AUCTIONED TO HER DAD’S MAFIA ENEMIES: A MAFIA AGE-GAP REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE (AUCTIONED SERIES Book 4)

WASHED AWAY

Antonio Venturi, brutal killer, enforcer for his corrupt mafia family soaps my hair like my mother used to when I was a child. He washes me gently, touching my body in a tender methodical way that isn’t meant to be erotic but feels that way anyway. Sitting on his soaked pants, his erection is obvious, but he doesn’t push me to touch it. He doesn’t even hint that he expects something from me in return for what he gave—pleasure so beautiful I now understand why the French call orgasms a tiny death. I watch him concentrate on soaping my feet, sliding his thick fingers between each of my toes like he doesn’t want to leave even an inch of me unwashed, and I can’t understand what’s happening to me.

How is this man so different from my first assumptions?

He could force me to do anything, such is his strength, and I’d have no choice but to bend to his will, but instead, he pampers me, not like a captive but like a princess.

“I think I’m clean,” I say.

He frowns. “There’s one place I haven’t washed.”

He’s right. He licked me there but left washing the place between my legs until last. The way his cheeks turn pink tells me he feels very different about this. “I’ll leave you,” he says, but I grip his arm.

“No,” I whisper, holding my breath as I wait to see what he’ll do next, letting my thigh’s part enough for his hand. I tremble with anticipation, fascinated by his restraint as he goes still behind me. He hesitates; his breathing ragged. I close my eyes, waiting. His fingers are already soapy, so when they part my folds, skimming over my clit, it’s smooth and easy, and I arch my back and hiss at the sensation.

Antonio is slow and tentative, touching me, washing me with reverent but thorough care, and my pussy clenches, craving more. He groans, the sound so pained, it makes me gasp, and then he eases me from his lap, pushing up quickly, his clothes so sodden they drop a rush of water. How is he going to get back to his room without drenching the place? I guess he isn’t worried because he slicks his hand over his face and hair, grabs his shoes from the floor, and disappears through the bathroom door.

Confusion draws my brows together, and I shake my head. So, licking between my legs is okay, but washing me between them broke him? Antonio Venturi is a complex man, and it seems that I am a strange woman. Or mad. Only madness can explain my flip between rage and desire. Or maybe there’s a closer relationship between the two emotions that I imagined.

I pull off my wet nightdress and wring it out before hanging it over the towel rail then I reach for a fluffy white towel. I wrap my hair and stare at myself in the mirror.

When Antonio forced me to look at myself, I hadn’t recognized the woman he gripped by the throat, and now, my reflection is still unfamiliar. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are strangely bright. My body feels alive in a way it never has before.

One orgasm? Is that all it takes?

I see a ruthless killer worship at my feet, and I’m suddenly dragged into a deep thrall. His mouth was as soft as the down pillows in the bedroom, his tongue coaxing, searching out my pleasure like he held a map to the shortest path.

I shake my head and look away, following the wet trail he left with the floor mat hooked beneath my foot. The door isn’t locked. It isn’t even shut. Antonio dashed away so quickly that he forgot that he was supposed to secure his captive. In the hallway, everything is quiet. I glance to the left at the four black doors that hold other bedrooms inhabited by other men. I look right into the open-plan living area that seems empty. Where is everyone?

Fuck. Is this my chance to escape? I’m wearing a towel.

Just as I’m about to step back into my room, a rumbling, painful sound emanates from further down the corridor. At least, I think it sounds painful until I realize what else it might be. Antonio raced away with an erection that could obliterate the world. Did he…?

My face flushes hot at the mental image of him standing with his back against the door, dripping, while he palms his thick cock in rough strokes, thinking about what he just did to me. I shake away the picture, pick up the wet, wrinkled floor mat, and take it over to the hamper in the corner. I find clean panties and dress in a white lounge suit that’s made of the softest luxury fabric, then I tiptoe out of the room. The sun is bright, even though the tall sliding doors to the balcony are tinted to prevent glare. I approach slowly, my damp bare feet sticking to the cool floor. I stare out at the expanse of the city where freedom resides.

I turn to find the front door and approach it slowly, craning my ear to listen. Voices carry from somewhere outside, probably Venturi soldiers. Escape was never anything but a fleeting hope. I’m a bird in a cage; one they do not want to release.

I test the handle for the balcony doors and find they slide easily. Outside, the air is cool, but not unpleasant and I make my way to the edge, gripping onto the glass balustrade, staring down at the people below. Small as ants, they make their way past, oblivious to my plight. I’m Rapunzel without the hair to toss over the balcony or the prince waiting at the bottom to rescue me. I lean far over to try to work out where I am. The city isn’t familiar to me, not after so many years. When I left, I was a child who didn’t know much outside the walls of my own home.

Hands grasp my arms and haul me backward as I squeak in protest and whip my head around.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Antonio growls. His face is twisted with anger. But he’s panting like he’s afraid. Did he think I was going to jump?noveldrama

“What are you worried about, Antonio? Did you think I’d rather die than see you again?”

He holds me so close to his body that I can feel the rapid thud, thud, thud of his heart.

“Come inside.”

He backs us up and closes the door, only releasing me when it’s locked. His gray eyes are dark with gathered storm clouds, his mouth a grim line. He turns his attention to the kitchen, avoiding me. “You need to eat.” He sounds just like my mother. What is it with Sicilians and their misplaced belief that food is a cure-all?

“Did my father come forward?” I ask.

He tuts and strides into the kitchen. I take it to mean no. No surprise there.

The sleek units stretch around a corner, revealing nothing of what’s inside. He yanks open the door to a huge integrated refrigerator and stares inside. Just as he’s about to reach for a tray of food, approaching voices make him pause. The front door flies open and serious Luca strides in, followed by a smiling Alexis, and the atmosphere immediately changes.