Risqué: Mafia Romance (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 5)

by Elena M. Reyes

  And the latter is something I find attractive on her.

  It brings out a bit of the dormant claws I wish to feel break my skin. The sign of each aggressive thought is there in her body language. How she stiffens, pulls herself subconsciously a little closer while gripping—digging the blunt fingernails into my abdomen—while her lips curl up a little around the corner.

  Bloody adorable.

  Then, she ruins me when they turn into a pout.

  She’s Venus in human form. Perfection.

  “Fucking delicious,” I mutter low, not that she hears me either way. Aliana’s thoughts are yo-yoing back and forth, at war with each other, but it’s her fear of what they would say that is of no importance to me.

  Fuck her father. Fuck what anyone thinks.

  All I need is her smile and to watch that mouth wrap around my cock, and in that order. The rest we can figure out because this pull between us—the way my entire being is held captive by her—is something I won’t deny myself.

  I want all of her. Every bloody inch.

  Because every part of this short, full-of-sass beauty calls to the part of me that’s more beast than human. I’m a man who thirsts for blood, who tortures those who have done me or mine wrong, and that protective instinct is burning me alive with her proximity.

  She has no idea of the target I’m placing on her head. Of the claim, but she will.

  “Not even close, Miss.”

  “So that was—” Aliana’s eyes narrow while releasing my dress shirt as if to step back, but I lay my hand over hers, trapping it there.

  “Stop.”

  “Listen, Callum...” she begins and then trails off.

  The way she says my name. Motherfuck.

  A heated hiss escapes me, my entire body coiling tight in pleasure, and I bite down on my bottom lip to not scare her. There’s a rumbling building in my chest, a growl I’m fighting back, but the now heavy-lidded eyes staring at me are my undoing.

  “Say it again.” Not a question, but a demand through gritted teeth. My need is too overwhelming to ask nicely.

  “Say what?” Lord help this girl because once I have her... Especially with the way those dark eyes are watching me, a dangerous gaze that caresses my skin. She looks down, stopping at my Adam’s apple, and licks her bottom lip with a slow sweep. Lower, and she bites the plump flesh while admiring my chest, belt, and then the thick bulge in my trousers.

  Her gaze stops there, and a soft gasp escapes.

  I flex behind the zipper of my trousers, fucking painful jerks as pre-come dribbles from the tip, staining my pants. An action she sees, and again her thighs move, clench for me.

  Fucking temptress.

  But before she can further test my control, I grip her waist and lift, holding her against me for a few seconds. Chest to chest. Her lips are a few centimeters from my own; my need to taste them is near perverse, but I don’t. Not yet. Instead, I sit her down on the barstool I watched her occupy a short while ago.

  Automatically her thighs spread for me, the fingers in my dress shirt tugging me closer. I step between them without pause, forcing them wider so my hips are cradled just an inch or two from her wetness.

  I feel her heat through my trousers, though.

  I have the perfect view of that sinful skirt pushed up, exposing the gusset of her underwear with the plump flesh of her pussy spilling out of the sides. There’s a little bit of sheen on her flesh, her wetness, and I throw my head back with a groan.

  This woman was made to tempt me. Chest expanding, I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then again, and again, but nothing calms me. Instead, I’m lit with an unsatiated desire to lay Heaven down at her dainty feet before the demon inside breaks her apart with pleasure.

  “Christ.” Aliana’s call for divine help is almost amusing. Almost, because no deity or man could pull me away, and as my eyes meet hers again a second later, I think that sinks in for her. I don’t need to voice it. Not with the hunger in my eyes, nor the way my hands shake while tightening my hold on her hips. “Are you okay?”

  Am I? Not in the motherfucking slightest.

  My control is slipping, but I’m not questioning it.

  “Say my name,” I utter instead of answering her. Her chest rises, a slow, shuddering breath leaving her, and there’s a low mumble of fuck me she thinks I don’t hear but I do. For a few seconds, Aliana doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are on mine, and the longer they meet, hers darken, the dark brown with hints of green disappear and eyelids drop to watch me from beneath long lashes. She’s attracted to me, and it fills me with heat. Excitement. A want for more that’s foreign. “Say. It.”

