by Fiona Archer
“I want to be with you for eternity.”
That stopped him in his tracks. He leaned back to look her in the eyes. “What? That’s a big step.”
“I know. And I’m sure.”
“We have plenty of time to figure it out. I want to make sure we do it safely, perhaps with advice from Jack.”
“I’m fine waiting. I’m not in a hurry, but I thought you should know my intentions.”
“And here I thought you just wanted me for my cock and my bite.”
“Those too, and don’t you think at least one of those should be busy right now?”
He didn’t answer in words. Instead, he rocked into her, finding a rhythm that worked for them both. With each thrust, his power climbed.
She licked her fingers, reached down between their bodies, and began to play vigorously with her clit. Sexy as fuck, and that freed him up to take full enjoyment in her breasts. He bit her there as Alexis orgasmed, and she came a second time followed by a third.
With the taste of her, scent of her, and feel of her drowning him in sensation, he pumped his hips a few more times and came with a grunt, shedding the layers of power as he did.
When she caught her breath, she said, “You grunt when you orgasm?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“And?” This was not the pillow talk he expected.
“And nothing. Grunting is sexy as hell. That’s all.”
“Noted.” He smirked and flipped onto his back, cuddling her to him. “Alexis?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. I never needed any fancy plans or dresses, though that dress was killer on you. All I really needed was… sex.” He looked down and caught her narrow-eyed look and laughed. “The sex was really fucking good.”
She replied saucily, “You’re not wrong.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah. You know what I needed was you.”
She combed her fingers through his hair, which felt incredible. “It feels like it’s always been you. I was just blind to it before. I never wanted to lose your friendship.”
“Exactly. But when I almost died—”
“Yes. When you almost died, everything came into focus—”
“And I would’ve regretted not loving you in every way that I possibly could.”
They were comfortably silent. Absorbing it all.
Sean rolled Alexis onto her back. “Speaking of every way that I can possibly love you.” He moved down her body and under the covers, exploring one more way.
One of many more ways to come over their eternity.
Sadly, the perfect dress didn’t last an eternity. Only the perfect, loving friendship could do that.
Copyright 2020 Michelle Mars
About Michelle Mars
Michelle Mars has an unhealthy obsession with coffee, caramel, and funny t-shirts. This single mom of two amazing, kind, and creative dragons/children has naturally purple hair and loves nothing more than talking books, kids, and living your best life. She enjoys reading romance, traveling, and writing stories that make her readers laugh, sweat, and swoon.
Michelle’s truth: Humor is a turn-on!
Author of the steamy, paranormal, sci-fi, rom-com Love Wars Series:
Moving Jack (Book 1)
“A delightful story that shows supernatural beings can be romantic—and also very funny.” – Kirkus Reviews
“Fans of funny, strongly erotic paranormal science fiction romances will eat this one up.” – Booklife Review
Chasing Rory (Book 2)
“Effervescent characters populate this clever, whimsical space tale.” – Kirkus Reviews
Embracing Irina (Prequel, Book 0)
Claiming Jill (Book 3) Coming Soon
The first book in her contemporary rom-com series The Frisky Bean, Frisky Intentions, will be out in 2021 but you can catch a prequel short story named “Frisky Connections” in the Eight Kisses Hanukkah Anthology out now.
Website: www.michellemars.com
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19488175.Michelle_Mars
Her Mafioso’s Honor
by
Patricia D. Eddy
Chapter One
Evelyn
The punch sends me sprawling. “Try. Harder. Asshole,” I hiss.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and slams me face down over a table, pinning me with his bulk. My wrists are bound with thick wire cutting into my skin. I’ve been stripped down to my bra and panties and beaten more times than I can count for three days. By two brutish men I’ve nicknamed Thug One and Thug Two. We’re in a warehouse outside of Boston. Somewhere Thug One said, “No one will hear your screams.”
“You are quite beautiful,” he taunts now, his breath hot against my ear.
“And you’re…first runner up…in the Ugliest Man Alive contest.” He throws me to the ground, then flips me onto my back. “Aw…come on. Don’t…make me look at you.”
His fingers dig into my upper arms as he straddles me. “Tell me who sent you, or I will make it hurt.”
“Really? So far, this has been a spa vacation. I was wondering when we’d get to the pain part.”
With an oath, he wraps his hands around my neck. All the training in the world can’t prepare you for being unable to breathe, and my body flails helplessly, my bare feet scrambling against the rough concrete floor.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I hear a shout, but I can’t understand the words, and I give in to the darkness, praying this isn’t the end.
* * * *
Damian
She’s filthy. Half-starved. Bruised from head to toe. And she’s spent the past three days with my uncle’s men. I’m amazed she’s still alive, let alone capable of insults and sarcastic barbs. She must be unbelievably strong. Expertly trained.
“Step away. Now, Mario!” I shout, stalking toward him.
There’s no way I’ll let them rape her—assuming they haven’t already. I’m not above causing a little—or a lot—of pain, but that is one act I’ll never condone.
