Seeking Vengeance: Possessive Mafia Romance (Hunting - Mafia Romance Book 1)

by Eden Summers

  It takes all my restraint not to follow after her, not to spill my seed and make her mine. I wait her out, tensing every goddamn muscle until she’s done riding the high.

  “Good?” I ask.

  “So good.” She wraps her arms around my shoulders, nestling close. Chest to chest. Skin to skin. “I’ve never come so quick,” she whispers in my ear. “Not even by myself.”

  Fuck.

  The image of her touching herself is punishment of the most exquisite kind. Cruel and divine in one carnal visual.

  “Lay down,” I grate. “I want to see you stretched out before me.”

  She pauses a moment, then pulls away with a shy grin to rest against the marble, her hair splayed, her nipples hard.

  I continue riding her, forcing myself not to blow as those tits bounce from my thrusts. “Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno.” I could look at you all day.

  It’s no lie.

  I could keep her like this forever. My masterpiece.

  She groans, her hands reaching above her head for the other side of the counter.

  I run a palm from her hip over the smooth planes of her waist, then between her breasts, learning all her curves. Committing them to memory. My other hand glides along her abdomen, my thumb finding her clit.

  “Come sei bagnata.” I groan. “So fucking wet…”

  She gasps. Moans. Squeezes her core around me. “For the love of God…” She groans. “Stop talking.”

  “Non ti lascerò mai andare.” I tweak a nipple, grazing a thumb over the pebbled peak as I place pressure on her clit. “Vieni di nuovo per me. Come for me again.”

  She shakes her head, her brows pinched as if in concern.

  “You okay?” I slow even though it’s torture, even though heaven is right there waiting to be conquered. “Talk to me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just…” She keeps shaking her head. “I’ve never come twice… and I’m… I can’t believe I’m so close.”

  I despise her fucking husband, and whoever else she’s slept with. But those assholes did me a favor. They made it easy for me to win her over. She’ll never dare to walk away when I continue to treat her like a queen.

  “Then come, amore mio. Let me watch you.”

  She blinks, dazed with lust. “I’m not used to being watched either.”

  “Well, get used to it. I’m going to witness you doing some filthy fucking things, Layla. And you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “It’s a vow.” I lean forward, replacing the hand at her breast with my lips. “Soon you won’t recognize yourself.”

  “I already don’t.” There’s a tremor in her voice as her fingers reclaim my hair. “You’ve changed me.”

  “You’ve changed me, too.” I thrust harder, stoking us higher. The harder I suck her nipple, the more frantic her pace builds beneath me, the roll of her hips becoming fearless.

  I groan against the flesh in my mouth and close my eyes to the bliss.

  I’m beyond ready. A brief step from the finish line.

  “Matthew…” Her breathing fluctuates, her chest rising and falling beneath me.

  I beat back the need for relief, vowing not to come until she does, promising to reach the end together. “Mi far stare bene.”

  I fuck her savagely. Faster. Harder.

  She tenses, her legs a vise around me. “I’m…”

  I open my eyes and she’s gaping, her lips trembling as she shudders.

  I’m powerless to stop myself from following her this time. I come undone, spilling inside her, losing myself to the climax and promising myself this will be the first of many.

  19

  Layla

  I lay strewn across his counter, my skin coated in a sheen of sweat, my heart fluttering like a sail in a hurricane.

  “I’ll get you a cloth.” He moves out from between my legs and grabs my hand to pull me into a sitting position. Then he walks around the counter to claim something from a drawer. The faucet turns on seconds later. In the next blink he’s back in front of me, handing me a clean damp dish towel.

  There’s nothing smug in his expression. No egotistical victory. He gives me the offering with respect in his eyes and steps away, allowing me a modicum of privacy to clean up the sinful mess between my thighs as he rights his pants.

  “Do you want to take a shower?” He shoots me a sideways glance and picks up his shirt and jacket from the floor. “Or would you like something to eat? There’s a takeout place nearby that stays open late.”

  “I’d love a shower… if you don’t mind.”

  He winces. “I want you to feel comfortable here. In my city. My home. My bed. Take whatever you need.”

  My stomach swells, doing a somersault of appreciation. So far, two out of three can’t be bad.

  I’m entirely comfortable in D.C., in his penthouse. And we may not have used his bed, but I think I took quite a few liberties to make myself feel at home on his kitchen counter.

  My problem is the exact opposite of what he wants. I should be feeling cautious. Skeptical. Cole would want me to be entirely vigilant.

  I’ve been none of those things.

  Neither has Matthew.

  “You barely know me.” I scoot to my feet, ignoring the bite of self-consciousness now that he’s righted his clothes and I’m wearing nothing but shiny red heels. “Aren’t you worried I could be a gold-digger? Isn’t that what you thought I might have been with Remy and Salvatore?”

  “You’re no gold-digger. And even though I might not know you as much as I’d like, I’m learning.” He grins. “And thoroughly enjoying the lesson.”

  That swoopy, somersaulty thing takes over my belly again, then quickly fades into guilt. He has to be more wary. The thought of disappointing him when he learns the real me is punishing.

