Dom
I swear to God I didn’t come here to touch Olivia. But the more I’m with her, the more we spar, the more need coils until I can’t fucking think straight.
I press Olivia against the wall, deepening our kiss as her fingers tangle in my hair.
Her body arches into mine, igniting a fire I can't control. This woman, an FBI agent who wants to jail me, has me completely undone.
My body throbs with need. I just want to sink into her until oblivion overtakes me.
But I succumbed to desperate need last time, taking her on the dining table.
Tonight, I want a bed.
I sweep her into my arms. She weighs almost nothing, all lean muscle and soft curves.
"What are you doing?" She grips my shoulders, not struggling but definitely startled.
"Taking you to bed." I navigate through her apartment, instinctively knowing which door leads to her bedroom. "Unless you have objections, Agent Ricci?"
Her arms tighten around my neck. “I’m sure there are many, but none are coming to mind right now.”
Good. This attraction is messing up her mind as much as it fucks with mine. This is dangerous for both of us, but as I lay her down on the bed, I can't bring myself to care about the consequences.
Not tonight.
I lower myself over her, our lips colliding with an urgency that sends electricity through my veins. Her hands are everywhere, clawing at my shirt, raking through my hair, pulling me closer as if she can't bear any space between us.
I’m not much better. It’s like I don’t know where to start so I try to touch her everywhere at once.
We roll across her bed, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing. My shirt disappears, her blouse follows, buttons scattering across the floor in our desperation to touch.
The feel of her skin against mine is intoxicating. Every brush of her fingertips leaves fire in its wake. I've never wanted someone with such intensity. It's maddening.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, as I fumble with the clasp of her bra, needing to see those round soft tits of hers. Her hand is down my pants, gripping my dick as I rock into her.
More. Faster. Now.
The thoughts collide, stealing my control.
“Fuck.” I growl and force myself to stop. Last time we did this in a blur of need and release, taking what we both wanted without thought. Tonight, I want to take my time especially since when it’s over, she’ll likely regret it and send me packing again.
Confusion flashes across her face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I brush a strand of hair from her flushed face. "I just want to slow down."
I trace my fingertips along her collarbone, down the curve of her breast, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. "I want to remember every inch of you this time."
I lower my mouth to her skin, taking my time as I kiss and lick. I explore her body with deliberate slowness, learning what makes her sigh, what makes her moan, what makes her whisper my name in reverence.
Her breath catches as I press my lips to her inner thigh.
"You're torturing me," Olivia gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
"Good things come to those who wait," I murmur against her skin.
Her laugh turns into a moan as my tongue slides over her pussy, finding her wet and ready.
"Dom.”
I decide not to make her come now. I want her first time tonight to be when I’m inside her.
I slide up her body, gently biting and then licking her nipples. Her hands roam my back, nails digging into my skin.
The sting only heightens my desire.
God, I want to be inside her so fucking badly.
“I need you,” she says on a desperate moan. She opens to me, seeks my heat.
Unable to resist any longer, I thrust once, sinking into her fully. "Look at me," I demand, needing to see her eyes.
She does, and something electric passes between us. For a moment, we still, as if we’re afraid of what it could mean.
Not wanting to think too much about it, especially now, I roll us over, letting her take control.
She moves above me with the grace of a dancer. Her head is back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. I sit up, needing to taste her skin.
My arms wrap around her, and I drag my tongue down her neck and lower, flicking it over her nipple and then sucking. Her pussy contracts around me until I can barely breath.
“Oh God…” Her rhythm becomes erratic as she rides me.
I flip us again, pinning her beneath me, my movements growing harder, faster, as we seek our pleasure.
We move together in perfect rhythm, her legs wrapped around my waist, her eyes never leaving mine.
I want to watch her come undone, want to be the cause of it.
"Let go," I urge against her ear.
“Dom!” Her pussy contracts and instantly, I’m with her, crashing over the edge. But it’s more than pleasure flooding my body. There’s something deeper.
It's overwhelming, terrifying in its intensity.
I bury it immediately, focusing instead on the impossibility of our situation.
I'm a mafia don. She's an FBI agent.
There's no future where this ends well for either of us.
