Sinful Addiction

XXIII

ELENA CASSANO

        I played by the rules. I always did what was asked of me. I sacrificed my happiness for the Familiga. I never complained. I never put up a fight. I never frowned even when everything was taken from me.

        I put the Familiga first because it was what my papà demanded from me. And it was what my Mamma expected.

Until him.

The one person who could destroy everything I worked hard for.

He wasn't a good man. He wasn't nice. He was the type of man Mamma had always warned me about. Men of the Cosa Nostra. He wanted to fuck with me just as much as he wanted to fuck me. He was madness. And I was addicted to his twisted his dose of madness.

Dark. Large, silent brooding fallen angel. Sin. His name said it all. As his thumb skimmed over my lips, I couldn't help but lean into his touch.

        My entire body trembled and shook at the possessiveness beneath his touch. It felt so right. So warm. Comforting. A part of me knew my papà could walk in any moment but when he brushed his rough palm over my throat, I forgot everything I resisted in the first place.

I forgot my name. A weak moment was all it was. That was what I reminded myself every time my heart throbbed against my chest.

"Elena." He drawled in a raspy voice. I opened my eyes and looked at him, but he was already staring. There was something about his eyes. Something about the way he watched me. "You know what you look like in this dress?"

I glanced down at the strapless, lacy dress I wore. Beneath the red fur coat, the imprint of the nipple piercing was prominent—a stupid decision I made when I was eighteen.

The dress wasn't one of the usual long, flowing dress I would normally wear for events such as this one. Because if the coat covering me even happened to slip by a millimeter, the curve of my bare ass would be flashed.

"Greshnyy." His thumb skimmed the rough edge of my collarbones. I inhaled a sharp breath as heat flooded my cheek even though I didn't know the meaning of the word.

        He rested his palm between my breasts. A tatted finger dipped into my cleavage, exposing my breasts further so it was visible. My heart kicked inside my chest. "Your papà know you like men's eyes on you? He knows you like fucking with men you don't even know?"

I choked on the intensity of his words. "I hate you."

"Deystvitel'no?" The corner of his lips tipped into an amused smile. He fingered the neckline of my dress. "Say that again?" He taunted.

My pulse throbbed in my throat, and I swallowed. "I hate you."

"You don't hate me." His jaw firmed. "Because if don't hate me, your body wouldn't react like this when I touch you." His fingers graced the delicate skin of my lips, skimming a thumb over my skin.

I broke out in shivers, proving his goddamn point.

"If I touched you down there, what will I find, Elena?" An unfamiliar ache began in my chest. Desire pounded through my blood and choked every fucking artery in my body. He caressed the side of my lips, bitter amusement passing through his gaze. "I bet I don't even have to look down there to find out you're already fucking wet."

Something between my legs pulsed. Throbbed. Robbed me of the very ability to respond. "That's what I thought. You might hate me, but your fucking body doesn't."