  “There might come a time when you don’t like what you learn.” I give him a pointed look, trying to be his voice of reason. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. I won’t live up to the hype.”

  He inclines his head and gives a subtle nod. “Okay. Point taken. Neither of us are pillars of the community. But there’s something in our chemistry, Layla. You feel it, too.”

  I do, and it’s maddening in its potency. I don’t think I could escape the clutches of this attraction even if I wanted to.

  “Umm…” I tilt my head toward the hall on the right of the open living area, then do the same toward the darker one to the left. “Which way to the shower?” I point my ass to the counter and bend to unclasp the straps of my heels, leaving them on the tiles.

  “Use my personal bathroom. To the left. Last door on the right. Want me to show you?”

  “No. It’s okay.” I start walking, needing a few minutes of breathing space to regain my equilibrium. “I won’t be long.”

  I pad onto the carpet of the hall, glancing into rooms as I pass, appreciating how every space is neat and tidy. Without flaw.

  I stop at the threshold of his bedroom and flick on the light, taking a moment to let the sight sink in. It’s another perfectly appointed room. Dark wooden furniture. Even darker bed coverings. Not one piece of strewn clothing or speck of dust in sight.

  It doesn’t take long for my stare to move beyond appraisal and into daydream territory. I picture us both on the king-size mattress, his body atop mine, his movements hard and rhythmic.

  Then he has me bent over the chest of drawers. Or my naked breasts pressed to the glass doors leading to the balcony as he takes me from behind.

  I need help.

  I sidestep past the walk-in closet and move into the bathroom where I use the facilities and shower quickly. I should get back to my hotel. For anonymity’s sake. To make sure I don’t push the already fragile boundaries of my stupidity.

  I dry myself with fast strokes of a clean, plush towel, discovering that some parts of me are already deliciously sore from his attention. Then I shuffle from the bathroom with the thick material wrapped around my chest.
<
br />   Matthew sits waiting for me on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor, his elbows on knees. He glances up from under dark lashes, his chocolate eyes meeting mine with an expression I can’t quite read.

  “Feel like you’ve been catfished?” I ask, suddenly aware that this is the first time he’s seen me without a mask of makeup.

  He reaches out a hand, wordlessly beckoning me forward. My feet comply without my consent, bringing me right before him.

  “You floor me with every new layer you expose.” His fingers glide around my wrist, leading me between his open knees. “I’m not worthy of your attention.”

  I wither inside, my strategy for space disintegrating. I want to climb onto him and cuddle in his lap. To be his very own purring little kitten.

  “Your cheek is still swollen.” He reaches for my face, gently cupping my jaw, his thumb sweeping over the healing skin. “Does it hurt?”

  What hurts is the destruction it caused.

  The drama.

  Then again, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been mugged. I would’ve walked away from Matthew, possibly never seeing him again.

  “I don’t notice it most of the time.” Especially not when your hands are on me.

  He nods, continuing to stroke the bruising, stoking my sensuality with each pass. He drugs me with his touch, building an addiction that will require a multi-step program to achieve recovery.

  “Tell me why you’re really here,” he murmurs.

  I tense before I can stop myself.

  “Don’t lie to me, amore mio.”

  I step back, fearful of his scrutiny while something inside me yearns for transparency.

  His touch falls away with my retreat, but those eyes slay me with their questioning.

  “You didn’t come all this way to sleep with me,” he continues. “Do you need information on the Costas? Did you decide to take my help?”

  I wince for so many reasons.

  For starters, he’s wrong. I did come all this way to sleep with him, no matter how desperate and dysfunctional that sounds. It’s deeper than that, though. Painfully deeper.

  “No.” I swallow and straighten my shoulders. “I didn’t come here for information. This has nothing to do with them.”

  “Then why?” The question barely breaches my ears, the gentleness painfully coaxing.

  Because I’m alone.

  Because I had nobody else.

  Because my family hate to love me, and love to hate me in equal measure.

  I turn away, starting for the door. “I need to get my clothes.”

  “Your clothes are gone, Layla.”

  I swing back to face him, panicked. “Gone where?”

  “I put them in a dry-cleaning bag and sent them down the laundry shoot.” He reaches for something beside him, claiming a handful of dark material that almost matches the covers. “You can wear one of my robes.”

  He’s trapped me. Not behind bars, but with nudity.

  “You’re judging me again,” he warns.

  “Because you’re effectively holding me here until I can get my dress back.”

  His placid face hardens as he hunches over, elbows back on knees. “I have a room full of clothes if you’re in a hurry to run. Take a sweatshirt. Take my whole fucking wardrobe. I’ll have your clothes sent to your hotel first thing in the morning.” He shoves to his feet. “Forgive me for thinking I was doing you a favor.”

  He stalks to the door, shoving the silk robe into my hand as he passes, then escapes into the hall.

  Damn it.

  I’m not used to this.

  I have no familiarity with someone doing things for me out of kindness instead of strategy. The compliments are all new. The affection foreign.

  My walls may be down where attraction is concerned, but I guess snap judgment is still my default defense mechanism.

  I return the towel to the bathroom while feeling like a complete bitch, then shove my arms into the billowing robe, tying the sash around my waist.