Emptied and boneless, I lay beside Olivia in the aftermath. Any moment, she’s going to say how wrong this is and ask me to leave. Until then, I stay put.
She lets out a long, satisfied sigh. “I hope you don’t think this butters me up to divulge information.”
I’m not sure if she’s kidding or not. “Wanting information and fucking you are two different things, although, if it works—”
“It doesn’t.”
I try to keep things light. “Is your silence about the investigation just protocol, or is it specifically because it's me asking?"
She tenses slightly against me. "Does it matter?"
"It does to me."
Olivia sits up, pulling the sheet around her chest in a gesture that seems more about regaining control than modesty. "I can't discuss an active investigation with a civilian."
"A civilian?" I laugh. "Is that what I am to you right now?"
"Professionally speaking, yes." Her eyes meet mine. "What happened between us doesn't change that."
I prop myself up on one elbow. "Rocco is my family. I have every right—"
"No," she cuts me off firmly. "Elena and Luca have rights as Rocco's parents. You're—"
"The head of the Vitale family," I finish for her, irritation rising. "The one who suggested you look into this in the first place."
"That doesn't entitle you to classified information." She runs a hand through her tousled hair. "There are legal boundaries that exist for good reasons."
I have a profound sense of déjà vu. After all, we went over all this before I carried her to bed. And yet, I press on. "Convenient how those only matter when they work in your favor."
Her eyes flash. "That's unfair and you know it."
"What I know is that you're investigating something that affects my family, and you're shutting me out."
"I'm doing my job." Her voice softens slightly. "If I find anything concrete about who was behind Rocco's kidnapping, Elena and Luca will be informed through proper channels."
I study her face, recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw. She won't budge on this, not tonight, anyway. Fine. I've never relied solely on one source of information.
"Alright," I concede, though my mind is already calculating alternative approaches.
I have contacts everywhere, people who owe me favors.
Money talks, and in the right ears, it pays dividends.
For a moment, I consider offering her payment, but I know that route would only offend her.
She believes in her system, flawed as it might be. And despite everything, I’m reluctant to disappoint her.
"You don't believe me," she says, reading my expression.
"I believe you're doing what you think is right. I just happen to have different methods."
"Dom—"
"Don't worry," I interrupt. "I won’t get in your way."
But we both know the truth. I'll find answers one way or another. That's what I do. That's who I am.
Olivia's eyes light up with defiance, ready for another argument. But something stops me from pushing further.
Maybe it's the way she looks so strong and sexy. Maybe it’s that I don’t want the night to end.
"Tell me about you," I say instead.
"What?" Confusion replaces the battle-ready expression on her face.
"Not Agent Ricci. Just Olivia." I settle back against her pillows hoping she’ll join me. "Where'd you grow up? What made you join the FBI?"
She studies me suspiciously, like I'm setting some elaborate trap.
Finally, she relaxes slightly. "Queens. Just me and my dad after mom left when I was three."
"Your father raised you alone?" I actually know some of this from my father, but she doesn’t need to know that.
A soft smile transforms her face. "Yeah. He was NYPD. Detective Mateo Ricci. He was my hero. Used to come home exhausted but still made time to help with homework, coach my softball team. Never missed a single game."
I keep my expression neutral wondering what she’d think that her father conveniently looked the other way during several Vitale operations.
The cop my father had in his pocket for nearly fifteen years.
Monthly payments, nice home in a good neighborhood, college tuition for his daughter, all courtesy of my family.
"He's the reason I went into law enforcement," she says, her voice warm with pride. "Watching him serve the community, put away bad guys, I wanted to make a difference like that."
"He sounds like a good man," I say, and mean it. I didn’t know her father well, but my sense is that he was on the take to provide for his daughter, not because he was an asshole like my father.
A father who loves his daughter that much can't be all bad. After all, I’d break any and every law to protect my family.
"The best," she agrees. "He died six years ago. "
I remember the funeral. In a rare show of sentiment, my father sent flowers, anonymously, of course.
"I'm sorry," I tell her, genuinely meaning it.
She nods, then laughs softly. "He would absolutely lose his mind if he knew I was here with you."
You have no idea, I think.