Page 38 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

“Maybe I will be,” he said, staring at the curl. “Now I have you.”

My heart tightened as something fragile built inside me. This had become so deep, so quickly, and I felt way in over my head. I didn’t express my emotions well, and neither did he. But that didn’t mean we didn’t feel them growing between us so rapidly that it made my head spin.

“I hope… er…” He swallowed and avoided my eyes. Oh my God, was he blushing? That was possibly the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. Second to that dimple. “Was it…”

“Good?” I put him out of his misery, giving him a gentle smile when his eyes flicked to mine. “It was better than I ever thought my first time would be. So yes. You exceeded my expectations.”

He gave me a curt nod, but the corners of his lips twitched into that smile again. And there was my new mission: to make that dimple appear every damn day.

“In fact…” I licked my lips and rested my chin on my hands over his chest. “I think I’ll want to do it again. And again.”

“Is that right?” He arched an eyebrow, showing me a new playful side to him. “I suppose I can make room in my schedule.”

“Just fit me in between your three pm spa treatment and your four pm killing spree.”

“You think an hour a day will be enough?”

“Well, you’re a busy man. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I can move some shite around, make you a priority.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. “Oh yeah? I thought you were a Fuck-and-Chuck kind of guy. Why would you want to do that?”

“Because… I think you just fucked life back into me, Little Monster.”

I giggled nervously. “What?”

“I’ve never felt more human than when I was inside you.”

My heart just exploded.

I leaned forward and kissed him, not knowing if that was an okay thing we could do now, but needing to do it anyway. His hands clawed through my hair, deepening the kiss.

When we broke apart, and I stared into his eyes, I felt a stirring sadness at what he’d just confessed. I didn’t want to only fuck the life into him; I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to understand him. But I was afraid he’d never let me.

“How long have you lived like this?” I tested the waters while he was as open as I’d ever seen him. “As Sean’s captive?”

He licked his lips, his jaw pulsing, and I immediately knew he was fighting against dark memories. “A while.”

“How long is a while? A few months? Years?”

“I was twelve when Sean first took me.”

Twelve. A child. A boy. Anger and sadness surged as his expressionless eyes roamed over my face, as if he were distracting himself with my image rather than revisiting the memories.

“What happened?”

He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not now.”

“What about your family? Did they try looking for you?”

“I don’t talk about my family.” His tone left no room for argument, so I tried a different approach.

“You said when Sean first took you? Does that mean he’s done it more than once?”

“I escaped once,” he said. “He found me again. The punishment for leaving made it not worth trying again. Are you Italian?” he asked, changing the subject. It was an immediate shutdown.

“Si,“ I answered in my native language. His lips curled.