“You belong to me. I’m not talking in any fucking poetic sense here. I mean I own you, Dallas. Your eyes, your ass, your sassiness, your fucking curves, and your breasts, everything about you might as well have my name stamped on it. Because you’re mine. I could bend you over right here and grind my cock between those luscious round ass cheeks and write my name on your glorious breasts with the precome from how horny you make me.”
She shivers visibly and I have to clear my throat.
“I wasn’t planning on saying that,” I admit, letting out a shaky sigh.
Soon.
The hotel room.
Then that body is mine, once and for all. Licking, biting, spanking, fucking, pommeling her tight juicy pink pussy with my cock. Slamming my whole strength into it, properly pounding my seed into her, lightly slapping her tits so that her nipples turn pink and then flipping her over, feeling her ass cheeks shake with each thrust, that fucking gorgeous creamy way it’ll shake for me. And then I finally come inside of her wet tight cunt, feeling her quiver for me with each thrust, and I’ll know I’ve put a baby in her made-for-giving-birth virgin body.
“I need to calm down,” I admit with a growl, sitting back. “Otherwise I might take you right here.”
Her cheeks bloom red and she glances at the windows, where we can partially see our reflections. She focuses on hers for a moment and then bites her lip.
“What if I can’t … it’s stupid.”
“What?” I ask.
But then the waiter brings our drinks and we share a secret look as we say our thank you’s. She sips on her soda and I take a small sip of my whiskey and coke, but just enough to send a minor flurry of warmth through me … nothing compared to the inferno she produces.
“What?” I ask again when we’re alone in our private floating haven.
“What if I can’t live up to your expectations?” she murmurs, placing her glass down.
“You will,” I snarl. “Because it’s not a performance. I’m not expecting you to do anything for me. I just want you to follow your instincts. That’s what we are, Firecracker, we’re creatures of extinct. I saw you and knew you were mine on sight. I didn’t think. And neither did I think when that fucking bomb went off. And we won’t think when we’re both naked, hot as devils, ready to finally get our release with each other. Just feel.”
I pause, smirking like a cocky bastard.
“Or I’ll just bend you over and fuck you hard from behind, and all you’ll have to do is spread your legs and cream all over my cock for me.”
“Did I—last time?”
“Say it,” I growl, watching her.
Her eyes flicker to the door.
“We’re alone,” I snarl. “If I thought anybody else could hear you talking like this, we wouldn’t be here. This is just for me.”
“Did I cream last time?” she asks, all in a rush, as though it takes a lot for her to get out the words.
“Yes,” I growl, my manhood so hard now it feels like it might just snap off. It’s fucking wood, it’s so hard, it just won’t go down, not with her expression so innocent and her tits made to be grabbed and oiled and fucked.
“I tasted it. You were squirting in my mouth. Your pussy was hungry for me.”
She shivers. Her cheeks get redder. It’s her womb making her excited, getting that body ready.
“And you liked that?”
“Yes, yes I did. Very much.”
“Okay, then,” she says, with a little cock of her head. “I’ll try and cream for you, Iceman. But I think I might have to change your nickname. You don’t seem very icy anymore.”
You’ve melted me. That’s why.
“Ah, the starters,” I murmur when the door opens and the waiter appears with two silver trays. “Good, let’s get this dinner started.”
The sooner we finish, the sooner I can get you to the hotel room.
And then I won’t have to think about the Irish and the video Patty’s going to receive very soon, a video that shows me shooting two of his men dead, their bodies falling lifeless to the ground. A video that proves to the world that Domenico DeLuca is just what they say I am, a stone cold killer.
Don’t think about that. Think about her.
Dallas is all that matters.
Chapter Eighteen
Dallas
I feel like I’m in a fairytale as I clutch onto Dom’s arm and we walk up the red-carpeted hallway. The double doors are carved of oak and inlaid with forest patterns, and the handles are golden and wink under the light of the chandeliers. Dom opens the doors onto a wide living room with three regal-looking couches and another glistening chandelier.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” he growls, watching me. “But this room isn’t why we’re here. I’m starting to feel like a goddamn werewolf with the moon turning full.”
“See,” I giggle, turning to him and slapping his chest, feeling the muscles, the heat, him. “I’m rubbing off on you. Pretty soon you’ll have all the fantasy lingo down.”
He smirks and then – in a flash, he’s so freaking fast – he picks me up and scoops me into his arms. I squeal in delight when I feel one arm under my knees and the other behind my head, cradling me.
He leans down and crushes his lips into mine, kissing me firmly, savagely, as though he wants me to know that this is the moment.
The moment I become his.
Forever.
I want it more passionately than I’ve ever wanted anything.
He breaks off the kiss and carries me over the threshold – the perfect husband, I think – and then through the living room and down a hallway lined with sconce lights.
A soft yellow glow follows us to the bedroom, which Dom opens with an irrepressible shoe-kick. The door swings open, revealing
