Chapter 4 Olivia
OLIVIA
I’m definitely more afraid of discovering that I like him. He represents all I should despise.
The air between us crackles with electricity as Dom stands too close. This is wrong on every professional level imaginable.
"Do you understand what could happen if anyone knew you were here?"
"Do you?" His question hits harder than mine.
My career flashes before my eyes.
Years of work, sacrifice, and dedication all potentially destroyed by this one reckless moment.
Blackwood's suggestion of a honey trap resurface, so maybe my job isn’t in jeopardy, but I’d shut down the idea immediately.
There are limits to how low I’ll go to put criminals in jail.
"I'm an FBI agent and you're the subject of an active investigation."
"And yet, here we are." Dom gestures to the space between us, which feels both too vast and not nearly wide enough.
"This isn't a game.” I’m desperately grasping at my resolve that’s quickly slipping away.
"I never said it was." His voice drops lower. "Games have rules. This doesn't."
This situation is ridiculous.
And it isn’t just Dom’s potent masculinity that has me questioning myself.
It’s his accusations about me and the FBI and the handling of Rocco Monti’s care.
“If this is some attempt to get me to focus on Rocco and off of you—”
“You think I’m manipulating you here to get you off my back?”
“Aren’t you?” I realize that’s what’s stopping me from throwing myself in his arms—believing he’s using his charm to get something from me.
He laughs. “Walking into an FBI agent’s home isn't the best way to stop an investigation.”
“Then why are you here?”
He shakes his head, his face still filled with humor. “Fuck if I know.” He pauses. “Do I want to know what you’re up to? Of course. I have to protect what’s mine. And the more I’m around you, the more I sense that you’re an intelligent woman who is sincere about doing her job—”
“I am.”
“So why give Rocco’s kidnapper a pass?”
Back to that. Although I’d rather talk shop than deal with the attraction threatening to lead me down a problematic path.
“You were called directly. By who? Because it wasn’t one of us.”
“It was anonymous.”
“Convenient. Then you found a traumatized six-year-old boy and did nothing. No investigation. No arrests. No justice for a child."
My jaw tightens. I’m angry at him for bringing it up again especially since he’s right.
The memory of finding Rocco, his tear-stained face, his tiny body trembling as I carried him from the house he’d been left alone in.
The way Blackwood intercepted me before I could file my report.
"These things are complicated," I say, embarrassed that I’m defending something that even I’ve had questions about.
"Are they? Or is someone making them complicated?" Dom moves closer, not touching me but close enough that I can feel his presence. "You're a good agent, Olivia. You care about justice. So why didn't you push harder?"
The question hangs between us, damning in its simplicity.
"I wrote a report," I admit. "I was told not to file it since it wasn’t an official investigation." I stare him in the eyes. “There could be questions about my duty and loyalties.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
“Like I’m in your pocket…isn’t that how you say it. You think that anonymous call was convenient suggesting someone outside your group called, but that call could have as easily been from someone within it. Someone looking to make me look dirty to compromise my investigation.”
Dom says nothing, but I can see in his eyes he understands what I’m saying.
“There’s no honor among thieves, Dom. Have you considered someone in La Corona took the boy.”
He nods. “Of course. But it wasn’t and I believe you know it. That's why you're still digging through case files after hours with your wine."
I look up sharply then over to my coffee table where all my notes sit. "How did you—"
"I notice things about you. Just like you notice things that don't add up at the Bureau."
The truth of his words settles in my chest like a stone.
His hand finds my hip, and my breath catches.
The gentle pressure of his fingers sends warmth cascading through my body, short-circuiting my professional resolve.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, but I don't move away.
Dom's other hand cups my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline with deliberate slowness.
My skin burns beneath his touch.
The room narrows until there's nothing but his eyes, dark and intent on mine.
“This has nothing to do with Rocco or the FBI.”
"Why are you really here, Dom?" My voice trembles despite my efforts to sound firm. "I need to understand what this is."
His proximity clouds my judgment, makes it impossible to think with the clarity I desperately need.
Each point of contact between us sends pulses of electricity through my nervous system.
“It seems pretty obvious to me.”
I fight through the fog of desire. "Is this just a game? Another way to compromise me?”
The questions hang between us as my heart pounds against my ribs. I should step away, establish boundaries, remember who we are to each other.
Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, my body betraying my better judgment with embarrassing eagerness.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, feeling desperate in my weakness.
"What do I want?" Dom's voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "Maybe I want to know if Agent Olivia Ricci tastes as fiery as she talks."
My breath catches.
"And I want answers too." His hand on my hip pulls me closer to him. "About Rocco. About why the FBI seems more interested in manufacturing evidence than finding it."
"I don't manufacture—"
"I know you don't," he cuts me off. "That's what makes you interesting. You actually believe in justice." His eyes hold mine, searching for something I'm not sure I want him to find.
"You think it too. The inconsistencies. The missing pieces.
" His gaze drifts down to my lips. "More than that, there's something happening here that's bigger than both of us and I’m not just talking about a conspiracy. I’m talking about how we could power all of Manhattan with the sparks that fly between us.”
I should step away. I should remind him of the professional boundaries he's trampling. I should—
His mouth captures mine in a sudden, all-consuming kiss.
My mind short-circuits.
This is Dom Vitale, mafia don, criminal, subject of my investigation, whose lips are on mine, hot and demanding.
I should push him away.
File a report.
End whatever this is before it destroys everything I've worked for.
Instead, my hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepens, and a small, desperate sound escapes my throat. His fingers tangle in my hair as he backs me against my dining table, lifting me effortlessly onto it.
