Page 280 of Don’t Say Mafia

One taste of Jagger . . . and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to recover.

“‘Wrong’?” The word came out strained and savage, like I’d just ripped something vital out of him.

“Yes. Wrong.” Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall yet.

“I just cremated my husband. I held his ashes in my hands, and I let him go . . . And that was days ago. And now I’m in here with you, dripping for you, aching for you, when I should be broken. When I should still be bleeding for him. This”—I gestured wildly between us—“this is betrayal. I’m betraying him. I’m betraying myself.”

Jagger’s jaw clenched, and his eyes searched mine, wild and wounded and furious all at once.

“Baby . . .” His voice sank into a murmur that caressed my skin, a promise hiding teeth, the kind that coaxed you closer while the bite waited just out of sight.

He stepped closer again, crowding me back against the sink. “We could never be wrong together.”

The words came out fierce and possessive, a growl he couldn’t hold back.

I shook my head, but it felt weak. “You don’t⁠—”

“I do.” He cut me off. “I do get it. I get that it hurts. I get that you’re drowning in guilt and grief and every fucked-up thing that comes after losing someone. But listen to me.”

His hand shot to my face, cupping my cheek hard enough to make me gasp as his thumb dug into the soft skin under my eye. “Ryan only ever hurt you. Disappointed you. Left you waiting, left you crying, left you wondering why you weren’t enough. Every time he promised he’d change, every time he swore he’d be better—he fucking failed you. Over and over. He broke pieces of you, and it’s my goal in life to glue them back together.”

My breath hitched, and I sobbed as fresh pain lanced through me at the reminder of just how sad my life had become these last few years.

The words helped with the guilt, though.

Jagger leaned in until his mouth was a breath from mine. “I would never do that to you.” His words came out like a vow carved in blood. “I’d burn the fucking world down before I let you feel small again. I’d cut out my own heart and hand it to you bleeding if it meant you never had to wonder if you were enough. I want to replace him. I want to erase every memory of his weak, disappointing hands on you. I want to fuck you so deep, so hard, so completely, that when you close your eyes, it’s my face you see. My name you scream. My cock you feel stretching you open until there’s no room left for ghosts.”

His forehead crashed against mine and his breath was ragged, his whole body trembling with the brutal effort it took to hold himself back.

“I’m going to get rid of him,” he promised. “He doesn’t deserve space in your head anymore. Not when I’m right here, ready to worship every part of you. Ready to own you. Protect you. Breed you. Ruin you in the best fucking way until you forget what pain even feels like.”

My chest heaved, and the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over.

Jagger searched my face one last time, his eyes a battlefield where hunger clashed against a devotion so consuming it looked like it could destroy us both.

He slowly sank to his knees on the tile, gripping my hips in a way that I knew would leave marks I’d see tomorrow. For once I wanted to be marked by a man, though.

Jagger looked up at me, and the sight of this god on his knees for me stole what little air I had left.

“I’m not leaving,” he said in a wrecked voice. “Push me. Hate me. Cry on me. Use me to feel anything but the grief for one fucking second. But know this—” His fingers dug in harder. “I’d rather bleed out on this floor for you than stand anywhere else without you. I’d rather replace every memory he left in you with mine than let you keep carrying his failures.”

He fisted the hem of my skirt and yanked it up my thighs in one rough, impatient motion, bunching the fabric around my waist. Cool air kissed my soaked panties, and I gasped, trembling as the full weight of what was happening crashed over me.

He buried his mouth between my thighs, pressing hard against the soaked lace of my panties. His teeth scraped the thin fabric, and he inhaled me like my scent was the only thing keeping him sane. A deep, hungry growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating straight against my swollen clit and sending a fresh rush of slick heat flooding through me, making my pussy clench and throb with desperate need.

“Fuck,” he snarled against me. “You’re drenched, just like I thought. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”

It was a truth that seared hotter than my shame—I’d wanted Jagger since the first night those dark eyes locked on me in the high roller room. I’d hated myself for every stolen fantasy, every time I’d made myself come, moaning his name while guilt choked me.

Ryan was the only man I’d ever slept with. Sex with him had been soft kisses and missionary under the covers, quick and sweet and over before I ever felt the edge of anything real. He’d never made me shake like this. Never made me ache so deep it hurt. Never looked at me like he’d die if he didn’t taste me right fucking now.

Jagger was nothing like that.

He hooked his fingers in the lace and tore it aside with a loud rip that echoed off the tiles before his mouth was on me again . . . this time on bare skin.

He dragged his tongue up my slit in one long, demanding stroke, tasting every inch of my shame and need. When he reached my clit, he sucked it between his lips, hard, flicking the swollen bud with devastating precision until my hips jerked against his mouth.

My head fell back against the mirror with a soft thud as a broken moan tore from my throat.