Wrong Number. Right Don (Sinful Mafia Daddies)

by Natasha L. Black

Hey, asshole. Did you seriously just leave while I was in the bathroom?

Uh, I think I have the wrong number. Ignore me.

Too late. I’m intrigued.

Intrigued by what? Some random woman cussing out her bad date? Not much of a story. Depends. What’s my competition look like?

Unless you’re a cowardly man who sneaks off when your date used the restroom, there’s no contest.

So I win by default.

I won the chance to prove to you that not all men are spineless idiots.

Bold assumption. Maybe I was only looking for a one-night stand.

So you want a spineless asshole sleeping in your bed tonight?

If I were in your bed, there wouldn’t be much sleeping happening. And I happen to have a very sturdy spine.

A smooth talker, eh? That only works on me if you look good doing it.

A photo comes through, and even though it shows only half his face and the broad planes of his chest, it does wicked things to me.

Holy hell. Cocky and hot? My night just took a sharp turn for the better.

Only the best kind, malyshka.

Good. Get comfortable. Your night deserves a happy ending.

He sends another picture of him winking at me. That single icy-blue eye spears straight to my core, and damn it, the top half of his face is every bit as hot as the lower.

You’re dangerous. And you like it.

You like that, don’t you, malyshka?

No such thing as accidents, malyshka.

So you’re saying you don’t normally send angry texts to strange men in the middle of the night?

Believe it or not, no. I actually have standards.

Then why were you on a date with a gu...

Fine. One date. But if you turn out to be a weirdo, I’ll be the one leaving in the middle of dinner.

I promise you won’t have any reason to.

So bossy. You’ll like that about me.

My phone sits face-up on the table next to me, also silent. My penthouse is dark except for the low glow of the city skyline filtering through the windows. Shadows stretch across the hardwood floors, creeping toward me, but I don’t turn on the lights.

Plenty of people might call me an asshole, but I sure as hell didn’t ditch anyone at dinner.

I spend the next hour sucked into her world, wishing I could see her. I even send a couple of photos for encouragement, but she keeps things playful. I don’t even get her name.

I wanted to hear that filthy mouth screaming my name.

Then I see a woman in a red dress walk in. And fuck me, I wasn’t prepared for this. She’s petite, yet nothing about her is fragile. She walks in like she owns the place, exuding an easy confidence. She’s commanding in her aura, something her texts hinted at last night.

The dark-red silk hugs every ample curve, and my knees threaten to buckle. Already I’m picturing that dress ripped and puddled on my bedroom floor. I curl my fingers around the glass and drink deep, forcing myself to focus.

“He doesn’t stand me up and he’s a gentleman,”

This woman is going to be a problem.

She’s effortlessly beautiful. She’s not draped in excess, the way so many other patrons at this restaurant are. She’s comfortable in her own skin.

“You’re staring,” she says, lifting her glass to her lips. I smirk. “And you like it.”

“You’re teasing me, malyshka.”

“I invited you here. You really do have low expectations, don’t you?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, malyshka.” Her eyes flash with challenge. “Then show me.”

I would never dare admit it, but with what he’s doing with just his mouth alone… I would definitely let him call me his.

“You want to be fucked by a real man, don’t you?”

“No,” he answers with a wicked grin. “I have other ideas for that smart mouth of yours.”

“Fuck, Nicole,” he growls, his voice rough, strained.

I stumble back, my body thrumming with need as I guide him to my bedroom. Somewhere along the way, we lose what clothes we have left, so that we’re both completely bare by the time we reach the bed.

He grabs my thighs, yanking me down the bed, spreading me wide for him. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he plunges into me with one brutal, glorious thrust.

“Is this what you wanted, malyshka?” His voice is dark silk; his thrusts, punishing. “To be fucked. To be ruined?”

“Too loud,” he growls, though his smirk says he’s pleased.

“Then shut me up,” I gasp.

“Still think it’s a good idea to tease me?” he murmurs.

“Absolutely.” I sigh, completely sated. “Best decision I’ve ever made.” His gaze darkens. “Then I hope you’re ready for round two.”

Sergei is already getting dressed.