Page 69 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“Burn, Robert.” I rip my hand away, turning to leave.

But I don’t get far. Before I can step back, before I can reset, his hand catches me by the wrist, turning me, shifting everything in one smooth motion until my back is against the car again, the cool metal pressing through the thin silk of my dress.

My breath stutters.

“Robert…”

My words cut off as he pins my wrists, pulling them behind me, holding them there with one hand, firm enough to stop me, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me I’m not in control of this moment.

And that’s exactly the problem.

“Let go of me,” I snap, twisting against him, trying to pull free, but it only makes his grip tighten, his body closing in, smothering me in a way I don’t want.

Because I know this feeling.

I know what comes after it.

And my body is already reacting.

“Christine,” he coos, like he’s speaking over the chaos instead of into it.

“Don’t,” I warn, my voice biting now as I struggle again, my heels scraping slightly against the ground as I try to shift, to break free.

But he doesn’t let me.

And it pulls me back to that night. Back to the way he held me, moved me, took control like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My heart beat is deafening, my pulse racing, want rushing through me in waves I don’t want, don’t need.

“Stop fighting,” his voice dips.

“I’m not…” I start, but the words break as my body betrays me again and I’m squirming, twisting against him, trying to find space where there isn’t any.

He doesn’t let me.

In one smooth motion, he turns me, bending me forward before I can catch my balance, my palms bracing instinctively against the car.

The sudden shift knocks the breath from my chest, my dress pulling around my thighs as I try to push back up.

“Robert…” My protest cuts short, because his hand gathers the fabric of my dress, pulling it up, fast enough that my body jolts in response before my mind can catch up.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Too late.

His hand comes down against my butt cheek, the sting snapping through me, stealing the rest of my breath as my fingers press harder against the metal beneath me.

Another, sending something spiraling through me, something I don’t want, something I don’t have time to fight off before it wraps around my sex.

“Behave,” he murmurs, his words hitting harder than the contact.

My body reacts, going still.

My fingers curl against the car, my head dipping slightly as my breathing shifts, as everything inside me pulls in two directions at once.

To fight or to fall.

And for one dangerous second, I stop fighting.