“I wanted to let you know Julio is improving,” he says, striding over to the bed and leaning down to give Poppet a tickle behind the ear. “And—well, fuck, Dallas, I had to see you. I feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world for sneaking around behind your father’s back. But I can’t not see you. You’re my drug.”
I stand up, the air seeming somehow more potent, pricking my bare arms and legs. I’m in one of the silk bathrobes that was waiting for me when I came to claim this room … and only my underwear underneath. I feel my nipples pricking my bra, my body getting hot.
“I know the feeling,” I breathe, moving closer to him.
His jaws tighten as his firm eyes roam over me. He’s shaved again, his face handsome, strong. His eyes bite into me, brimming with possibilities.
“I promised myself we wouldn’t do anything until we’d told your father,” he growls, moving closer, inch by inch, until the heat between us is like a wildfire. It can’t be stopped. “But looking at you, standing there, like a gift wrapped up for me, it feels impossible.”
Do it, a daring voice hisses in my mind. Don’t be afraid anymore. He wants you. Start believing him.
I press my hand against his chest, feeling his firm muscles and his heartbeat beneath.
“Your heart is going crazy,” I whisper.
“It’s you,” he snarls. “Fuck, Dallas. Get in the bathroom. Now. Just get in there before I come to my senses.”
“Why the bathroom?”
“Because Poppet looks too comfy on the bed and I don’t want to disturb her.”
A thrill catapults through me, banishing indecision, banishing guilt.
Its true—Dad would be furious if he knew what we were doing.
But by the way Dom’s acting I assume Dad has already left for the city. And even if he hasn’t, something else has taken over here, an atavistic urge that neither of us can deny.
My womb is screaming inside of me.
Do it, do it, do it.
I turn to the bed and reach over to Poppet.
“Good girl,” I whisper. “That’s it. Dream your doggie dreams. Good girl.”
I creep over to the bathroom and feel Dom right behind me, his presence both comforting and dangerous. Nerves try to shatter this moment and tell me I’m not worthy, I’m ugly, I’m the girl who jocks lure into the middle of nowhere and play hideous tricks on.
But the moment the bathroom door closes and locks behind us, Dom surges forward. He lays his body against my back and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close to him as his hands slide under the folds of the bathrobe and smooth over my belly down toward my sex.
“Fuck,” he snarls. “Your body is burning up. It’s your womb, Dallas. Your womb needs this. Your womb is a greedy little virgin. Just like you. My horny little virgin. I need to be inside of you. I’ve tasted you. Now I need to feel you. I want to be strong. But I can’t. Not with you.”
I arch my back and grind my ass against his groin, even as anxiety tries to steal the confidence required for such a gesture. I feel his manhood through the fabric of our clothes, pressing against my ass cheeks. Lust pricks every part of me. My mouth is suddenly dry, as though my womb’s telling me I need to get it wet, wet with his come, his saliva, with him.
“Are you sure you’re a virgin?” he growls, a note of approval in his voice. “Because when you move like that, you drive me crazy.”
“You like it?” I whisper.
“That’s a fucking understatement,” he snarls, smoothing his hands up my thighs and onto my ass cheeks.
I sense we’re about to sink into the deeper carnality – it, the moment I finally become a woman – when the sound of Dom’s cellphone cuts through the moment.
I feel him pause behind me. A weight seems to come over him and he sighs.
“Fuck,” he snaps.
“What is it?” I whisper, part of me terrified that this will get cut short …
And another part of me, the scared part, the jock-fodder part, fills with annoying and unwelcome relief. Because if we’re being interrupted that means I don’t have to face the stark reality that I’m simply not the sort of woman Domenico has most likely chosen in the past.
Sure—he’s claiming me.
Sure, he wants me, and I do want him.
But that doesn’t change our history, and mine is a big fat goose egg as far as sexual partners are concerned and his is difficult for me to even imagine. All I know is that a man like Domenico DeLuca has probably had legions of women throwing themselves at his feet for decades.
Take me. Do whatever you want with me, mafia king.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“Business,” he growls. “It’s always business. I’d ignore it, Dallas. The idea of stopping this now makes me want to punch a hole in the wall. But I want to give you the attention you deserve and I don’t know if I can right now.”
His phone continues to ring, echoing in the bathroom.
And then from in the bedroom Poppet yaps, disturbed by the noise. I imagine her saying, Mommy, what’s going on in there? All the moaning and the groaning, well, that was one thing, but this ringing really is getting out of hand now.
“And we are at war.”
“Take it,” I urge him, letting out an indecisive breath as I break our contact and turn to face him.
His expression is taut, and his jaw quivers as his eyes drink me in. His manhood is a solid pole in his pants, proclaiming his desire. He bites down hard and stares at me, trying to hold himself back, a predator in its bindings ready to unleash and cast aside everything that’s
