Page 16 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

I tumble over the edge of my orgasm, clapping a hand over my mouth and crying out.

Dante pants, pumping in and out of me and I wish I could have taken his shirt off and seen him bare.

The edge of his forearm tattoo peeks out from his sleeve, but I’ve never seen the whole thing.

I want to see all of him. Pleasure rolls over me again and again as I gasp against his lips. He thrusts deeply, hips finally stilling as he spills inside me.

“Dante,” I whisper, and he kisses me once more, deeply, before tearing himself away from me.

He pulls out, adjusting himself back into his slacks and standing up, taking his drink in his hand. “You should go.”

I frown, sitting up on my elbows. “Go? After what we just?—”

“It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” It’s a tiny arrow in my heart but I try not to be hurt. It’s not like I want anything serious with him, anyway. This is all I wanted.

Right?

“I shouldn’t have given in,” he mumbles. He won’t look at me.

I slowly stand up and pick my robe up off the floor. I tighten it at the waist. “You can’t avoid this forever.”

“Watch me.” He finishes his drink and looks at the glass like he wishes he had another. He turns his back to me.

I slip out of his room and down the hall to my own, sliding under the covers and aching in all the best ways.

I don’t think one night is going to be enough. And I think I might know a way to provoke him.

Make him break.

“Going out tonight,” I say idly at dinner, and Dante stiffens.

“Not on the South Side,” Papa warns.

“No. East Side.”

He nods. He rules the east and west, while Ricci rules the north and south. “Dante will go with you.”

Dante doesn’t respond, shoveling in food.

“I”m meeting Sofia and Reese.” I glance over at Dante, knowing he doesn’t trust either of them.

He won’t look at me. He hasn’t looked at me in weeks. Not since I seduced him in his room. All I want is to do it again—to have more time to see him, touch him. Have him touch me.

I’ve been with plenty of men, but nobody has ever made me feel that way.

Dante drives me to the club and I head inside, moving along the throng of people. Sofia throws her arms around me at the bar, leaning against me. “Vaughn and Reese are on the rocks,” she whispers in my ear, warning me.

Reese stands there staring into space, already looking a little drunk. They’ll likely make up by the end of the night, but Reese always takes their arguments hard.

We have a couple drinks and I make Reese laugh a few times, taking his mind off Vaughn and whatever stupid fight they had.

Probably something about Reese not being Catholic, or even Italian. It was something that was important to Vaughn’s parents.

Soon enough we’re on the dance floor and Reese and Sofia are dancing. I’m staring at Dante.

He stares back, his eyes piercing even from across the room, too-blue even in the dim lights of the club.