Page 98 of Mafia And Maid
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My labored breathing and trickling water fill the air as I brace my hand against the shower wall.
Every one of my muscles is tense and pulled taught. An image of Rosa trapped beneath me against the wall of the gym, her eyes wide, fills my mind. It’s quickly replaced with the image of her pressed against the kitchen counter, the thought of her parted lips beneath my thumb sending a wave of electricity rushing through me.Attraction, need, hunger.
This woman is an addiction I can’t quit. A problem that I shouldn’t be indulging in, but I’m helpless to stop myself. The way she looks at me. Like I’m something more, something reverent almost, beckons the beast inside me all the more.
Even now, as the water runs ice cold over my body, I picture her soft smile and the feel of her lips against mine. My fist slams against the tiles of the shower as my release tenses every muscle in my body. This was supposed to clear my head, to make it so I didn’t spiral into madness. But all it’s done is wind me up further.
Head bowed, I let the water drip down my hair, my panted breathing filling the air. Whatever spell Rosa has me under has sunk its claws into me hard and deep.
Dragging my hand through the wet strands, I brush them from my vision as I shut the water off.
She was determined to brush off that first kiss as a mistake, believing some misguided notion that I could find her lacking—that she’s not a handful of lush skin and heat beneath my fingers in all the best fucking ways.
Quickly, I dress, choosing a pair of dark jeans and a shirt, rolling up the sleeves as I make my way into the kitchen. The lack of humming from the other rooms tells me that Rosa is there, cleaning the oven, counters, or God knows what else. The entire mansion is spotless. How she continues to find things to occupy her time, I don’t quite understand. My skin tingles the closer I draw, my hardness jutting against my jeans already, when the heady mix of roses and floral scents hits my nose.
Acutely aware of where she is at any given moment in the mansion, that scent clings to me. Wrapping around me, like some siren call. It’s concerning how well I know her patterns in the house, how aware I am of her every moment of the day.
As I step into the kitchen, she’s busy prepping lunch. Her body is turned so that she can watch Ethan who is playing quietly outside with some new trucks Marco got for him.
She’s mouthwatering. Oblivious to my stare as I lean against the doorframe, my arms crossed over my chest, she’s relaxed and at ease—and it does something to me. I rub at my chest, trying to make the sensation go away.
“Hey,” I sayin a low voice, pushing from the threshold toward the counter.
The spoon clatters to the countertop, and Rosa whirls to face me. The terror melts off her face, and some of the tension building in my chest goes with it.
“Hey,” she breathes.
“Busy?”
Her gaze moves to the stove and back to me with a smile. There’s that spark. Beneath that timid shell, deep down, there’s something that wants to fight for whatever this is. “I…”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” I murmur. I’m closer now, nearly close enough to cage her beneath me. To put my fingers on those plump hips and bring her against me. My skin tingles with just the thought. “I was hoping”—my voice is lower, softer as I close the distance—"that you’d sit outside with me until dinner.”
“Why?”
“Figured you, Ethan, and I could enjoy the backyard a little. You’re working too hard.”
“But I’m hereto work.” Something about that grates at my skin.
“You’ll have plenty of time after to make dinner and do anything else.” I’m desperate for her to say yes. I hate how weak I am around her. How easily I want to fall to my knees and plead for just a drop of whatever she’ll spare. But I can’t stop myself—even when I know I’m playing with fire. Let it burn, for all I care.
“It’d be nice for you to spend more time with Ethan.” I don’t know why, but it makes me ridiculously happy when I see her with her son.
Softly, my hand settles on her hip, feeling her tense beneath my hand before her body relaxes. It’s become less frequent since I’ve started noticing it—since I’ve begun to touch her as frequently as I can. It’s a small step forward. Like Ethan, she needs time. But I’m goddamn desperate to feel her at ease beneath my fingers.
There’s something special about Rosa and Ethan. And I’ll be damned if I let a single person harm them ever again.
That I’m having these thoughts should scare me—should terrify me to the bone.
But it doesn’t. And that itself is far more terrifying than the emotions squeezing me tight at this very moment.
“I’m almost done with this,” she tells me.
“Can I help?”
I know the answer before she even shakes her head. It hasn’t changed since I started asking weeks ago. She’s stubborn at the oddest of times.