Page 128 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

I swallowed. “Am I one of those people you care about?”

He said nothing, his gaze just connected to mine.

And fuck me, I put one knee on the end of the bed and then crawled up it, up him. My legs either side of his, my hands pressing into the mattress until I completely straddled him, my body not touching his, just hovering.

Until I lowered myself down on top of him, inch by inch, connecting our bodies.

“Lynx,” he said hoarsely. “I fucking can’t. I don’t want them doing to you what they did to me.”

“I don’t care. I can take it.” What I couldn’t take was the need curling inside me, the aching desire that I had kept at bay for what felt like my entire life, not just since I’d met him and Nyah, but for years and years before that.

I’d never gotten what I wanted.

And I was so sick of waiting for it.

My dick got hard between us, and I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

“Lynx,” he groaned, twisting his head, trying to avoid my mouth. “You say that now, but when it’s you down in that cage, being burned and beaten and broken, you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t.” I kissed his neck, licked his skin, ground my hips against his, desperate for a reaction.

The only one I got was for him to push me away. He turned his head. “I can’t.”

It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over my head.

I got off him and walked across the room to the door.

“Lynx,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the passport. Be on that plane tomorrow night, okay?”

I couldn’t respond. I just walked back out to my spot in the hallway like an obedient little guard and counted the fucking grapes on the paintings.

The next morning, there was no hockey training, so I rode my bike straight back to the clubhouse and sat myself at the bar, even though the rest of the club was all sleeping in their rooms. I helped myself to a bottle of bourbon and slugged it straight from the neck.

The soft pad of bare feet came from behind me, and I glanced over.

Amber, one of the club women who lived here, raised a sleepy hand. “Hey, Lynx. You’re up early.”

“Haven’t been to bed yet.”

She nodded. “Right. You do nights at the Guerras. That’s tough.”

She had no idea.

She eyed the bottle of half-drunk bourbon clutched in my fingers. “Rough night?”

“I’ve had better.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not even a little bit.”

A smile ghosted over her lips. “You want to fuck about it then?”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

She shrugged. “What? We all know what I am here.”

“And what’s that?”