Evelyn Mass. At least I know her name. She was caught hacking into the computer system at the Feather Club—one of my uncle’s less than reputable establishments—and I need to find what she was after.
Mario and Sylvio stare at me, wearing identical looks of confusion. “Damian? What the fuck are you doing here?” Mario asks.
“That’s Mr. Forlano to you, asshole. Or have you forgotten your place?”
The enforcers pin their gazes to the floor and mumble apologies.
“I’m taking over. Clean up this mess.” I wave my hand at the blood smearing the floor of the old warehouse.
“Where are you taking her?” Mario glances over at Sylvio like he’s actually thinking of stopping me.
“None of your goddamn business.” Kneeling next to the mostly naked woman, I gently slide the needle into her vein. The sedative should keep her under for the drive back to Boston. Can’t have her waking up before I get her inside—and secured.
The old warehouse is ninety minutes from the city. Mario and Sylvio could have continued their work for weeks without discovery, but when I found out about Evelyn, I broke several traffic laws to put a stop to their particular brand of torture.
She whimpers once but then settles, and I lean her against my chest so I can clip the wires binding her wrists.
Savages. Zipties or rope would have been much more humane. “I will tend to these soon, topolina.” The endearment—little mouse—doesn’t fit her at all. She’s strong. Brave. Fierce. But here, she looks small and delicate. Broken.
/> Mario and Sylvio mutter to themselves as I carry her to my car. Idiots. My uncle won’t last a month, and when he dies, the entire Forlano empire is mine. Change is coming, and they’ll adapt or pay the price.
Chapter Two
Evelyn
Roses. I smell roses. For three days, it’s been nothing but Thug One’s nauseating cologne, sweat, and blood. Cool air tickles my cheeks, so different from the stifling heat in the small, brightly lit closet they locked me in between beatings.
A soft mattress cradles my body, and my wrists are free. I don’t dare move, but I think the sheets over me are expensive.
I don’t hear anything but the air conditioning, so I risk cracking one eye open. A bedroom. Opulent. Walnut-paneled walls, a black duvet pulled up to my chest, heavy drapes.
Pushing myself up, I wince. Everything hurts. Gauze wraps my wrists, hints of blood seeping through. And…oh God. I’m clean. Dressed in a black, low-cut silk sheath. What else happened to me while I was unconscious?
I have to get out of here. My bare feet hit plush carpet, and as I stand, the room spins, but I clench my fists. After a single step, my legs give out. Three days without food. Maybe more. Someone drugged me to get me here.
The door opens, and I scramble back until I hit the wall.
“You’re awake.”
The man is haloed by bright lights from the hallway. I can’t make out his face. But he’s tall, with a hint of an accent that’s half Boston, half Italy.
“Who are you?” My voice cracks, and I clench my fists, prepared to fight.
Strong arms lift me. He smells like fine tobacco and cedar, and for the first time since they took me from the Feather Club, I feel…almost safe.
He sets me back on the bed, propping pillows behind me, then sits. After a few hard blinks to focus, I get my first good look at him. He’s built. A strong nose, black hair coiffed to perfection, and intense, dark brown eyes. Damian Forlano. His uncle, Giacomo, runs this family, but Damian is rumored to be next in line.
“What did you do to me?” I ask.
“Besides stop my uncle’s men from raping you and carving you up into small pieces?” Anger infuses his tone, but it’s not directed at me. He’s mad I was mistreated. “Merely a sedative so you wouldn’t wake on our drive.”
“You bathed me, asshole.”
“I wasn’t going to let you use a bed in my house smelling like you did. Would you like some water?” Damian offers me a bottle, but I shove his hand away.
“Why would I trust you? It’s probably drugged.”
His gaze hardens. “If I wanted to drug you again, I would hold you down and use the same sedative I gave you before. I don’t play games with injured, vulnerable women.”
I haven’t been beaten or threatened since I woke up. But this is worse. I’ve been trained to resist advanced interrogation. To survive. But he’s offering me a carrot after all the sticks those assholes hit me with.
Don’t give in.
Except I’m so thirsty. Hungry too, I realize as my stomach growls. Damian frowns. “I am sorry, topolina. I should have brought food.”
“What...” My throat seizes, but I cough and try again. “What does that mean? Topolina?”
“Little mouse,” he says with a half-smile. “I did catch you in my trap.”
“I’m not your little mouse,” I hiss as I try to roll away from him, but he cages me with his arms, and his breath ghosts across my cheek.
“You are whatever I say you are, Evelyn.”
His eyes turn cold at my gasp. “Yes, I know who you are. Evelyn Mass. Thirty-one, from Quincy, Massachusetts. Former field agent with the FBI. Suspended a year ago. What I don’t know is what you were doing at the Feather Club. Tell me, and perhaps I’ll let you go.”
“Fat chance.”
Damian rises and heads for the door. By the time I scramble up, he’s at the threshold, blocking my exit with a grin on his arrogant, stupidly handsome face.
