"You like it, don't you?"
"What?" I managed to breathe.
"The fear, Miss Night," he mused, "you crave it."
_______________________________________
Sabina Night owes Antonio Marafi her life.
But when he asks her to spy on the Russo crime family, Sabin...
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Gio's hands lowered from my neck to my waist, squeezing my side gently as he urged me to respond.
"Shall I repeat myself?"
I swallowed and tried not to focus on the hand that was skimming my bare thigh, lingering by the hem of my dress. His fingers slid across my exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in the spots that he brushed.
Even if I wanted to form the words, even if I wanted to ask him to do all of the things I wanted him to do, I still wasn't capable of making my mouth move. Not when he was this close, not when he was this intoxicating.
My fingertips lifted to his jaw, feeling the scratch of dark stubble underneath my thumbs. I stroked one of my thumbs along his cheekbone and he seemed to shiver. That small movement told me everything I needed to know. As much control as he had over me, it was the same for him.
"Miss Night?" His voice broke my fixation on his lips and I brought my eyes back up to meet his.
"Why do you never call me by my name?"
He smirked. "That is your name."
"You know what I mean."
Despite my oh-so-subtle topic change, his thumbs continued to lift the hem of my dress, rubbing circles into the skin that he slowly revealed. It was hard to breathe when he was this close to my body and his hands were so close to the part of me that ached for him. Hard to think.
"I have my reasons, il mio leoncina, for the name that I call you. Just as I have reasons for the names I allow people to call me."
My ears perked up at that small piece of information about himself that he revealed.
"Gio or Mr. Russo?"
"Only those closest to me are permitted to call me Gio."
"You asked me to call you Gio the second week we met," I pointed out with a shaky laugh.
"I know. That was purely for efficiency's sake," he said.
"Efficiency?"
He nodded.
"Because every time you call me Mr. Russo," his gaze lowered, "I want to fuck you."
My breathing stilled in my throat, my skin still on fire from where he touched me. The air between us was charged with anticipation, his earlier request still waiting for me to fulfill it.
"Is that so," I asked, then added, "Mr. Russo?"
I wasn't capable of articulating exactly what I wanted from him, mostly because I wanted everything. All of it. Whatever physical bliss he could give me. Immediately. And the expression in his eyes told me that he understood what I meant without having to say the words.
"Please?" I asked.
"I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of intoxicated women," he breathed, scanning my face and watching the disappointment etch itself into my expression. "When I properly fuck you, I want to be the only thing that you're drunk on. I want you to feel and remember everything that I do to you."