  “Callum,” Aliana whispers, those supple lips molding over each letter, and I shiver—slam my body against hers while a hand moves to her back protectively. And having her like this, nearly wrapped around me, cements that need to not let go. “Callum, maybe we should—”

  I cut her off with a soft, chaste kiss to her mouth. It’s quick, but enough to pull a harsh flex of my hips against her heat. Her moan is low but throaty, and every molecule in my body throbs for her. Right fucking there; I feel her heat, a bit of wetness, and I want more.

  To fuck and take and gorge, but not here.

  A final thrust is all I give myself before pulling back, gripping her hand in mine before yanking her from the stool. Aliana stumbles right into me, a small yelp escaping before I have her turned around and facing the crowded lounge with her back to my front. No space between us as I pull the hem of her skirt back to cover what is mine. My lips are at the crown of her head.

  “Will you do me the honor of a dance, love?” I say low, leaving a trail of kisses until I reach her temple. There I pause and breathe her in, pulling the sweet fragrance of peaches into my lungs. This calms me—I’m hard as fuck—while it ignites a fire at the same time. “I’ll be on my best behavior tonight. Promise.”

  “What if that isn’t what I want?” She’s watching her friends dance not far from us. They’re laughing, not an ounce of coordination between them, and oblivious to our observation. They forgot about her the moment whatever rapid-hand-movement-meets-booty-dropping routine they learned on a social media app began. “What if, for the first time in my life, I want to forget and be me?”

  Be me.

  Two words, and they stop me dead.

  Be me.

  Be me.

  “You can always be yourself with me.” Something is dodgy. The more the words turn in my mind, the more bloody scenarios become conclusions, and they all have to do with her father. Has he abused her? Or anyone in her family, for that matter?

  I’d fucking skin them alive and feed them to my pet a piece at a time.

  From what I can see, she doesn’t have marks on her, but that means jack shit when things can be hidden underneath makeup or clothing. My hands twitch on her hips, the urge to strip her bare and check every inch is unbearable, but I grit my teeth and walk us toward the dancing crowd.

  The music tonight is a mixture of the island beats with heavy bass, and I wrap an arm around her midsection, pulling her in closer. She’s short even with heels on, and my cock nestles just above the curve of her arse, so I lift her off the ground and settle myself where I belong.

  Her body is my home.

  Motherfuck, I feel it deep within.

  It’s been there since I found myself entranced by a simple video, enamored by the mere sight of her.

  A rightness that makes no sense and that I’m powerless to stop. What is it about you that makes me want to bring the world to its knees in worship of you?

  More so when her hips begin to grind against me.

  Aliana doesn’t complain about being manhandled or how hard I am behind her. Instead, she works those thick hips harder. Even in my tight hold, she manages to massage my cock behind the zipper of my trousers for the next thirty minutes. Not once did she step away from me or demand to be put down.

  She feels good. Too good.

  One song
flows into another, a dancehall rhythm taking over the crowd, and the girl in my arms loses all inhibitions. Back arching, she circles her hips, winding slowly with a little bounce against my thick length.

  Had we been sitting down, she’d be riding my cock.

  This little move is one I’ll revisit. Bare. Sweaty. No barriers.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game tonight, Miss Rubens,” I hiss between clenched teeth when her arms wrap around my neck and she fists the hair at the back of my head. She tugs and I feel it down to my balls, holding me prisoner to her every breath.

  But then she stops.

  Her hips cease all movement.

  Craning her head back to look at me, she arches a brow. A little apprehension in her expression. “How do you know my last name? I didn’t tell you.”

  Lowering my lips to her forehead, I kiss her there. “I know everything about you, love. You can thank my cousin for that.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I’m very attracted to you.” Can’t get you out of my head.

