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“That really hurts, Rafe,” she whimpers. Her eyes fill with the crocodile tears I’ve become immune to, though they’re no less sweet for the effect.
Luca, serving one of my family’s favorites, alfalfa and fried haloumi with assorted sides, has not had the pleasure. His discontent rumbles and I throw a hard look at them both.
And now he’s blaming me for taking a hand to her.
“Willow? You’re upsetting my chef.”
She glances up at him, notes the protective thunderheads gathering across his face, and blinds him with that cheeky-as-fuck smile like she did with me earlier. “I asked for it.”
“No woman should be forced to say that,” Luca’s voice holds a warning note I’ve never heard aimed at me before.
I recline in my chair and wait for her to fix the fuckup she’s created.
“No, really.” She bites her lip, and darts a glance across at me, seeking permission.
I shrug. “If you want to give my chef a raging boner, you’re welcome to. As long as he helps clean up the next body that requires slashing.”
“Always at your service, Rafe.” Luca folds his arms over his chest before my wife has a chance to answer him. “Willow?”
“Well…” Willow starts to rise and bends over the table so far her tits are nearly in my entrée. “I was playing a game. He wanted information, and I wanted to see what he’d do to get it out of me.” She wiggles her rump—that must be fucking glowing red beneath her clothes—enticingly in his direction.
“I see.” Luca’s face is closed, and his gaze drifts back to me as he raises his eyebrow. “What were the stakes?”
“Layout of everything she saw at Konnor’s, people and information, or her ass, anyway I saw fit.” I turn my palm over on the table. Though it no longer smarts, I feel every single blow in my shoulder still.
And by all the gods who hate me, did I love the sounds of her moans with each swat.
“Hmm. Were you disobedient, my Don’s wife?” He shifts to stand beside her, putting Willow at a distinct disadvantage. Now, she can either look across the table at nothing like an object we discuss, face me, or stare at Luca’s crotch.
I don’t smile in case she sees our game, but nod to show I appreciate the maneuver.
“I wanted to play with him,” Willow whispers, her voice soft, but even so it comes out tinnily. Her chest puffs with short, shallow breaths. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you thank him when you lost?” He doesn’t look at me this time.
Willow’s face reddens, and her swaying stops. “No.”
“Before you eat the food he provides for you, don’t you think you should?” He touches the tip of her chin with his knuckle—I’d allow nothing more and he knows it—raising her face to focus on him.
“Y-yes.” Her voice is slightly stronger, recognizing the power play, and sinking into her role.
“Good girl,” he praises her, tapping the tip of her nose with the same knuckle. She looks uncertainly between us as he takes a single step back. “What are you waiting for, my Don’s wife? I will not hinder you in your task.” He manages to hold back his humor—just.
My chef managed to make us all aroused, turning the tables away from what I had in mind when she launched into the next phase of her cute little game, but this round has backfired on her.
Willow straightens, tugging at the material at her waist, and walks toward me in dainty steps, throwing a cautious glance between Luca and me.
“It’s all right,” I murmur, reaching up to cup her chin, drawing her closer to me. “You should do as he asks.”
I hold her gaze, interested to see if she’ll fight me, but taking in a long breath, Willow lets it out and sinks between my thighs, reaching for my belt. Seconds later, her mouth is wrapped around my cock while I struggle not to fist her hair and fuck her face.
The urge is so fucking strong, but this is her apology, of sorts, and with Luca watching, I won’t degrade her.
Much.
Clinging to my resolve, I brush my fingers through her hair. “Do you remember I fucked your mouth in our bedroom after the first dinner with my father?” I asked, touching her cheeks gently.
She murmurs something, the hum low in her throat almost setting me off.
