Total pages in book: 7
Estimated words: 6652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 33(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 22(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 33(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 22(@300wpm)
“Change of plans, Rocco. Take us home,” I say, unable to stop touching her.
“Where’s home?” she asks, kissing my neck. I haven’t had to work too hard to make her mine. She’s kissing me. Should I be concerned that she came around so quickly? Surely, this isn’t some kind of trap her father has set for me, but even if it is, I go down a happy fucking man. Has another man gotten to her sweet cherry before me? If they have, I’ll find out who took what was mine and bury them where their body will never see the light of day again.
“Manhattan,” I tell her.
“My father won’t like that,” she whispers. “It’s an act of war.”
“Fuck him. I make the rules now.”
“You do?”
“I definitely do, Giada.”
“Gigi,” she breathes.
“Giada, I won’t be calling you that. You are too important for such a nickname.”
“Why am I so important?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” I tell her, running my fingers up her thighs.
“I can’t wait that long, Jimmy,” she says. “I wanna know now,” she says twirling a tendril of hair around her finger. Just like I know she’ll have me wrapped around her little finger.
I can’t get her home fast enough.
Chapter Two
Giada Manero
There are very few moments in your life that define who you are, and this is one of them. I’m no stranger to limos or made men, but Jimmy DePalmeretti has a reputation that I must admit intrigues me. He’s known for being one of the deadliest heads of family in all five boroughs. It’s a turf war and him taking me really is an act of war, but fuck if I don’t want to see where this goes. Maybe my dad was looking to get rid of me and this will all just blow over, but I doubt it. I am sure he was keeping me for someone he owes something too. Honestly, that’s all me and sister, Fawn, are good for. She’s promised to the brother of the head of the Vitali crime family, but she loves Fabrizio. So far, he hasn’t said anything about me, but I’m sure
“What is your house like?” I ask, though I am not even sure how I have a coherent thought in my head… not with the way his fingers are running up and down my leg.
“It’s an apartment on the Upper East Side. It’s pretty barren, but it’s home currently.” He doesn’t let up on my legs, but now he’s nuzzling my neck. God, how am I going to resist him? Do I even want to?
“Currently? Why currently? Are you separated from your wife or something?” I ask, dreading the answer. Of course, he’s married. There’s no way an older man that looks like him isn’t married.
“I don’t have a wife, Giada,” he says. The way he says my name makes my pussy wet. So wet, it’s dripping down my thighs. My panties are completely soaked and stuck to me. I shift in the seat and bite down a moan.
“You don’t?”
“Not yet,” he tells me.
“So, you’re engaged,” I say trying to move away from him. He grips my hip to stop me from moving. What the fuck was I thinking? Getting in the car with a stranger is the one thing my mom has always warned me about, but I did it anyway because he intrigued me.
“Not yet, Giada. Not yet. Give me a few hours and it’ll be you. It’ll all be you.”
“Hours? You seem so sure of yourself. What if I don’t want you?” I lie. Of course, I want him. I am such a jumble of emotions right now. How did I get here? Why don’t I want to leave?
“Are you really going to sit there, with your pussy dripping all over my leather seats and tell me you don’t want me? I don’t tolerate liars, baby. That was your one lie,” he tells me, and I swear to God my ovaries combust and all I can think about is carrying this man’s babies.
“Oh, God,” I moan.
“Do you understand?” he demands, his hand wrapped lightly around my throat. Fuck, that’s hot.
“Yes,” I barely manage to say before he kisses me again. We are still locked in the kiss when the car comes to stop in front of an all-glass high-rise building.
He doesn’t wait for Rocco to open his door, he does it himself and holds his hand out to me. I take it. Walking to the elevator hand and hand, people stare at me.
“Ignore them, baby. They don’t matter,” he whispers in my ear.
“It’s hard. Why are they staring at me?” I wonder aloud. I am not dressed any differently than any of the ladies I see. I am wearing a Yves Saint Laurent sundress that I bought in France earlier this summer. It’s the height of fashion.