  “We just met.” Aliana’s eyebrows furrow in the most adorable way while a pout forms across that tempting mouth when I place her back on her feet. She doesn’t like it and neither do I, but this is a conversation that is best had in private. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Who says I want to go to your house?” Cheeky little thing.

  “Never claimed you did.” I nuzzle her temple. Smells so sweet. “That’s why I’m driving to yours.”

  “How?” Aliana’s fucking adorable as she rambles question after question. I also don’t miss the fact she never said no.

  My smirk turns cocky when I look back at her. I’m walking us toward the elevator, her small hand in my rough one. “With my car.”

  “Smartass.” Smacking my arm, she rolls her eyes but keeps up. I’m gauging her body language, and so far she’s at ease, making this easier than I expected. “I meant you don’t know where I live. How can you take me home?”

  “Because a Jameson always does his homework.”

  “What does that even mean, Callum?”

  “Let me get you home, and I promise to explain.” With a tug, I’m looking at her again after pressing the down button. “Any objection?”

  “I shouldn’t trust you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. And that’s something we’ll discuss after.”

  “Then why do I feel so comfortable with you?” The vulnerability in those words causes my heart to squeeze. “I’m not scared when you sound like a stalker.”

  “That’s because I’d never hurt you. I can’t.” The door dings and I release her hand, stepping inside while giving her a choice. To choose to come with me. Warm brown eyes flicker between me and the crowd behind her then back again, before taking my offering. Soft, warm skin skims my palm while small fingers entwine with mine; one small pull, and she’s in front of me as the doors close.

  I press the ground button and she moves back, leaning against the wall, our hands disconnecting. Not liking the separation, I take my position in front of her while those plump lips spread into a sweet, wide smile. “You gave me a choice.”

  Not what I’m expecting, and I frown. “Of course, I did. You wouldn’t have gotten far—want you too much—but I’d gain your trust and then all of you.”

  “Good answer,” she says before fisting my shirt’s collar and pulling my lips down to hers.

  She ruined me since the first contact. With the tease of her desperation to feel me.

  Her fate is now intertwined with mine.

  There’s no bloody going back.

  8

  It’s impulsive, and crazy, and God knows I’m being irresponsible, but I had to. He gave me the one thing that no one ever does: a choice. The human right to pick and accept versus being given an ultimatum with the venom lacing of a threat.

  I’m in charge of my time.

  Of what I do.

  “Fuck.” It’s a rumbled groan that rises from deep within his chest and vibrates against my mouth in the most erotic way. It’s sinful, feels so good, and I can’t stop myself from flicking his top lip and then bottom with the tip of my tongue.

  They’re so soft. Plump.

  “Callum.” It leaves me on a whimper he swallows, his tongue slipping inside my mouth to caress mine. Soft, then ardent, and then the way he’s kissing me can only be described as famished. A hunger that matches my own, lit up like a match and I’m pushed back, his body caging me in.

  One hand cups my face while the palm of the other slams against the metal wall, the sound of his raw hunger causing my pussy to clench. This kiss is everything you read about in books; a soul-destroying moment that exposes a weakness you didn’t have before.

  This is bad. So irresponsible.

  A little voice says in the back of my head, and yet, I can’t pull away. Just can’t.

  I’m not someone who sleeps around, much less right after meeting a man, but he makes me want to break every rule. To live. To be free.

  “So sweet. Too good for me,” he groans, right hand tilting my head slightly to his liking—angling me—before deepening the kiss. This is so much more and everything all at once. There’s no fighting for dominance; Callum takes while I’m powerless against him—his touch—and holding on while I’m devoured like the sweetest treat.

  Each groan pulls a shiver. Each curse is a rush of wetness where my need for him grows with every passing second.

  Behind us, I hear the elevator ping and then its doors open, yet it’s the throat clearing that brings us into the present.

  “We should go.” I’m boneless. Breathing hard. Helplessly watching his Adam’s apple bob; the large dragon wrapped around his throat mesmerizes me with its haunting beauty. The style is beautiful; heavy on the black and grey, but it’s the hints of color that create a striking piece.

