Page 139 of Don’t Say Mafia

The fruit was sweet and cold, and the whipped cream was rich and smooth against my tongue. He watched me chew, his eyes dark and focused, and then he leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth, licking away a stray drop of cream.

“Delicious,” he said against my lips, and I writhed beneath him, hazily wondering if there was a legal cap on the number of orgasms a person could survive in a single day.

He fed me another strawberry, then another. Between bites, he kissed me—soft at first, then deeper, tasting the sweetness on my tongue. His hand slid to my waist, and his thumb stroked the sensitive skin there before drifting higher and cupping my breast. He softly flicked my nipple until it tightened under his touch.

I moaned softly into his mouth.

He pulled back with hooded eyes and picked up another strawberry. This time he dragged it slowly down my throat and between my breasts, circling one nipple until it pebbled harder, then lower, tracing the line of my stomach. When he reached the apex of my thighs, he paused, and his eyes met mine.

“Open for me,” he said quietly.

I parted my thighs, heart pounding.

Jagger dragged the strawberry through my folds, slow and teasing as he coated it in my arousal, and then he brought it to my lips. “Taste,” he ordered.

I opened my mouth and tasted the sweet berry mixed with my own salt and heat. I moaned again, louder this time.

Jagger groaned and leaned down to lick the trail he’d made. His tongue followed the sticky path from my clit up to my stomach, then back down again. He sucked the berry from my lips and kissed me deep, letting me taste us together.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against my mouth. “So fucking perfect.”

He fed me the last strawberry the same way—dragging it through my wetness, feeding it to me, then licking me clean while I trembled and gasped beneath him.

When the plate was empty, he set it aside and pulled me into his arms, tucking me against his chest. His hand settled on my lower back, and his thumb stroked slow circles over my spine.

We lay like that for a long time, skin to skin . . . our hearts beating together. “I haven’t even asked you yet,” he suddenly murmured. “Do you like your new clothes?”

The question caught me off guard because it felt like a lifetime had passed since he’d taken me to that boutique. Literally.

“I love them,” I said instantly, because how could I not love them? Jagger had basically given me every girl’s dream moment.

His fingers brushed against my shoulder, and it reminded me of how the saleswoman had adjusted my clothes . . . and also what she’d said.

“The woman at L’Étoile yesterday,” I said, pursing my lips as I thought about the strange conversation.

“What about her?” he murmured, brushing kisses down my arms.

“At one point she got a little weird.”

Jagger’s lips paused on my skin. “Oh? What did she say? Do I need to get her fired?”

I huffed a laugh and twisted in his arms until I was facing him fully, bracing my hands against his chest. “Absolutely not,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

He only grinned—completely unrepentant and completely serious about the offer.

“She started talking about things like needing a certain disposition to stand beside powerful men.” I hesitated. “Then she asked if you’d told me about everything you and your friends own. I told her it wasn’t really my business, and she said that ‘that’s usually how it begins.’ It felt like she was trying to warn me about something.”

Jagger was quiet for a moment, considering. “Hmm,” he said finally. “She was probably referencing the casinos. We own more than one. And when you control that much real estate in this city, people talk.” His shoulder lifted slightly. “There are always rumors when you have things other people want.”

I searched his face for something darker, something hidden. But he looked perfectly calm.

“That makes sense,” I said slowly, nodding. And it did. Power attracted speculation. That wasn’t exactly groundbreaking.

He brushed my cheek soothingly. “It’s going to happen a lot,” he added. “People saying things. Hinting at things. Acting like they know more than they do.” Jagger’s gaze held mine unflinchingly. “The only thing that matters,” he said quietly, “is that I belong to you. Completely . . . And you belong to me.”

The words didn’t feel light or casual . . . They felt binding. Like invisible ink suddenly turning visible under heat, revealing a contract I hadn’t known I’d signed until this moment. Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring him at the edges as he brushed a worshipful kiss against my lips.

“I don’t want to own you the way I own everything else, though,” he said. “I want to belong to you. I want you to own me. My time. My thoughts. My fucking soul. If you’ll have me.” He closed his eyes like the confession had cost him something vital, and when he opened them again, those brown depths were burning. “Say you’ll have me, Eden.”