Fall For My Ex's Mafia Father novel Chapter 190

Chapter 190 

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My mouth is open to Kent’s as he kisses me, his tongue warm and desperate against my own. I feel a hard shudder pass through me as he pulls his mouth away, the hard stubble of his cheeks a contrast to the softness of his lips as he tears his mouth across my jaw, down my neck, every movement frantic, rash – none of it designed to seduce, all of it feeling as if he can’t not touch every 

inch of me with his mouth. 

Now. Immediately.. 

“Fuck you, Fay,” he growls against my shoulder, the edges of his teeth pressing harsh against the soft and tender skin of my neck. 

“God damn it, fuck you.” 

I know he’s furious, angry at me for pushing him this far–for making him the one to break – 

– 

But god damn it, I love it. A warm thrill is running through me, from my head to my toes. And despite what I know it will raise in him, how dangerous he can be, I laugh. 

I tilt my head back and laugh, reckless, welcoming it. 

Because it was all leading to this–contracts or not, since the moment he laid eyes on me at the jail. It was all coming to this, no matter how much he pretended. He was never in control. 

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Chapter 190 

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Kent rips his face up to mine, livid, at the sound of my laugh, his eyes alight with violence, a snarl on his lips. But I can’t wipe the smug smile from my face. 

“Well, Kent?” I say, panting, my eyelids low with my want and my self–satisfied joy. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” 

And then, with a snarl, he rips me away from the wall and carries me out of the stall. 

I don’t know where he takes me, don’t really know how he navigates, because I’ve pulled his face back to mine and I’m kissing him recklessly now, my eyes pressed shut, my own tongue eagerly exploring the contours of his mouth. I press my hips harder against his stomach as he grips my ass in one hand, his other steadily spread across my back as I feel him navigate us up a tight set of curving stairs. 

When the light behind my eyes changes, from day–bright to a moody dark, I pull away from Kent, looking around. He’s still moving us briskly forward, the sound of wooden planks echoing under his feet. 

“A hay loft?!” I gasp, looking around in wonder. Then a ridiculous laugh bursts from me. “Seriously, a hay loft? Is this some kind of tawdry romance novel –” 

“Shut up,” he growls, falling to his knees and bringing me with him.