I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 37

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

She smiled at me over her glass of water like I hadn’t spent the last hour imagining what her throat would taste like if I bit hard enough to bruise.

She had a little dressing on her lip. I didn’t say anything but just watched her lick it off like a tease that didn’t know she was teasing.

She didn’t even try to be sexy around me.

That’s what killed me.

She was just being her. Soft, awkward, sweet, laughing too easily. Thanking me for lunch like I didn’t want to throw the entire table across the room and bend her over the fucking wood.

I nodded when she stood.

Gentlemanly.

But inside, it was another thing.

She put everything back onto the service cart, cleaned the table while I watched her.

My jaw ached from clenching.

She turned to leave, then she glanced at me, smiled, and said, “If I don’t get back, Livia’s gonna yell at me again for spending too long in here with you.”

Then she turned again and walked out the door.

And I watched every sway of her hips like a starving man watches a feast vanish. Every inch she gave me, I wanted more. Every step away, I nearly followed.

I didn’t but only because I had a better idea.

Fuck everything.

I wanted her.

Bent over my desk.

On her knees.

Up against the wall.

It didn’t matter, it didn’t fucking matter how I just wanted her.

I pushed off the chair, stalked into the back, and peeled off my suit jacket like it was burning my skin, shirt next, crisp white, perfectly ironed because it smelled like my cologne, smoke, and her. I tossed it aside. Undershirt also gone.

I rinsed off quickly in my private washroom sink, dragging cold water over my throat, my arms, scrubbing until you couldn't smell anything but soap.

Then I grabbed a plain black t-shirt from the spare locker, yanked it on, and stepped into a pair of worn jeans.

Casual and harmless.

The wolf in sheep’s fucking clothing.

She wouldn’t smell me now, just cotton and soap and maybe a little cedar.

I pulled out my other phone and typed fast, one-handed, hard-breathing.

Me:

Come to the wine cellar. Ask Tom where it is. Don’t think. Just come.

Sent.

The wine cellar at Velluto Rosso wasn’t on the floorplan. It was lower, beneath the back kitchen, past the dry goods room, through a locked steel door disguised as a pantry wall. There were no windows, no lights, no noise from the outside, completely sound proof and under my control.

I got there first, pushed the door shut behind me and locked it with a flick. The light overhead buzzed weakly, then I killed it, leaving us in black.

I leaned against one of the barrels, heartbeat slow, cock hard, mind already playing out every way this could go.

If she came, she was mine.

If she didn’t? I’d go to her.

Either way this ended with my hands on her hips and her innocence melting down my fingers.

The door creaked open and she stepped in, looking into the dark, timid and beautiful in that oblivious way that made me want to do shit I never thought I'd do in a million years.

“Hello?” she whispered.

I smiled, teeth sharp in the dark. I didn’t move, just let the silence crawl over her skin until she squirmed. She took another step in.

“Close the door,” I said, voice pitched low, just rough enough to scrape, nothing like I normally sounded.

She hesitated, froze in the doorway like she could already feel the wrongness in the air. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door like it was a lifeline, like some part of her was already thinking about running.

Her voice was small, “Are you going to hurt me?”

I didn’t let her finish the breath.

I moved fast and the door slammed shut behind her with a sound that echoed off stone. She jumped, spinning toward the sound, already swallowed by the dark.

The cellar was pitch black, I didn’t speak, I didn’t need to because she could feel me now. Standing somewhere in the dark, watching her, hunting her.

She didn’t move, not forward, not back. She was just frozen. I stepped forward until the tips of my toes brushed hers shoes.

She sucked in a breath and started backing away, until her spine bumped the edge of the tasting table. The soft gasp she let out was music. I followed until I was pressed up against her. Then caged her in with both hands planted firm on the table behind her, one on either side. She let out a little cry and fuck, it sounded sweet.

And then I leaned in, nuzzled my face into her neck and breathed her in.

Sweet. Warm. Innocent. She smelled like sunlight trapped in soft skin. My nose dragged down the side of her neck, just above her pulse.

She stopped breathing for a second and then her hand moved. She reached for me blindly, her fingertips brushing my stomach, like touching me might name the monster breathing down her neck.

Big mistake, sunshine.

I caught her wrist midair and she gasped. With a single tug, I turned her around. I pressed her forward, my chest to her back, my grip sliding up her arm, taking the other wrist and pulling both behind her like I’d done it a hundred times in my head.

Then I turned, just enough to grab a length of thick twine coiled on one of the barrel racks, old, coarse, used to seal crates.

“Please...” she almost sobbed.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I whispered, looping the rope around her wrists as she squirmed.

The knot tightened and she flinched. I tugged it once to check if it was secure. Now she was standing there, bound, shaking, blind. The only thing she could feel was me and the heat of my breath.

I stood behind her in the dark, breathing slowly, I reached out, and let the backs of my fingers ghost down her arms, over the curve of her elbows, past the flutter of veins at her bound wrists.

I stepped in closer like I was trying to merge with her. Her back pressed flush to my chest, her bound hands trapped between us.

My hand flattened against her stomach, the soft fabric of her shirt doing nothing to dull the heat of her skin underneath. And then I pressed her hips back, right into the thick, hard length of my cock. She gasped and I didn’t move, I just let her feel exactly what she did to me.

She was breathing harder now, the kind of breaths people take when they know something is wrong but want it anyway.

I slid my hand up.

Over her ribs, her chest. My fingers spanned her heartbeat, fast and frantic beneath her breast, and fuck, if she only knew how hard I was trying not to lose it.

I could’ve taken her right there.

Bent her over this table, ripped her open on my cock, made her cry until her throat gave out.

But I didn’t, instead I leaned in again, nose brushing her temple, lips barely grazing her hairline as I pressed my cock harder into her lower back.

“Feel that?” I whispered, “That’s me holding back.”

My free hand traced down her hip, around to her lower back.

“Oh,” she whispered, “Um...”

She felt smaller like this, trapped between my arms, she gave a nervous little laugh.

“I— I should probably get back upstairs. I think Livia’s looking for me. And I still haven’t finished wiping the counter and I forgot to refill the lemon water again.”

I let my fingers slip under the waistband of her pants, just enough to untuck the hem of her shirt. She shifted, a subtle tilt of her hips like she meant to angle away, but I followed her movement and closed the space again, hand flattening low against her stomach.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Another nervous smile in her voice, “I shouldn’t have sent that photo,” she said quickly, trying to fill the space. “I—I was just trying to feel brave. Pretty, maybe? I mean, I know it was stupid, so, so stupid and I’m really sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”

My hand moved lower, she gasped. Her back arched slightly.

“I’m not really that girl,” she rushed out, “I don’t usually... well, ever send stuff like that. You kinda caught me on a bad day. You know, rough week, emotional damage, boyfriend issues…”

She trailed off when I leaned in again, my nose skimming down the side of her throat.

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