Conquered by the Mafia Boss

His face darkens, lust swimming in those black pools. “What’s your name?”

“Claire,” I say immediately.

Claire? Claire? You’re not supposed to tell him your real fucking name!

For a moment I don’t care. He still hasn’t let go of my hand. For some bizarre reason, my mind brands an image in my skull: a lion with its jaws fastened around the neck of a gazelle.

A smile staggers over his face and he slips his other hand in his jacket pocket, a crisp twenty between his fingers. I pull my hand away, but his fingers tighten around my wrist, locking me there, and now it feels different. Like he’s intent on trapping me here.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He slides the twenty-dollar bill over the swell of my breasts. Then he curves his finger along my flesh, grazing my sensitive skin as he sinks the note right between my tits. My gasp cuts the air as he shoves the money deep in there. I can’t think-I can’t speak.

“T-thanks.”

He’s touching my tits.

My heart pounds so loud that I’m sure the whole room can hear it. This is what I wanted-wasn’t it? I wanted an asshole to grab me-to basically treat me like a quick, easy fuck. My body screams at the slightest touch of his hands on my bare skin.

You need this.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

I can’t fuck him. I can’t.

“Well, I’m new.”

Jesus Christ, get your hand out of my tits before I lose my mind.

He smiles, as though he thinks my response is amusing. “Yeah, you said that. I think I’d remember a pretty girl like you, though.”

God.

He slides his fingers out of my cleavage, barely touching me, and then dimples curve into the sides of his mouth. My stomach does back flips. He has my full attention, and he’s practically begging for mine, but something at the back of my head tells me to be careful.

Pretty-he thinks I’m pretty. Fuck me, please.

His voice is like water rolling over rocks, smooth and gentle. “I go over the new hires assigned to my VIP games. I don’t remember you.”

For the first time I wonder who the hell this guy thinks he is. He can’t detain me here just because he doesn’t recognize me.

Just let me go already.

I tug at his grasp, but he holds me steady, his grin widening. There’s something about his slick smile that crawls under my skin. Lying to him is like reaching into a wolf’s open jaw.

“I’m supposed to be on the floor, but Emily asked me for a favor.”

He cocks his head. “Where exactly? Who’s your hiring manager?”

Damn it. This guy is too sharp.

Make a joke.

“You want my phone number, too?”

His lets out a chuckle that sends a flight of butterflies up my stomach.

“Why don’t you step into my office and we can finish this conversation privately?” He strokes my inner wrist again and a flame burns right beneath my skin.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, precisely at the same time my mind screams, DO IT!

He leans, his eyes flashing. “Maybe if we have time, I’ll get your phone number.”

Holy shit. Did he just-proposition me for sex in his office?

Maybe if we have time, I’ll get your phone number.

Flames heat up my face as he takes the tray of drinks from me and sets it down. His thick arm curls around my waist, and then he spreads his fingers on my back and I feel each individual one as though they were tiny irons searing into my dress. He finds the slits between the fabric where my skin peeks through and strokes me. Oh fuck. Imagine that, all over my body, his rough hands grabbing my tits.

He’d rather fuck me than interrogate me on my unexplained presence in his poker room. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the players continue to play, blissfully ignoring us.

A finger runs along my jaw, moving my head so that I’m melting in his gaze again. My back hits the wall as he leans in, his arm still snug on my waist. An intoxicating scent wraps around me as my body crushes against his. I don’t know what the hell to do with my hands. I’m eyeing his lean waist, the light-blue shirt tucked into his slacks, that mouthwatering bump between his legs. I want to grab him-feel him grow hard. I just want some piece of him in my hands, to feel the thick abdominal muscles, or his flat, broad chest.

You can’t do this. You’ve got to get out.

“What do you want?”

“I’d like to get you out of that tight little dress and fuck your brains out.”

Did he really just say that?

Steam radiates from his body as he dips his hand, stroking my neck and playing with my shoulder strap. I’m temporarily robbed of breath. How the hell do you respond to that?

“I-I have to-”

He cuts me off, his smooth voice infecting my body. “I’d like to give you a nice fat hickey right here.”

He brushes his thumb right over the swell of my breast. I imagine his tongue stroking me, his lips puckering as I dig my fingers into his hair. My mouth parts and I’m seconds away from saying, “Fuck it.”

His thumb caresses the circular hidden camera, and suddenly his expression turns stony.

Oh shit. Fear eats away at desire, leaving me cold.

“What is this?” His nails dig into my wrist, eyes flashing. “You a cop?”

“Hell no.”

“That’s a fucking camera. Who are you?”

Abort!

I twist in his grip and launch myself toward the door, but he grabs my other hand and forces it behind my back. The sharp pain makes me cry out as he gathers both wrists in one hand and fists my hair with the other. Rage hits me square in the chest as I try to wrestle out of his grip, but then he twists my hands and I’m struck with another slice of agony.

A brief image of six poker players standing in front of me flashes in front of my vision before he marches me toward them and forces me over the table. The coarse felt rubs against my cheek, burning my skin.

“Let me go!”

His hand wrenches yet again, and electricity shoots up my arm.

The seductive tone in his voice turns black, and I wince as if every syllable is a blow. He’s no longer pretending to be a smooth player. He’s a brute, intent on wrestling the truth out of me.

“Who sent you? Let me guess-Detective Ross?”

What’s going on? I knew I was playing a dangerous game sneaking a camera into a casino, but, Jesus.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“I’m not a cop.”

“You’re wearing a fucking wire.”

I can’t believe that I’m about to get made by this hot asshole and completely blow the job. My heart quickens as I try to think of some kind of excuse.

“Luc-is this necessary?” A scandalized voice gives me hope.

He pins me against the table like a child pins an insect to the wall. I feel as though he’s going to pull my wings, and judging from the way he’s manhandling me, he wouldn’t give a shit about it.