Page 81 of Beauty and the Mafia Boss

I don't have to go far to find the source of the noise. As soon as I reach the threshold, I come across Gabriella, at the end of the hallway, she bumped into a painting.

Her brown eyes blink and then widen as she stands still, staring at me. Gabriella runs her gaze down my bare chest, and the shade of red on her cheeks becomes more intense, but that doesn't stop her from continuing her silent, stilted investigation. Her gaze wanders over each of my muscles, lingers on the tattoos and scars and, when it returns to my face, it is full of expectation.

The same white dress with the hem soaked in grape juice from a few minutes ago still covers the Brazilian woman's body. Her long, dark hair is a mess of wild waves, and her lips are parted.

She shouldn't be here.

The party is far from over, if I abandoned it, it was because I could no longer bear this feeling of not being able to stop looking at Gabriella, this inability not to monitor each of her gestures, smiles and steps, this force pulling me towards her and making it impossible for me to do anything rational while I strive to resist it.

I already found out where the noise came from, the logical decision would be to go back to my room and lock the door. Better than that, put half a world of distance between me and the reckless girl at the end of the hall to ensure that I actually have more sense than she does.

That's not what I do at all, however. I eliminate the space between us, and as I do so, the only part of Gabriella's body thatmoves is her chest, rising and falling at a pace too fast for normal breathing.

“Did you get hurt?” I ask, close enough to see the frame, now broken on the floor. Gabriella shakes her head from side to side, denying it.

The smell of grapes mixed with the natural freshness of her skin infiltrates my nose and dominates my every thought. One moment I'm staring at her breathing hard, the next I've taken a step and closed the distance between us, pressing her against the wall and completely forgetting all the reasons why I shouldn't do that.

She gasps, swallowing a huge mouthful of air when I brush the tip of my nose against her sweaty neck, but no sound other than a low moan leaves her mouth as my skin comes into contact with hers. My hands tease her arms without actually touching them, and I know she's bristling with each unfulfilled promise of contact.

I comb her hair with my fingertips, the softness of the strands becomes more of an aphrodisiac. How is it possible that everything about this girl is so provocative? So sensual? So destabilizing?

My hand infiltrates the dark strands until it reaches the back of her neck. Gabriella doesn't resist, on the contrary, she leans towards the touch in a silent request for more, which I shouldn't accept, but I can't stop myself. I kiss the vein pulsing in her neck.

Her heart beats fast against my lips and she raises her hands, resting them on my shoulders. Her palms are delicate, but not completely smooth. I keep kissing her neck, spreading the touch of my mouth over every inch, wanting to lick her whole, mix my saliva with her sweat, impregnate me with her feminine and maddening scent.

The sounds she makes are like fingers, pressing all my buttons, preventing me from stopping, as if I were a video game character living in a parallel reality completely different from the one where I am the one who controls my wills, not the other way around.

I want this woman. I madly want this woman. I want her so much that maintaining my control over myself is no longer a possibility and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“Did you like the party, Gabriella?” The question is a whisper behind her ear, as one of my hands slides to her side.

Gabriella reacts by bending forward, her breasts brush against my chest, eliciting a low, disgusted laugh from me, because the ridiculous touch makes my balls throb with excitement.

“Yes...” The girl's response to my question is practically a meow, and I move my lips up her chin until I'm so close to her mouth that the desire to taste her overwhelms me. And nothing before has ever subjugated me, not violence, not power, not hatred, not ambition, but Gabriella does it without losing the air of innocence or the expression of submission on her face.

“Did you like dancing?” I ask, raising my hand to one of her breasts and hovering my finger there, without actually touching it. Gabriella fixes her eyes on mine expectantly, but I don't move my finger until she gives me her answer.

“Yes,” she whispers, and I lower the tip of my finger, brushing the erect nipple, which shows through the white fabric, with circular movements. My hand, which was on the back of her neck, abandons its refuge in her hair to slide under the skirt of her dress. It climbs up, dragging the grape juice-soaked fabric with her, soaking itself and Gabriella's skin even though it hasn't touched her yet.

“Stepping on the grapes?” I murmur when I reach Gabriella's thigh. My palm tingles with the desire to touch her, but I don't, not until the barely audible yet eager response reaches my ears.

“Yes!” I grip the soft flesh tightly and rub my nose over one of Gabriella's collarbones, completely crazy with desire, feeling the small doses she's allowing me to take be everything and, at the same time, nothing. She moans loudly, and I pull my face back, reluctant, but needing to do more than hear her desire, needing to see it.

“Did you have fun tonight?” It's a stupid and repetitive question, but I need it as I let my hand run downragazza's waist and hover over the front of her panties. It's most likely just my wild imagination, but the heat there is calling my name.

Gabriella moans silently, her lips and body contorting in small, desperate movements that silently beg me to move on with every sign possible. I bring our lips closer until they brush against each other and turn my face, rubbing the tip of my nose against her cheek.

“Yes!” The answer, this time, is almost a request.

“Don't you ever say no?” I murmur, still drinking in her scent and intoxicating myself with her heat. “What do I need to do for you to say no to me, Gabriella?” I question when she continues without pushing me away because I would move away. That would be the only thing in this fucking world that would make me back away from this point: for her to tell me to stop. “What is your limit?”

Reluctantly, I pull my head back to look her in the eyes. The impossibly dilated pupils I encounter are not the answer to my question, because all they do is scream yes. I've never wanted to lose control more than I do at this very second.

“Do you want me to say no?” she asks in a very soft voice that has no intention of being seductive, but it is.

The truth is, at this point, Gabriella only needs to breathe to seduce me. Obsession is not a strong enough word to describe the feeling she awakened in me. I laugh before looking away from her for a few seconds, knowing that no matter what I say, I'm about to do something crazy.

“Do you know what I want, Gabriella?” I ask, looking back at her. Her eyes are bottomless pits of expectation, begging me to give her the answer to the question I just asked. “I want to look at you without feeling like I'm losing control over myself.”

---