Mafia's Devil part 32

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes.

“How is your stomach? Do you still have cramps?” His hand touches my belly, and I’m quick to push it off.

“I’m fine. How is your leg?”

“It’s healing,” he shrugs. “I’m still not taking pain meds.”

I sit up and palm his knee gently. He jerks, and I move my hands to his chest.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt it.” My hands rub his biceps in a soothing manner. “Is it really bad?”

With a face wrinkled in pain, he replies, “A kiss will make it better.”

I lower my face, aiming for his knee, but he stops me by taking my elbow.

“Karine, if your face hovers over my dick, I’ll explode cum all over this room. Don’t go down there.”

His groin is covered by a flat sheet, but I don’t miss the tent forming.

I jump away from the area, going to the other side of the bed. Luciano groans and cups his cock. It doesn’t escape me that his hand doesn’t seem enough to cover it all.

“What I’d do to just get one lick of your sassy little tongue,” he groans. “Tell me. Are you a little freak?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s extremely inappropriate to ask.”

He chuckles, seemingly forgetting about the pain in his leg.

“Yeah? I’m being out of line?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s make a bet, then. I’ll check if you’re wet. If you are, you’ll let me kiss your clit. Is that little nub an innie, or outtie?”

It’s an outtie, and it’s swollen with arousal.

I’ve been intimidated by Luciano one too many times in the past 24 hours, so instead of shrinking away, I scatter together a reply.

“It must be killing you that you don’t get to enter me. The great Luciano is getting bested by a five-foot-nothing virgin.”

He looks mad— no, horny— no, both.

“Mark my words. I’m going to lose my dick in that pussy one day. Tease me all you want, but I’m going to hit it from the back, the front, the side and you’ll scream that it belongs to me. The sound will reach Maksim, your father, and the assholes he was going to sell you off to,” he smirks.

I leap out of bed and grumble under my breath on my way to the bathroom.

“Be quick, baby. The date is in thirty minutes.”

Baby? That’s a new one.

“My name is Karine. Not baby,” I toss over my shoulder and disappear into the bathroom. I take my time just to piss Luciano off. When I’m done, I slide into new underwear and the same clothes. I seriously need to go shopping.

Back in the room, Luciano is sitting on the bed with his clothes on. His attention is on his cellphone. I wonder what ridiculous blog he’s reading now.

“Are you done, baby?” he asks without looking up.

“Luciano…” I sigh.

He looks up and frowns.

“What?” I ask.

“Why are you not reciprocating the nickname?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to call you baby? Why?”

“I read that—” he stops and coughs. “Nevermind. Let’s go eat breakfast.”

I smile because he nearly outed himself there. Of course, he wouldn’t admit what embarrassing, insecure nonsense he’s been surfing through online.

He stands to his full height, and I walk to his side. With my arm wrapped around his enormous torso, I lead him to the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he mysteriously replies.

I smile at the manager on our way down and lead Luciano to his vehicle.

“I’ll drive,” he says.

“No. You’ll strain your leg. Just tell me where it is and I’ll drive us,” I argue.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise.” He looks frustrated, and I register his words.

It’s supposed to be a surprise? Is he following the advice he read online?

I groan. He’s trying to do this right— to give me what I asked for. I don’t want to cause unnecessary arguments, but I don’t want him to get hurt, either.

“Fine, but if I see you even flinch, I’m taking the wheel.”

He opens the passenger door for me.

“No. Let me get your door,” I tell him.

“Woman, if you don’t get in this car, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you there,” he swears.

I jump into my seat because I know he’s not joking. Luciano is stubborn enough to get a leg amputated just to get his way.

He walks around to his seat— his limp a little less noticeable than yesterday, which I guess is a good thing.

He drives down the snowy road, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror every few seconds in search of vehicles following us. He shoots glances at me, too.

We pull up to the edge of town and park in the parking lot of a restaurant.

“We’re eating here?”

“No. We’re cooking here.”

He exits the vehicle and gets my door. Together, we walk into the restaurant, which is empty except for the chef that approaches us when we enter.

“Welcome,” the older Asian man smiles at us.

“I rented the place,” Luciano declares, skipping past formalities in his usual rude way. “Is everything ready in the kitchen?”

He rented the restaurant? No wonder it’s empty.

“Yes, sir. Please follow me.”

The chef undoes his apron as he leads the way. Instead of being taken to a table, we enter the clean kitchen.

The date makes sense now. Luciano wants me to cook.

I have to give him credit. It’s a thoughtful plan. Cooking always makes me happy.

“Is this good enough?” he asks.

I chuckle. “Yes. It’s fine. What do you want me to make? I’ll have it done in a few.”

He stands toe-to-toe with me and reaches out. At first I think he’s grabbing one of the aprons hanging behind to hand it to me, but he wraps his arms around me and keeps them there.

“We.”

“What?” I reply.

“We are cooking together.”

“But you don’t know how.”

His lips descend a long trip until they find my nose. He kisses me, and says, “I don’t, but I’ll try my best.”

I feel nervous all of a sudden, because cooking isn’t just a hobby. It’s my job; my escape. Sharing this with Luciano makes me feel vulnerable. I’ve shared a bed with this man, had his mouth between my thighs, kissed him, had his engagement ring on me, but being in this environment with him takes the cake.

“Okay…”

I’m silent as I dig through the fridge and pull out utensils. Luciano asks a thousand questions and follows my instructions like his life depends on it. He tells me he wants to participate more, so I take a step back and let him season the pork.

As we make lunch, we snack on crackers— well, I do. Luciano is too distracted to eat. He looks adorable while concentrated, and a sweat breaks out on his forehead. It’s not hot in the kitchen, so I know the sweat comes from his nervousness.

In the end, we stand in front of crispy pork chops. I lift a fork to my mouth, and Luciano watches anxiously, as if I’m pointing a gun at his head.

I bite the meat. It’s awful. He added way too much seasoning, leaving it with a salty, overwhelming taste.

“So? How is it?”

I haven’t tasted such foul food in a while. I could tell him this and discourage him from pursuing me, but I can’t do it. He’s trying hard with his silly internet research, and he rented this restaurant for us.

“It’s good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You did well, but I added too much spice at the end and forgot to add the onions. I messed it up, but it’s still not awful.”

He takes my fork and eats a bite, frowning at the taste.

To distract him from my lie, I pull out a tub of ice cream from the fridge. “Want to have ice cream for lunch?”

“I’ll have you for lunch,” he smiles and dives for me.

I manage to shove a spoonful of cookies and cream into his mouth before he can kiss me.

a/n: Smut coming soon. Maksim coming soon 😳