Wrong Number. Right Don. (Sinful Mafia Daddies, #3)

by Natasha L. Black

I’m home. I wait with staggered breath as I watch him type. 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. Heat pulses through me, my mind full of his smooth words and that lethal body. I drop onto the bed, fingers tightening around my phone as I imagine him here with me. I imagine the weight of his body, the hard planes of his back, the heat of his breath at my neck—those blue eyes pinning me in place beneath him. A phantom grip cinches my waist, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. I hesitate, biting my lip, but the pulsing ache between my thighs makes the decision for me. My free hand dips under the waistband of my panties, tracing a slow, teasing path lower. You’re dangerous. And you like it. My breath hitches as I press my fingers against my aching heat, a moan slipping from my lips. I conjure the sound of his voice. It’s gravelly and commanding, murmuring in my ear, telling me exactly how he’d touch me, exactly how he’d ruin me. I let the fantasy take over, hips arching into my own touch. My phone slides off the bed, forgotten, as I sink deeper into the sensation. In my mind, it’s the stranger’s hands trailing over my skin, his body pressing me into the mattress, his teeth grazing my throat. I feel the phantom weight of him between my thighs, the scorch of his breath at my neck. Hi...