Page 8 of Captured By the Mafia Boss
“So honourable,” she says with a lick of irony.
I find the shower gel while desperately ensuring I don’t look at her perfect body. But the memory of holding her in my arms echoes, undeniable. I soap myself perfunctorily, staring at Olivia’s feet. She curls her toes and gently drags the arch of her foot up her calf.
“Are you liking looking at my feet?”
Fuck, this woman is a minx and a siren. I refuse to be drawn.
“It looks as though you are,” she murmurs.
Yeah, I bet it does. I have a hard-on that could be used as a baseball bat.
I must not look at her shapely legs, the curve of her hips, or the dip where her strong legs gives way to soft and pink and yielding.
“Would you wash my back?”
“No!”
I push the soap from my hair and almost scramble away, snagging a towel and wrapping it around my waist. I don’t take my eyes from her feet. I never want to let her out of my sight again.
She lingers over washing and I swear she’s torturing me. But at least I’ve covered my cock now, even if it’s tenting the towel, and eventually she turns off the shower and there’s a soft rustle.
I risk looking up and exhale with relief when I find her wrapped in one of my towels, a sexy smile on her lips and speculation in her clever eyes.
“I need to use the loo.” She tugs the fluffy white towel closer around herself.
“I won’t look.” I wave my hand and focus on a banana plant, its veined leaves tinged with red.
“Okay.”
The air shifts. There’s something wrong. I scowl as I try to understand what’s happening.
“You could have joined me, you know,” she purrs. My mind can’t parse the difference. And if I had been one iota more concentrated on my arousal, I’d have missed the sound of the door catch.
My head whips up in time to see Olivia’s naked shoulder slip out of sight. I throw myself after her, all my chase instincts triggered like she’s a little rabbit and I’m a fox. Blood pounds through my limbs, and for the second time today I relish the feel of hunting my girl.
She’s halfway to the front door by the time I’m out of the bathroom, and in three steps I’ve caught up with her. A moment later, she’s in my arms, kicking and thrashing. I hold her tight, lifting her off the floor and carrying her in a bear hug to the bedroom. The one place I know it’s easy to tie her down.
My towel falls as I carry her, and I kick it aside. She’s slippery wet with water from the shower, but as I dump her on my bed and swiftly tie her wrist with the strap at the headboard, I realise something.
My balls don’t hurt.
Neither do my eyes. Or my scalp.
She’s a smart woman, but though she’s kicked the shit out of my calves, she hasn’t gone for anything incapacitating. I see what’s going on.
I affix her other wrist, then catch her ankle as she attempts to jam her heel into my chest, allowing myself to enjoy the softness of her skin under my fingertips.
When she’s spread-eagled on my bed, her back arches, pushing her breasts up.
“You bastard.”
I stand back and regard her at my leisure. Tied down, legs open, gorgeous. She tests her bonds and her mouth opens to an “o” as she gasps. Her blue eyes are black, the pupils wide.
“You can throw your voice.”
She jerks her hand then curls her fingers on the rope. Her hips flex a little as she finds that she’s fully caught.
“Can be useful.”