My legs part instinctively, allowing him to press closer. Allowing him to show me that he’s hot and hard, as caught up in lust as I am.
I'm kissing Dominic Vitale, and God help me, I don't want to stop.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathing hard, my professional ethics in shambles. His eyes have darkened with desire that mirrors my own.
"That," he says roughly, "was not part of my plan for tonight."
"Liar," I whisper, but there's no heat behind it.
His smile is slow, dangerous. "Maybe. But you kissed me back, Agent Ricci."
My head falls back as Dom's mouth traces a hot path down my neck.
His hands slide beneath my shirt, fingertips mapping my skin with reverent precision.
Warning bells clang in my head, but I ignore them.
"I want to see you," he murmurs against my collarbone. "All of you."
For a moment, I wonder if he’s pulling a honey trap on me.
I might be powerless to resist him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do my job. “This won’t change anything. I’ll still put you in jail.”
“All the more reason to enjoy each other unless you plan to make conjugal visits.”
He clearly doesn’t think I’ll succeed in my investigation. Why would he?
Most men in organized crime have had some scrape with the law, but not Dom.
He steps back just enough to slide my shirt over my head.
The cool air hits my breasts, my nipple hardening.
His fingers expertly unclasp my bra, tugging it away. His eyes darken as they take in my body.
"You're beautiful," he says, voice rough with desire. "Even more than I imagined."
"You've imagined this?"
His smile is wolfish. "Every night for months."
I should be horrified. Instead, I'm burning from the inside out.
He cups my breast, his thumb gently brushing over my nipple. The contrast between his dangerous reputation and his soft touch unravels me completely.
"I've wanted this since you detained me last Christmas,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving mine as his hands explore my body with maddening patience. "So damn beautiful."
I arch into his touch, and when his mouth replaces his hands, a desperate sound escapes my throat.
"Dom," I gasp, fingers threading through his hair.
"Let go," he whispers against my skin. "Just for tonight."
And God help me, I do.
His hands move over me, mapping every curve and hollow of my body like he's committing me to memory.
Each touch feels both possessive and worshipful. I can’t remember ever being touched by a man like this.
Oh sure, I’ve felt pleasure, but this is different somehow.
More intense. Deeper. I can feel at the cellular level.
"Look at me," he commands softly.
When I meet his gaze, the intensity there steals my breath.
"I want to remember exactly how you look right now," he says.
His hands continue their exploration, sliding down my ribs, tracing the dip of my waist, learning the flare of my hips.
When his fingers find the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my pants, I shiver.
"Beautiful," he whispers, and for the first time in my life, I believe it completely.
His eyes flash with wild heat as he sinks to his knees, his hands sliding my pants and underwear down my legs in one fluid motion.
My breath catches in my throat.
This is madness.
Complete professional suicide.
But I don’t stop him.
“I have to taste you,” Dom murmurs against my inner thigh.
His breath is hot against my skin, his stubble creating delicious friction as he works his way higher.
When his mouth finally finds me, my head falls back with a gasp.
His tongue moves, finding every sensitive spot with devastating accuracy.
"Oh God,” I moan, as he focuses on my clit, his tongue circling and flicking.
Dom groans against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me open to him as he devours me.
Each stroke of his tongue builds the pressure coiling inside me.
I surrender completely, abandoning every professional boundary, every ethical consideration.
Nothing exists beyond this moment, his mouth against me, pleasure building to impossible heights.
"Let go for me," he commands against my flesh. His tongue slides inside my pussy, the sensation sending me careening to the edge.
I let out a long moan, as my fingers thread his hair and hold him to me. My hips rock as his tongue laps at my pussy walls.
“Come, Olivia.” His thumb brushes over my clit as his tongue thrusts inside me again.
“Dom!” My body shudders as waves of pleasure crash through me.
His tongue continues its assault, drawing out my pleasure, on and on and on.
“So fucking good,” he says when he finally finishes.
He rises from his knees, his eyes never leaving mine as he unbuttons his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal smooth skin stretched over hard muscle.
Dom's hands pause at his belt, a curse slipping from his lips. "Fuck."
"What?" I ask, still dazed from pleasure.
"I don't have a condom." His jaw tightens. "I didn't... this wasn't planned."
I realize this seduction wasn’t calculated. Wasn't a scheme to compromise me. A strange relief washes over me, followed immediately by disappointment. We're going to stop.
I should be grateful for this interruption.
This is my chance to regain my senses, to remember who we are to each other.
I should get dressed, thank him for the reality check, and show him the door.
Instead, I hear myself say, "I'm on the pill."
Dom remains perfectly still, his expression unreadable. I've seen this look before when he's weighing options, calculating risks and rewards.
For a moment, I think he's going to step back, to be the voice of reason that I clearly can't be right now.
"Are you sure?" he finally asks.
I’m actually a little surprised.
I always thought men like Dom only cared about their own pleasure.
Once told there was no risk of pregnancy, that he’d be thrusting away. It’s another little thing that endears me to him when I shouldn’t like him at all.
"I'm sure.” I reach for his belt. His pants join the growing pile of discarded clothing.
When he stands naked before me, I can't help but stare.
The man is magnificent.
Powerful, scarred, and unmistakably aroused.
God was kind to him in that department.
He positions himself between my thighs. His hands frame my face, forcing me to look into his eyes.
"Last chance to stop this.”
We both know I'm far beyond turning back.
He enters me with one powerful thrust, stretching me, filling me completely.
My gasp mingles with his groan as our bodies join.
I’ll regret this later, I’m sure of it.
But right now, there’s nothing I want more than Dominic Vitale.