REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER THREE

"I can cancel." Her hopeful gaze rounded a fraction. "If it makes you uncomfortable. I am not overly fond of him, anyway."

I suppressed annoyance. "Why would I want you to cancel?"

Premature rejection stained her cheeks red. "Are you okay with another man touching me? That is how a date ends, right? I get a ride home, offer him inside for coffee, make small talk and then fuck his brains out."

I stood, picked up the discarded silk shirt and slipped my arms into the sleeves. "Is he a decent guy?"

It was not the question she had hoped for. "Yes."

"Then date him." Fixing the shirt, I left the top two buttons open. "You are upset."

"No." The lie quivered her voice. "I am still horny, though." Crawling across the desk, she smoothed her hands along my chest. "You are starting to disappoint me, Mr Warren. What must I do to convince you?"

You see, this is the part of our arrangement that I disfavour. It's all well and good when chasing a release until her neediness takes shape.

"What do you require?"

"One kiss." Her lips teased the corner of my mouth. "Maybe your head between my legs. I often wonder how that tongue of yours feels—down there."

My head turned before our lips touched. "I am sure your date will deliver."

"Yes." Tears welled in her eyes. "Well, he promised as much."

Hearing Brad's cheerfulness in the hallway, I downed another whiskey shot and relit the smouldering blunt. Of course, the disobedient man entered the office without knocking. It would be far too uncharacteristic for him to obey orders like the others. Over his shoulder, the middle-aged man flayed like an oxygen-deprived fish.

"Stop squirming." Brad smacked the man's arse, hurling him onto the sofa. "Fuck." His fingers examined the fresh bite mark on his neck. "He sank his bastard teeth into me."

Nameless moaned indistinctly. Well, it's not as though he can string a sentence together with a leather gag in his mouth.

Brad had manacled the man's wrists and ankles and knotted a silk tie around his eyes. He wore a grey tracksuit, stark white trainers and a snapback cap. Judging by the wet patch, he also pissed his pants at some point this evening.

Disgruntled by Natalie's bedraggled presence, Brad's upper lip curled up. "You look fucking happy."

A harsh exhale fumed from her flared nostrils. "Brad."

"You might want to sort the hair out," he clipped, and she swiftly ran her fingers through matted tresses. "And what is all that shit on your face? Tone it down, harlot."

Fuming, she retorted, "Fuck you."

"I did that already," he said arrogantly, helping himself to Jameson at the minibar. "Not that it's anything to brag about."

"Oh, please." She scoffed. "You were hardly memorable."

"I am unforgettable." He glared at her over the rim of the whiskey glass. "Why are you still here? Get back to work."

"I don't take orders from you."

"I am second-in-command."

"Only when the boss is not available."

"Natalie," I warned, and she huffed in exasperation. "Leave."

"Fine." Her ass swayed to the door. "Call me if you need anything."

Brad waited until her heels echoed down the call. "Ditch the bitch already." Tying his blonde hair into a topknot, he popped open the button of his suit jacket and, lacing his fingers, perched onto the desk edge. "She is a fucking nutcase."