Page 92 of Mafia And Maid
The muscle in my jaw ticks. “No one else will come in here. It’s just going to be me and you—if you’re worried about that.”
“It’s not that.” Her voice shakes, and my heart squeezes. “It’s just…” Another firm shake of her head and the fisting of her hand at her side. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You can tell me—you can trust me.” Do those words sound as desperate to her as they do to me?
“I don’t want you to be…” The words barely reach my ears, too muffled at the end, as I strain to listen. “With all the mirrors and stuff. It’s just going to be worse.”
“They bother you?” I’m stunned as I suddenly understand the issue. She doesn’t like the look of herself in the mirrors. Fuck, I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.
Gently, I tilt her chin up to me. Tears rim her eyes, and I bite back the snarl of anger rumbling in my chest.What do I have to do to make her feel beautiful?“Don’t look at them. Focus on me. You can stay this way around, so you don’t have to look at them, okay?”
She worries her bottom lip but nods. The battle isn’t over by a long shot, but a spark of pride shoots through me before I can tamper it down. It’s a step in the right direction.
“Good.” Clearing my throat, I step back, my hand dropping down to my side.
Silence fills the room, and I desperately want to ask her the burning questions on my tongue, each one harder to swallow than the last.
Rosa has secrets, each one deeper than the last. And I have no right trying to pry them from her. It’d only fuel the obsession I have with her. And then she’d wake up to the monster that lurks beneath my skin and flee.
Slowly, I walk her through a few quick stretches, taking my time to admire the way her body bends and contorts.
Every muscle of my body heats. I tug at the loose collar of my tank top, watching the curve of her ass as she bends forward, finishing up the last rep.
Fuck. The image of me behind her, hands on her hips, watching as I drive into her...Get a fucking hold of yourself.
“Okay, that’s good.” My voice comes out hoarse, and I clear my throat. “Have you ever done anything like this?”
A firm shake of her head.
“We’ll take it slow. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me.” I hold her gaze, searching the brown depths of her eyes. “Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I gently lift her hands up and slowly walk her through a few defensive maneuvers. How to ball her fist so as not to break her thumb. How to stand so she isn’t easy to knock over. How to best use her body against someone twice her size. And how to use the heel of her hand to debilitate her attacker. There are so many things I need to teach her so that I know she’ll have a chance if anyone ever comes after her again.
“Thank you,” she pants, wiping the back of her forehead with the edge of her shirt, exposing her stomach just a little. It’s a tease.
“For what?”
“This.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’re not even close to me being done.”
She takes a step closer. The distinct scent of roses that follows her around envelops me. The softness in her features, the gratitude in her eyes, slices at me. Her hand freezes halfway between us before dropping down. “What’s next?”
“The hard part.” My body reverberates with excitement and fear. Putting my hands on Rosa shouldn’t elicit such a feeling. But since thatdinner date, since seeing her in that dress, my mind hasn’t belonged to me anymore.
Slowly, I wrap my arms around her loosely, coaching her through how to break various holds. Again and again, we practice it, and every wiggle of her body against mine only fuels the fire within me.
When she masters a move, we switch it up and move onto another. The holds become firmer and tighter until she’s struggling in my arms. Two taps of her hands mean I’ll let go, but she powers through every hitch of her breathing to maneuver her body out of each hold.
My body’s on high alert, continuing to examine her expression for any missteps on my part. Her lovely features are set, determined, and zeroed in on the motions we’ve gone over.
My hand circles her arm, and I inch her backward, looming over her. Her skin is soft under my calloused fingers as they grip just firm enough to make it a challenge.
She does all the right moves, but I’ve still cornered her. My hand circles her throat in a soft hold—one I fear is an overstep as her pulse races beneath my fingers.