s what he won’t do to me before I sleep.
I need more.
“Then why drugs? It’s not good to?—”
“I’m just so wired after the book auction. I don’t think that coffee was really decaf. I’m going to put the books on the shelves, but afterwards, I don’t want to lie awake for hours, you know?”
He looks disturbed as he returns the tablets to me.
“Thanks.” I smile up at him and toss the pill into my mouth. His brows draw together as I bring the glass to my lips and use my tongue to push the pill to the side just before I take a sip of water, tucking it into my cheek. His gaze dips to my throat as I swallow.
He’s not breathing, and I hide a smirk.
I lie on my tummy, because maybe he’ll find it easier if he can’t see my face. I leave on my knickers at first, but then, I think about it, and wriggle them off, leaving themon the bed next to me because Dom said he liked them. But the logistics of getting them down my thighs or out of the way? Nope. I want him to have complete access.
It’s a long wait, and I can’t relax. I’m vibrating with need, my nipples hard on the covers.
Eleven comes and goes.
Last night he didn’t delay so much, and I’m convinced he will be here before midnight.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimes twelve and my mood slumps.
Perhaps he won’t visit?
I convince myself of it. Maybe he doesn’t want me, and isn’t interested in using my body as he said he was. Does it disgust him that I took—pretended to take—sleeping tablets?
It’s a long time after twelve, but before one, when the door handle twists.
There’s a deep, masculine sigh.
“You should lock your door when you’re out-for-the-count, bambola,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and tortured. “Are you awake?” he adds a little louder.
Keeping my breathing even, I remain totally still.
“No, you’re asleep, bambola, ready to be defiled by a man who loves and needs you so much he can’t help himself. I can’t keep away.”
The wash of relief as I hear his steps across the carpet towards my bed is almost as good as an orgasm. He’s here. He’s come for me.
I feel the moment he sees me fully. I left on a light in the corner of the room, and I know it highlights my bare body. My bottom sticking up. My hair over my shoulders. My face is in shadow, but one of my knees is raised.
And it stops him dead, exactly as I’d hoped.
“Fuck…” He sucks in a breath. “You’re naked. If you knew what it does to me, you’d run.”
Right into his arms, yes.
“You would definitely lock your door.” He groans. “You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen, and you can’t be mine.”
I love the way his Italian accent comes to the fore when he’s aroused. It’s sexy as all get out.
