Page 30 of The Mafia Bachelor

I’m considering it, when a rapid tap echoes into my room.

What?

It’ll be… I don’t know what. But despite my best efforts to tell myself I’m not concerned, my pulse jumps as I spring to my feet and rush to the door.

There’s no peep hole, so I say, “Who is it?”

“Open.” The answer is in a deep, gruff voice, and emotion explodes through me.

Kill. It’s Kill.

My hands shake as I pull the door open, and only a crack of the corridor is revealed before Kill has pushed against the wood. I’m wearing pyjamas, I realise. I should change. Put something cute on. I gasp as he slips into the room faster and more agile than I’d have thought a man as big as him could move.

The door shuts almost silently and wordlessly he pushes me against it.

“Avery,” he rasps against my cheek, and delicious shivers ripple down my spine. Heat blooms between my legs as he steps between my feet, his knee urging my thighs apart and his hips trapping me.

“Kill, you shouldn’t be here!” I whisper fiercely. “If anyone hears us, I’ll be kicked out of the competition!” As if I care. I’d sell my soul for whatever happens next with Kill.

He dips his head, and his breath ghosts over my cheek, then my ear.

“Then you’ll have to be a good quiet girl, so nobody hears, and close your eyes, so you can’t see me, love.” The words shimmer over my skin.

I jolt at the last word. Just a casual endearment. He doesn’t mean it, but my body thinks he does. Trying to stop myself from melting into him is like holding water in my hands.

“Did you have a good dinner?” I bite out, remembering through the dark explosion of arousal he’s detonated in my body that I’m upset with him. That he chose one of the actual candidates to be his wife to go for an intimate one-on-one. He might be in my room, but he spent all evening with someone else.

“I don’t want to talk about my god-awful evening,” he growls and brings his hand to my throat, wrapping his fingers around and forcing his thumb up under my chin so I have to tilt my head back and look at him. There aren’t many lights on in the room, just the television and the one beside the bed, so it’s shadowy in the small corridor next to the door. “I want to kiss you.”

His green eyes are terrifying in the half-light. The panes of his face are in shadow, and his grip on my neck is harsh. Blood pounds around my body and excitement shudders down me.

I make a tiny involuntary whimper, because my whole pelvis has liquified. I’m heat and sensation and need. I barely feel like my normal limits exist, because everything has dialled up beyond the point I’ve felt before.

“Avery,” he says again, dragging his lips over my cheek. “Say yes, love. Close your eyes.”

His lips are right over mine, so close that the fire between us is a pulsing, living thing.

“Yes,” I whisper, and before I can finish the word, he claims my mouth. I let my eyelids drift shut. At first his lips are hard, as though the relief that’s cascading over me is just as intense for him, but his kiss is the antidote to every bitter, toxic thought I’ve had while he was out with Jemma. He rumbles as he squeezes my waist, keeping me pinned in place, and that’s exactly where I want to be. The sweep of his lips eases, and it’s sweet and passionate in equal measure. Then he demands and coaxes my mouth open, and his tongue darts over mine.

He groans when my tongue meets his, and I feel the vibration of that satisfied purr in my chest as much as I hear it. I meet his kiss halfway, copying his movements and drowning in the sensation of him as I arch away from the door, trying to get closer.

I think at first I haven’t understood how he’s standing, because Kill is so tall, everything is in different places. Also, I’ve never been held like this before, his hands on my waist and my throat. So tightly. I’ve had kisses before, but they were hasty, mouth on mouth. Not full-body experiences.

But he’s getting hard. For me. Because of me. Confidence sparks in my chest, because even if there’s nothing else to it, Kill wants me. Is turned-on. He hardens further as he presses himself against me.

I lift my hands as best I can, but he’s got me so tightly, there’s not much space to be grab him. I can reach his shoulders or his head. But I content myself with exploring his muscled lower back. I respond not just to his hungry kiss and the demand of his touch, but also to the feel of him. I guess I knew muscles were considered attractive, and I knew Kill was gorgeous. But running my hands over him takes my breath as surely as the way he’s kissing me like he’s desperate for me. And then I venture to touch him lower down, and my hands rest on the start of the curve of his bottom, and it’s silly to be this weak, but he really is sculpted to the sort of perfection I’m certain I’ll only be lucky enough to encounter once in my life. And that knowledge doesn’t stop my insides lighting up.

He digs his fingers into the side of my neck and deepens our kiss, his tongue in my mouth in a blatantly possessive gesture. It’s dominant, and dirty, and I crave more. I want to be his in every way.

“You were all I could see, love. I thought it would never end. I couldn’t think for needing you.”

He rolls his hips and I gasp when his erection is undeniable. It’s a steel rod on my soft belly and my clit pulses in response when he pushes further. There’s the barrier of both of our clothes, and still, I can’t believe it gets any better than this buzzy happiness that’s all over me. Except, I bet it does. I’d love to be skin to skin.

Then the hand he has at my waist strokes down.

I squeak as he grasps the top of my thigh. I’m wearing old pyjamas.

“Are you naked underneath these?” he rumbles the question against my lips, and I melt.