Page 32 of Knocked Up by My Dad's Mafia Boss

“Hmm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

I shake my head against his shoulder. “No, I’m watching.”

When I lift my head and look up at him, he’s staring at me with those bright blue eyes of his. “Fucking tequila,” he mutters, and then cups my chin in his hand, crushing his lips against mine.

I make a surprised sound against his mouth, parting my lips. He instantly sticks his tongue between them, sliding it along mine. I moan into his mouth and his hands skate down my sides, resting on my hips.

“Take me to bed,” I breathe when he pulls away and he looks at me for a moment, hesitant.

“Little one…”

“Dante. Papa’s out of town. We’re alone. We don’t have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“That we’re not…” I trail off. Start again. “That we don’t have something between us.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “We shouldn’t have anything between us.”

“Yeah, well, we do,” I say firmly. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.”

He drags a hand across his face and doesn’t respond.

“Take me to bed, Dante.”

Dante looks at me for another long moment and then stands up, stretching out his hand to me. I try not to grin, not wanting toappear any more eager than I already do. I don’t want to scare him off.

I take his hand and he tugs me up. The alcohol makes me a tad dizzy and I bump against his hard chest, putting my hands on his pecs to brace myself. He kisses me again, and it makes me even dizzier. It has nothing to do with tequila.

He keeps hold of my hand as he leads me upstairs into his room. I look around. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, of course, but before I’d been so focused on trying to seduce him that I’d barely paid attention.

It looks… like no one lives here. The bed is tightly made, hospital corners. There’s an empty laundry basket in the corner. I bet all his socks are nicely folded instead of rolled.

I guess for him, it’s just a guest room.

After all of this with Ricci is resolved, he’ll leave.

The thought makes my heart drop into my stomach.

Fuck.

He doesn’t throw me onto the bed or kiss me hard like I expect, instead sliding his fingers down my hips to untie my string bikini. The bottoms drop to my feet and I stand there just in the tank top. His breath hitches as he tugs it off me, too. My breasts bounce free and he groans low. It rumbles in his chest and I can feel it because he’s so close. My lower abdomen tightens with need.

I tug at his shirt hem. I’m tired of all these quickies where I don’t even get to see him naked. Dante grunts, takes it off with one hand and tosses it on the floor. There’s a tattoo spread across his left pec—a stylized date. I run my finger along the date.

“What’s this?”

He draws in a sharp breath. “It’s the day your grandparents took me in.”

My heart aches for him all over again. “It was that important to you.”

“Yes.”

There’s a bullet wound high up on one shoulder, knife scars on his abdomen. I can’t help myself from running my fingers over all of them. “Jesus,” he breathes, his skin trembling slightly under my touch. “What are you doing?”

“Touching you.” I look up at him. “Do you want me to stop?”