Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
A shudder rocked his body as my hand closed around him and stroked.
His gaze was molten on mine, and I became immediately obsessed with the way his eyes went half-closed as my hand slid, then closed completely when I traced my thumb over the tip of him.
My own desire roared back to life just from watching the way need and pleasure danced across his handsome face.
I stroked him for another moment or two as my core ached, as I became painfully aware of the emptiness inside me.
I wasn’t thinking clearly as I moved over him again, straddled his waist, held him at the base and lowered down.
My heated gaze was on his as I pressed against him, as I felt the thick tip of him nudge me open.
We both tensed, gasped.
Then the sound of the phone ringing had us both jolting hard. Me, enough to fall off to his side, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“The food,” Milo explained, voice breathless.
I was about to say screw the food, to climb back on his lap and finish what we started.
But just then, there was a hard rap at the room door.
“Yo, someone had food in the parking lot for you,” a man called through the door.
“Shit,” Milo cursed under his breath as he grabbed his erection and tucked it behind the waistband of his pants. “That’s my cousin,” he explained, snatching my panties off the floor and shoving them into his pocket.
A mix of panic and embarrassment flooded me as I yanked my skirt back into place before checking my bodice.
“I have to let him in,” he said as I gave him a tight nod. Then, to the door, he called, “Coming. One sec.”
He took a slow, deep breath, trying to find some facsimile of self-control.
As for me, I lunged for my purse and yanked my sweats on under my dress, feeling way too exposed without my panties.
By the time Milo made it to the door, I’d deposited myself down on one of the chairs, flattened my hair, and wiped under my eyes in case I had any mascara smudged.
It was the best I could do in ten seconds and without a mirror.
Milo slid the lock before pulling open the door.
Then there was his cousin.
Apparently, the whole family had good genes.
Whoever this guy was, he was tall and fit in a slightly bulkier way than Milo was. He had a wide, strong jaw, unreadable eyes, and an aura that not too subtly told you to keep your distance.
“Mexican and Chinese. The asshole at the desk wouldn’t let me grab the Italian for you.”
“Thanks, Dom.”
“I tipped ‘em good. Why did you order so—oh,” he said, his gaze landing on me.
“Roe, this is my cousin, Domenico. Dom, this is Monroe Langston.”
I watched Dom’s gaze move from Milo, to me, and back again. And I didn’t miss the way his brow raised.
“I’ll fill you in once I get the food. Is it okay if Dom waits with you for a minute?” Milo asked.
“Sure,” I agreed, even if my belly felt a little wobbly.
“I’ll be five minutes, tops.”
With that, he grabbed his wallet and was gone.
Then his cousin and I were alone.
The silence stretched long and uncomfortable as he just stood there for a moment, rocking back on his heels, his hands tucked in his front pockets.
“So, you’re our spy.”
“So, you’re the Grassi guy who got out of prison not long ago.”
There had been several articles about his arrest and one post from a small-time mafia aficionado online who posted about his release.
To that, Dom’s lips tipped ever so slightly up. No one could call it a smile. But maybe just a sign of him not planning on murdering me. I hoped.
“That’d be me,” he agreed, nodding.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Maybe.”
“Is Famiglia as good as Milo claims, or is he just partial?”
To that, Domenico moved into the living room and dropped down on the couch.
I tried hard not to think about how Milo had been in that exact spot a few moments before, wearing me like a necklace.
“Wondered that myself. Grew up on the food, so I thought maybe it was just my taste buds. But prison fucked up my taste pretty good. And when I came back out and ate through every restaurant in a twenty-mile radius, it is still at the top for Italian. He told you about it?”
“At our first meeting, he mentioned a family Italian restaurant. When I learned your last name, I… came across it.”
“Fucking women,” he said, this time giving me a grin, “you all need to be running the CIA and shit.”
“To be fair, sometimes our safety relies on us being able to thoroughly investigate potential dates or boyfriends. Or… espionage partners,” I added when I panicked that he might have thought I was referring to Milo as one of those things.