Devil’s Lily: A Dark Mafia Romance (Nightshades Book 1)

A week later…

“Are you ready?” Maximo’s voice is dark honey, his eyes gleaming with that predatory anticipation that makes my insides liquify. I bite my lip as I nod, ignoring the hard pounding of my pulse.

His answering smirk is pure sin as he leans forward to press those wicked lips onto the tight skin of my upper arm. The motion shifts his powerful thighs beneath me, and when his cock grinds against my core, an involuntary moan escapes from my throat. My fingers dig into his arm for stability—or maybe just sanity.

He wiggles his brow as he leans back from me. Then his hand drops to my ass, rearranging me until the insistent hardness of his cock throbs exactly where it drives me wild, sending little shocks of pleasure through me. The distraction nearly works while he cleans the area around my upper arm where the scar from the gunshot sits. I shiver when the cool alcohol touches the shaved area, and I try to stay still, but it’s harder than expected.

Then he grabs the stencil sheet on the table next to him and carefully holds up the tattoo design against the spot I’ve chosen—directly around my scar. The flesh tingles, becoming a little ticklish, and I giggle helplessly as he fumbles with it until he’s satisfied. When he finally lifts the moisture stick, the sensation fades, and I blow out a shaky breath.

“Ticklish?” he teases.

“Just hurry up,” I mutter, heat blooming in my cheeks.

But instead of grabbing the tattoo gun, his hand slips to my nape and pulls me into a wowzer of a kiss. I clench my thighs around him, gripping his arm harder as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth with domineering force. My head falls back listlessly, my panties becoming damp as he deepens the kiss, sucking my tongue into his mouth.

I’m breathless by the time he breaks the kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Thank you for trusting me to do this.”

All I can do is stare at him through lust-hazed eyes, completely drunk on him. He chuckles, brushing his thumb over my chin before picking up the tattoo gun. That clears the fog of lust, and I tense in his arms.

“Relax, amore mio.” His voice is soothing, but still I whimper as the machine buzzes to life, squeezing my eyes shut when he brings the needle close to my skin—I can’t watch.

I inhale sharply, holding my breath as tiny pinpricks, like a thousand bee stings, attack my flesh. My nails dig crescents into Maximo’s arm, while the pain drags on for agonizing minutes. Tears spill uncontrollably down my cheeks, and I sniff, biting down on my lip until I taste the metallic tang of blood.

“You’re doing so good for me, dolcezza,” Maximo praises. “Breathe for me.”

Breathe? Oh yeah, air. I part my lips, blowing out the breath I’ve been holding, and the intense pain slowly melts into a faint burning sensation. Then I dare open my eyes and peek down at Maximo’s focused expression as he traces the design.

For the next several minutes, I just watch him, the soft buzzing of the tattoo gun and his occasional words of reassurance the only sounds in the room. Maybe it’s the endorphins, or maybe it’s just my husband’s particular brand of pain and pleasure that I’ve grown addicted to, because soon the stinging from the needles gradually morphs into white-hot, aching heat that spreads through my body, pooling low and insistent.

I squirm on his lap restlessly, trying to drag my clit against his cock through his pants.

“Stay still,” he commands quietly, but the warning in his tone makes me whimper. My arousal builds steadily with every glide of the tattoo gun across my arm until I can’t stay still anymore. Damn the consequences. I start to writhe in his lap, just as he lifts the tattoo gun from my arm.

“Great job, dolcezza.” He glances up at me and goes still at whatever he sees on my face. “Elira?” His gaze searches mine, a bolt of lust entering his onyx eyes. Holding his stare, I deliberately grind my core against him.

He groans, his hands dropping down to my ass, kneading the flesh and holding me still. “Maximo,” I whine, twisting against his hold, but his grip is unrelenting.

“Fuck,” he curses, releasing me slightly. I take advantage of my freedom and roll my hips again, this time pressing down on him so I can feel every single ridge of his erection. The friction is perfect, sparking an electric jolt that has me gasping and shivering all over.

“Elira, wait, hold on–” His voice cracks, and I almost smirk at the strain in it, but then he clamps down harder on my hips. “Shh, it’s okay, sweet. I’ll give you what you want. But we need to finish your tattoo first.”

I swallow the dramatic cry that builds at the back of my throat and drop my face into his neck quietly. Sensing that I’m yielding to him for now, he releases me and caresses my ass in slow, soothing strokes. “I know, sweetness. Just a few more minutes.”

He picks up another tool and works gently over my arm. The precision in every turn of his wrist should not be as arousing as it is. But dammit, I can’t stop watching him. The flex of his forearms, the slight furrow of concentration in his brow—it’s all too much.

Everything feels so overwhelmingly stimulating, and my skin is so hot, I feel like if he doesn’t touch me, I might just burst out of my skin, and if he does, I might detonate—and⁠—

“Done,” he finally says, shifting back, grinning proudly at his handwork as he drops the tool and carefully applies a layer of ointment over the flesh. “You should look at it before I cover it with the bandage.”