  I’m pushing away the best thing that’s happened to me since Stella’s birth and I don’t know how to stop.

  Vulnerability isn’t an enjoyable sensation. It’s caustic and cruel, its sharp teeth nipping at my heels. But denying the exposure means giving up on this connection. This passion. Even if it’s temporary.

  I pad back along the hall, finding him in the kitchen, one hand on the counter, the other on his scotch glass.

  “Want me to arrange a driver?” He peers at me over the rim of his drink before taking a gulp. “You wouldn’t have to wait long.”

  Do I go or stay?

  He takes another mouthful, leaving the glass dry, then drops it down to the counter with a heavy thud. “You’re not my fucking hostage,” he mutters. “I’m not keeping you here.”

  “I know.”

  He frowns. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” I wince. “And I’m sorry. You caught me off guard.”

  He remains quiet as he watches me, unappeased.

  “I felt stupid when you said I didn’t travel all this way just to sleep with you, because the truth is I kinda did.” My wince deepens. “But it’s even more pathetic than that.”

  “What do you mean?” His expression softens.

  My throat tightens with the resurfacing rage I harbor toward my brother. “I had a fight with my family and needed to get away. It’s hard to admit I had nowhere else to go.”

  The confession hurts. Soul deep.

  There’s nobody else in my life. All I have is Stella, my innocent daughter, who I’ll never burden with my troubles.

  Matthew releases a long breath and wipes a rough hand down his face. He’s tired of me already. Bored of my bullshit within an hour.

  He doesn’t say anything as he walks toward me, probably preparing to reintroduce me to the front door. I bite my lip as he approaches, each step leaving me more vulnerable in an already isolated world, until he stops before me.

  His gaze rakes my face, a subtle frown pinching his brows as he conducts the appraisal. “Are you okay?”

  I release a tight breath.

  He’s concerned about me? After I accused him of having bad intentions, he’s still acting protective?

  I blink through the sharp burn in my eyes and step back, needing to distance myself from the weakening effects of his patience and concern.

  “Hey.” He reaches out, grasping my fingers to drag me into his chest. “Tell me you’re okay.”

  I hold in a whimper, the fragile sound built from overwhelming gratitude. I wither against him, lowering my head to his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist.

  In his embrace, I’m good.

  I’m sheltered.

  I’m whole.

  “I don’t need you, Matthew,” I whisper against his skin. “I’m not someone who can’t take care of herself. I just…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m not used to having someone care for me. Not like this.”

  “I understand.” He kisses the top of my head. “I don’t have anyone either.”

  I lean back, needing to see the truth in his expression. “What about your family?”

  “I have a mentor. But apart from him, Bishop is all I have. All I trust.”

  He has it worse than I do, and now that I know of his isolation, I can see it. Loneliness is hidden beneath the confidence in his eyes.

  “I have a feeling we’re similar in a lot of ways,” he continues. “Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to you.”

  “And here I was thinking I’d captivated you with my body,” I tease.

  “That, too.” He doesn’t laugh—there’s only the slightest upward curve to his mouth as he gives me a subdued kiss. When he pulls away, the humor is gone. “I want you to trust me.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “It doesn’t come easily for me either.” He kisses my nose. My forehead. The sweetest brushes of gentle lips. “We have to give it time.”

  I sigh, nestling back into his shoulder. “It sounds like your lif
e is as messed up as mine.”

  “It was. But not anymore. I left it behind. You can, too.”

  I close my eyes, picturing this dream world of his. One without notoriety etched into my family name. A place where tables aren’t turned on the daily and I don’t have to constantly watch my back. A utopia where Stella would always be safe.

  “Want to tell me about the fight?” he asks into my hair.

  “It was about you.”

  The muscles of his chest stiffen. “You told your family about me?”

  “No. But they guessed I’d met someone. Apparently, my face has a tell when I’ve received my first non-self-administered orgasm in years.”

  He snickers, deep and sinful in my ear. “If I’d known it’d been that long—”

  “Nope.” My face heats as I snap a finger to his lips, silencing him. “We are not talking about my abstinence.”

  His grin presses into my fingertip, the glimpse of a dimple teasing me from his left cheek. “But understanding why you’re confident in one moment and shy in the next is fucking cute.”

  “Stop it.” My eyes flare. “There’s nothing cute about being daunted by someone else’s prowess.”

  He’s right though.

  So fucking right.

  I guess I grew up being self-assured by my family’s power. Of how to conquer and rule. But when it came to sexuality, my teachings came from a man who would’ve preferred never to have met me.

  “You’re daunted by me?” he teases.

  I shove at his chest. “You know I am.”

  He sobers, the flirtatious vibe seeping away as silence builds.

  “I don’t want you to be daunted by me, amore mio.” He grabs my hand, raising my knuckles to his lips. “You told me before that I made you feel empowered. That I gave you confidence.”

  “You do that, too.” I shake my head. “I wish I could explain…”

  I can’t find the words. No, I can’t find the honesty. The truth about how Benji made me question my desirability isn’t something I’m willing to discuss.

  “A man gave you these insecurities,” he answers for me.