I went ahead and admitted to myself that I’d chosen a skintight wine-red sweater dress that dipped a little low in the bodice even if the skirt skimmed the middle of my calves simply because I wanted to look good in front of the woman who was okay with being a homewrecker.
I also slipped on the expensive gold earrings I’d bought on Primo’s dollar. I spritzed on my perfume, and even strapped on some heels.
By the time I’d finished, I could hear Primo’s voice on the floor below.
Reaching up, I mussed my hair, took one more look at my outfit, then made my way out of the bedroom, then down the stairs.
From the top landing, I could see Primo sitting on the couch in the living room. And despite all the cookware being all over the island in the kitchen, suggesting she hadn’t finished with the cabinets, where was Cassidy? Bending forward over the coffee table “dusting it off.” Which, last time I’d dusted it, didn’t require quite as much jiggling as she was doing.
I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness that was gripping my system right then, but righteous indignation at being disrespected in my own home.
I had to put up with a lot of shit from Primo.
But I would be damned if I put up with it from anyone else.
Primo’s gaze lifted at the sound of my heels on the steps. Even from across the room, I could see—hell, I could feel—his gaze moving over me, a slow and thorough once-over that only made its way back to my face when I made it to the bottom landing.
It was then that Cassidy went ahead and straightened as to not to so blatantly attempt to entice my husband right in front of me.
“Oh, you’re home,” I said, forcing a fake smile as I made my way across the living room, watching as Primo’s brows drew together in confusion since I’d done nothing but snarl and scowl at him since he’d told me about my new prison sentence. “I’m so disappointed I couldn’t come, but I understand you’re trying to keep me safe,” I said, walking right up to him, and dropping my ass into his lap.
“The fuck is this?” Primo whispered, but his arm immediately went around me, wrapping around my back with his hand settling at the very low part of my stomach as I leaned my side into his chest.
“Did you miss me?” I asked, tone full-on coquettish as I ran my fingers up and down his tie as I actually fluttered my lashes at him.
I won’t lie. I got more pleasure than I probably should have at the confusion on Primo’s face. What can I say? I had to get my kicks somewhere. And shocking a mafia boss was surprisingly entertaining.
I glanced back over Primo’s shoulder like I was noticing the mess in the kitchen for the first time, then rested my head on Primo’s shoulder as I looked over at Cassidy.
“Was there a problem with the cabinets, Candy?” I asked, deliberately screwing up her name. Because girls like her hated to be forgettable.
“Oh, ah, no. I was letting them dry,” she claimed, looking uncomfortable. “But, ah, they should be dry now,” she said, turning and rushing off.
It was right about then that Primo seemed to register what was going on.
An amused smile tugged at his lips.
“Jealous, baby?” he asked, brow quirking up.
“I thought we covered this,” I told him, tone icy again. “I better not have something to be jealous about. Or you won’t have to worry about outside threats on your life,” I told him as I sat up, but didn’t move off his lap because I really wanted to drive it home to Cassidy that Primo was mine and mine alone, even if I didn’t want him that way. Or, more accurately, I didn’t want to want him that way.
“Gave you my word on that,” he told me, voice firm.
“And yet I walk out to her shaking her tits at you,” I said, chin jerking up.
“I think I like possessiveness on you, lamb,” he said, eyes bright.
“I’m not possessive of you,” I scoffed. “I don’t like anyone thinking they can disrespect me like that in my own home.”
In the kitchen, Cassidy was slamming around as she put all the pots and pans back before I could hear her running the sink to, I imagine, load the dishwasher.
“Didn’t think about it like that,” Primo admitted, nodding. “She’ll be gone tomorrow.”
A part of me wanted to insist that he didn’t have to do that. I didn’t exactly like the idea of being the reason someone lost a job they were probably relying on. But then again, you shouldn’t get to keep a job when you were being inappropriate either.
So I went ahead and decided to be okay with it.
“Good,” I said, nodding. “What are you doing?” I asked as Primo’s fingers started to slide up the skirt of my dress up over my calves.
“Got all dressed up for me, hm?” he asked, and I tried to pretend my belly wasn’t fluttering as I felt his fingertips tracing the side of my knee, then my thigh, as he continued to move the material upward.
“Absolutely not,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as breathless as I felt.
“No one else here to see you,” he told me, voice a low, smooth sound that I swear felt like it washed over me even as his fingertips grazed my inner thigh.
I should have been telling him to stop.
But those words refused to move from my brain to my lips.
“I dress for myself, not for you,” I insisted, trying to hold onto a small shred of pride even as my damn traitorous thighs spread a little for his explorative fingers.
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, eyes molten. “You undress for me,” he said.
And I would have objected, jumped up, gotten the hell away from him for that.
But the second he said it, his fingers were pressing against my panties.
Suddenly, not even my pride mattered anymore as his thumb sought and found the bud of my clit through the barely-there material, and started working it in slow, practiced circles.
“You…” I started, sucking in a deep breath at the sensation.
“I, what?”
“Can’t,” I choked out.
“Seems like I can, lamb,” he said, pressing a little more firmly. “And it seems like you like it,” he added, lips close to my ear. “Your pussy is already dripping for me, and I’ve barely touched you,” he went on.
I wanted to deny it.
But it was true.
Whether it was logical or not, my body was aching for his touch, was throbbing with the need for release. And his fingers hadn’t even slipped under my panties yet.
Even as I thought that, though, his hand shifted up and dipped under the material. A soft gasp escaped me as he traced between my lips, circling around, but refusing to touch my clit.
His gaze was fixed on me the whole time, dark and penetrative, heavy-lidded with his own growing desire.
“Shh,” he murmured when he thrust two fingers suddenly inside me and a choked whimper escaped me.
His other hand moved up, pressing my head down on his shoulder, and holding me tight against him so my lips were on his neck, muffling the sounds as his fingers started to fuck me.
“Haven’t been able to stop thinking about this pussy in a week,” he told me as my hips started to rock against his thrusts. “Been waking up every morning fucking aching to be inside you again,” he went on.