  Much like the ones lower. Ones, I hunger to discover.

  “I know.” Callum pecks me again, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip before turning around to glare at the person interrupting. “Move.”

  His tone is hard, a warning hiss for an impending strike if the person doesn’t follow his demand. The two men, no older than twenty-five, do so quickly, shooting each other nervous looks while I’m being pulled out.

  Not that Callum pays them any attention; instead, he’s on his phone. “I’m exiting,” is all he says before hanging up. The doorman sees us coming and quickly holds open the door, bidding us a good night right before we step through.

  “You as well,” we answer in unison, and I can’t help but giggle. This night has been one giant rollercoaster, and I feel like a hot mess, but I can’t deny that he makes me feel alive. That the sour mood I’d been in earlier tonight—the hopelessness I’ve been fighting—isn’t heavy anymore. It’s just not there.

  Instead, I feel light and carefree.

  I’m a woman making her own decisions no matter how dangerous they are.

  A sleek sports car stops in front of us before we make it to the curb and a man steps out, tossing the keys at Callum. “I’ll be off to the airport.”

  “See you soon.” That’s the extent of their conversation before I’m being picked up and placed inside of the car as if I were a doll. And once again, I don’t protest his manhandling. Why don’t I protest this? His large hand grips my seatbelt and buckles me in, and the clench of my thighs is answer enough.

  This is sexy. I’m attracted to this behavior.

  Attracted to what he’s making me feel and what he represents: the ultimate flip-off to my family.

  Or maybe, this is all because of him. A man with a bad reputation that’s well deserved, yet with me is attentive. Almost soft. Contradictory.

  I feel powerful next to him.

  “You okay there, love? Need anything?” My face turns toward the driver’s side where Callum is already behind the wheel and looking at me with a gentle smile. “I’ll even make an exception and pick up some takeawa
y for you if you’d like.”

  “Takeaway? Exception?” I ask even though I know what he means. It’s his reaction that I’m after, and I bite back a grin at the way his nose scrunches up. “Don’t like greasy food and tasty calories?” Callum shudders, and it’s the cutest thing. His disgust is clear to see and this time I can’t fight my mirth, letting out a giggle. “Mr. Jameson, are you a food snob? Is that it?”

  “Takeaway is how we say fast food, Miss Rubens.” His mock glare only serves to amuse me further. “And to answer the latter, no. Not a food snob per se.”

  “Then?”

  “I’m used to cooking all my meals, outside of family gatherings or businesses we own.” His honesty is a bit unnerving, but I get it. In his life, trust is something not given freely. “But I’d make an exception for you. No questions asked.”

  Again, he gives me a choice. Placing my hand atop of his on the gear shift, I give it a small squeeze and leave it there. “Not needed, but thank you.”

  “Never thank me for trying to please you.”

  Those words hang heavy in the air, filling me with a sense of ease that thrills me. I’m comfortable with him, although it makes no sense.

  I shouldn’t be.

  He’s the kind of man I avoid.

  Like Santis.

  Like Giannis Martin tonight. He showed up without being invited—after I turned down his offer to go on a date two days ago—as if I was there for him. He’s like all the others in my life; pushy, meddlesome, and thinks he knows what’s best for me without asking for my input on my wants or needs.

  An idiot I, unfortunately, see at school while moving from class to class and sometimes when I’m forced to play the dutiful daughter at events where family presence is necessary for my father’s political career. He’s the son of a lobbyist—my father knows his family—and is as self-righteous as our fathers.

  My parents approve of his interest, while I say no…

  Find you a suitable husband.

  A suitable husband.

  Dad couldn’t be talking about him?

  No. Just no. I’d rather—

  “What’s wrong?” Callum’s voice cuts through my thoughts, his warm fingers now intertwined with mine. They’re warm, a little rough but soothing at the same time. “You seemed upset.”