Despite my dizziness, I barrel toward him, but he catches me and throws me back onto the bed. Yanking the nightstand drawer open, he withdraws several lengths of black rope, then straddles me.
“I don’t want to bind your hands, topolina. Not after what my uncle’s men did to you. But I cannot have you trying to escape, so I’ll have to get…creative.”
Screaming obscenities, I struggle, but I’m little match for this man who can bench press two of me. He loops the rope around my torso, binding my arms tightly, then twisting the length into a knot at my back. Four loops and knots later, I’m secured from my shoulders to just above my wrists.
I kick at him when he slides off me, but he grabs my ankles and winds a second piece of rope around my legs repeatedly until I’m trussed up so tightly I can only wriggle.
“The walls here are very well insulated, and the neighbors...discrete. But if you scream, I will gag you. Relax. Rest. I’ll bring you food soon, and we’ll try this again. Perhaps you’ll be more…agreeable.”
“Don’t count on it, asshole.”
Chapter Three
Damian
My caged mouse has some spirit to her. On my way to the kitchen, Alan, a hacker in my employ, finally calls me back.
“Tell me you found something.”
“She has a sister. Had. Lisel Mass died two years ago. Drug overdose.”
“And?”
“She was a hostess at the Feather Club. Manager remembers her. Says she developed a taste for heroin.”
Fuck. “And Evelyn wishes to avenge her sister by finding evidence against Giacomo?”
“Probably.”
I hang up on him. The man’s a genius, but flippant. He needs to learn respect if he wants to survive in this organization. I head for my study, and within ten minutes, I have the name of the stronzo who delivers drugs to the Feather Club each week. After I send a message to a friend at the FBI—one I pay very well—I prepare a bowl of broth for Evelyn. We need to talk.
* * * *
My nighttime enforcer, Vitale, unlocks the door. Fuck. Evelyn isn’t in bed. My heart seizes when I catch a glimpse of dark brown hair fanned out on the floor.
“What were you thinking, Evelyn?” I ask as I ease her into my arms.
Her face twists in pain. “That I wanted to get the fuck away from you, Damian.”
I shift her, then pull back the drapes so she can see the bars and the dark night sky beyond the window. “You’re going nowhere until I say so.”
“You’re an asshole,” Evelyn mutters as I untie her. Reddish impressions curve around her bare arms, and my dick takes notice. Seeing her like this—both helpless and mine—stirs my arousal.
“I’m trying to take care of you.” Running my hands over her shoulders, I check for new bruises. She doesn’t resist, and I’m relieved when I find no serious injuries.
“You had me kidnapped, beaten, and tortured.”
I tuck the duvet around her body to give myself a moment. I’m livid—both at what was done to her and her belief I ordered it. “I did not.”
“So you say.”
I hold her gaze. “Evelyn, I carried you out of that warehouse one hour and thirty-five minutes after I learned you were there. It’s a ninety-minute drive.”
Realization dawns in her eyes, and she sinks back against the pillows, defeated.
“Did they give you anything to eat at all?”
“No.” Evelyn reaches for the broth, hands shaking, but I stop her.
“Let me help you. Or do I need to bind you again, topolina?”
“I’d rather not.”
She’s lost her fight, and exhaustion tugs at her eyelids. Mario and Sylvio are going to regret every bruise when I’m done with them.
“Despite your assumptions, I’m not a monster. I don’t hurt women.”
My little mouse doesn’t say a word until the soup is gone, and when I twist the cap off the water, she snatches it from my hands. “I can manage.”
“Of course.”
She glares, and
after a few sips, whispers, “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
Frustration simmers under my skin. “No. I’m going to help you.”
“Help me?”
“Yes, topolina. But not tonight. Tonight, you’re going to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll find the people responsible for your sister’s death. And I will put an end to them.”
Evelyn gasps and jerks up, fingers digging into my arm. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m not my uncle. The Forlano empire is changing, and I won’t have this family anywhere near drugs again. You were suspended for trying to find the men responsible for Lisel’s death, and I can help.” I link our fingers, enjoying the way she holds on, even when I brush a kiss to her knuckles. “Sleep. You’re safe here.”
Her heart-shaped face wears confusion like a veil. I like her off balance. I think I like her any way she wants to be.
Chapter Four
Evelyn
Why would Damian help me? Even though I did break in to the Feather Club, his men kidnapped, tortured, and held me for three days. I could put him away. I shouldn’t trust him.
Except, the look in his eyes? That was real. And he hasn’t hurt me. Even when he tied me up, I was…unbelievably aroused. Until I stupidly threw myself off the bed.
The FBI arrested Giacomo once. The charges didn’t stick, and I remember Damian’s quiet voice and the lethality in his tone when he came to retrieve his uncle. But as I drift off, those memories take on a new clarity.
His brown eyes had been filled with hatred. Not for us, but for Giacomo.
* * * *
The opening door rouses me from my nightmares. Damian rushes in, his hair still damp, concern furrowing his sculpted brow. “Are you all right? I heard you cry out.”