Page 7 of Hustler in the Mafia
My God. The man smelled good. I was so used to my stench from days of not washing that it took some time for a pleasant smell to reach my nostrils. But when it did, it was all I could do not to drop down and snuggle up to him. He reminded me of burned charcoal. Dark and musty. And expensive. My gaze locked into his. His burned hot. My hands clutched the sheet right next to his hip. My knuckles grazed his hot skin. I tugged. Nothing. Confused, I glanced down to find his hands clamped onto mine.What the hell?Before I could put words into my mouth, he’d yanked me close to him, arm, sheet, and all. I wobbled precariously on top of his chest, trying not to fall on him.
“I’m not the men you know,Il mio passerotto.I want to sink my cock into you and make you scream with pleasure.”What?I jerked back. “So you want to fuck me? Then the game is on. But you want to thank me—” he shoved me off him, and I landed on my ass. “Then do us both a favour and get the hell out of my room.”
CHAPTER FOUR
FLORINA
Soft light flickered in, finding cracks through the navy blue curtains. The window was half the size of the wall. But the curtains touching in the middle were enough to give me a peek. Finally. It was daytime.
Above me was a pure white ceiling with cracked plaster and a rosette in the middle, holding a rusty, dull gold lamp. On top were twelve small lights holding fake candles. All twelve of them were lit because I’d left it like that. Beneath me was a mattress so soft it might as well have been a cloud passing by.Was this a nightmare or what?
I sat up straight like a whip had cracked my back. This wasn’t my life. I was on borrowed time.
I wasn’t born for comfort. I had got to twenty-five years without a brush of comfort tainting my skin. I was made for harsh winters and freezing nights. Comfort would make me soft. Weak. Would make me rely on something I could never have.
With a huff, I pushed off the soft cotton sheet on top of me and sat on the side of the bed. I might have slept for two hourstops. Drifting in and out because I didn’t trust the man. I refused to trust the man.
The desk and the chair still stood guard where I’d parked them. But there were noises creeping underneath my door, which reminded me yet again that I was in a house with a man who apparently wanted to fuck me.
I want to sink my cock into you and make you scream with pleasure.
His words taunted me as I padded to the bathroom. I peed and crossed to the sink to wash my face, where I found a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. Palpitations picked up in my heart, and a frown wrinkled my forehead. This wasn’t there last night. A towel hung next to the shower, and there were pretty bottles in the shower. Men’s stuff. Not that I was choosy. So he’d come in here and put this shit in here, and I hadn’t heard him. Did he come inside the room? Unease is a nasty bitch. It messes you up and makes you do rash things.
I need to get the hell out of here.
I stormed through his office, ran down the stairs, and stopped short in the kitchen.Bloody hell.With his bare back to me, he walked around in the kitchen.Cooking?The man was wearing jeans so low they were in danger of falling from his olive-skinned hips. My eyes stubbornly refused to move from where the dark blue of his jeans met his skin. He couldn’t be wearing boxers underneath. Could he? A tug was all that would take to…
“Buongiorno, il mio passerotto.”
Silver buttons on his jeans and the thickness behind them met me as he turned around. My eyes jerked up so fast I was in danger of swaying to the floor like a fucking damsel in distress.
“I’m not your fucking sparrow,” I snapped, partly to cover my embarrassment but also because I wasn’t a fucking bird. Birds were weak. I was not.
His eyes met mine with a wicked smile in them. I refused to shift and kept them pasted to his. No matter how tempting it was to drop down to his delicious bare torso. I didn’t need to see it. Last night’s memory was all too fresh. He would have heard me plonking down the stairs a mile off. The least he could have done was put on a damn shirt if he had good intentions. Which just proved the point that he didn’t. But then again, he had made his intentions pretty clear to me.I want to sink my cock into you and make you scream with pleasure.There was no misunderstanding that.
“Time to eat up.” He piled two plates with eggs and bacon from the pan he was holding in his massive hand.
Massive hand, massive… No, I wasn’t going to go down that line. My mouth watered. For the food, that is, but I refused to indulge.
The plate scraped against the marble top as he shoved it towards me. “I’m sure it’ll put you in a good mood.”
“I’m in a good mood.”
He wiped his hand slowly over his lips. “I can see that.”Was he laughing at me?Last night, he’d been harsh. Now he was in a good mood at the expense of mine. I wasn’t a fucking joke. I opened my mouth to tell him just that… “Eat up. Now.” His voice flipped to cold and clipped. I was sure he had an army who’d listen to that voice, but not me. I reared up to tell him that, and he sighed like he’d seen into the future. “Please. You can have your fight after.”
My lips thinned. Fine. l would eat and then I was getting out of here. Disregarding his precious silverware, I dug into the bacon with my bare hands. My dirty hands and chipped nails tingled, and I just knew that his gaze was on them. I waited. When nothing came out, I looked up with a scowl.
“What?”
He pulled his gaze away from my hands and picked up his fork and knife. “Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to order me to use your metal pieces?” I noticed the yellow of the egg dripping and took the side of my right hand and licked it from the bottom to the top.
My sole purpose had been to taunt him. But it felt weirdly like that backfired on me. He shifted behind the island he was leaning on, and his eyes darkened to black slits. His voice was thick and rough when he lied. “You have beautiful hands. You can use them however you want.”
“Liar,” I mumbled.
“Shut up and eat,” he ordered.