I drag my gaze from his stupidly handsome face down to my arm and gasp. “Maximo, it’s stunning.”

I told him I wanted a Lily of the Valley covering the scar that formed where Roan’s bullet hit me, and that’s what he’s inked into my skin.

Pretty green stems with drooping white bulb wrap around my upper arm like a cuff, sloping down to just above my elbow. It blends so seamlessly, I can’t even make out the scar I know is there. In place of the thorns in his own tattoo, he’s inked tiny ornamental dots that remind me of baby’s breath, tying up the design beautifully.

He grins and presses a small kiss on the inside of my elbow just below the tattoo, then carefully covers my arm with a bandage and pats it cutely.

“Now, where were we?” His hand snakes around my front, cupping my right tit possessively. He squeezes gently, rubbing his thumb over my nipple until it puckers, tightening painfully, sending a jolt of pleasure rushing through me. My clit throbs in response as my dormant arousal makes itself known.

He moves his hips just the slightest bit until the broad head of his cock snags on my clit through our clothing, rubbing that needy bud deliciously. My head tips back as I moan throatily, catapulted closer to my orgasm.

Then he bucks his hips hard, jolting me in his arms, and I cry out as sweet pleasure assaults me. I clutch his shirt to hold myself steady in his arms as he does it again, and again, each thrust obliterating whatever control I thought I had left. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and for a moment, I swear I can almost taste the heady orgasm hanging just out of reach.

But it’s not enough. I need more. My gaze drops to his lips and my mouth waters. Leaning down, I capture his mouth with mine, greedily claiming him. His lips part willingly, and my entire body shudders as fireworks ignite under my skin. I deepen the kiss, swallowing his groan, losing myself in the loud roaring filling my ears until it’s all I can hear.

I quicken the movements of my hip across his lap, desperate for my orgasm, wanting more, needing to⁠—

“No!” I wail, clutching him tighter as he breaks the kiss and stills his hips beneath mine. “Maximo, please darling, get me to the finish line, and I’ll love you forever.”

His brows furrow, and he raises a hand to my cheek. “In English, dolcezza. I have no idea what you just said.”

I frown at him, my brain buzzing. Then I realize I just spoke in Albanian. Before I can repeat myself, the loud roaring in my ears starts up again. But then I hear it more clearly—it’s coming from his computer. I twist slightly to see the screen flashing with an incoming conference call.

No. Actual tears sting my eyes because I know who’s on the other side of that call, and that it means the end of this interlude.

Maximo sighs, presses a quick kiss to my cheek, then joins the call. The hard faces of Michael, Rafael, and Romero fill the screen, and I stiffen in Maximo’s arms.

Romero notices first, and his sharp gaze warms into a smile. “Hello, sorellina. How are you today?”

I now know sorellina means little sister, and it’s kind of sweet, though I’m too flustered to enjoy it. I burrow into Maximo’s chest to hide my hard nipples as I murmur a hello. The others greet me as well, and I notice their faces seem to soften a little when they address me. It makes my heart light, knowing they’re beginning to accept me.

I start to slide off Maximo’s lap to give them privacy for their meeting, but his arm tightens around my waist. “Stay,” he murmurs in my ear. “I’ll try to discharge them quickly so we can get back to what we were doing.”

My cheeks heat up, and I’m sure I’m as red as a tomato, so I hide my face in his chest.

The guys dive into business talk, and I zone out, bored by what they’re saying, until Michael brings up Emily.

“I finally tracked the rerouted shipment order. It leads back to Emily. Took me weeks to crack the system—way too sophisticated for her to pull off without help. I don’t think she’s working alone.”

Maximo stiffens. “I know she’s not working alone. Someone’s backing her. Someone powerful.”

There’s a tense pause, then Rafael chimes in. “She’s working within the system. She’s in a government agency.”

Romero leans forward. “What government agency?” he demands.

Rafael shrugs slightly. “Just know that someone high up isn’t happy with the amount of power we’ve accumulated, and they’re trying to sabotage us. They won’t get anywhere, of course. They might give us minor setbacks, but they’ll never take away the power we worked so hard to achieve.”

“I’m going to look into whatever this government agency is. The CIA? FBI? DIA? Not that it matters, they can’t just fuck with our business,” Michael growls. “I’ll crack their system and destroy everything.”

“Where does Emily stand in all of this? Is she just a tool that’s being leveraged against us, or does she have her own game?” Romero asks quietly. “We need to know that before we can move forward.”

Even though the question isn’t directed at me, I push away from Maximo’s chest and answer. “She seemed angry. Like, very angry. It felt personal—like she’s after revenge. But…” I hesitate, feeling their eyes pin me in place, and I stifle the urge to cower. “I’m not sure. It’s just what I got from the little time I spent with her and her cryptic words. She wants revenge, but I think she also still cares about you guys. She mentioned something about wanting her old friends back.”

“Too fucking late,” Maximo snaps. “She should have thought it through before she kidnapped you and attempted to ship you out of the country, away from me.”

“She didn’t hurt me,” I remind him, but he just growls. “In fact, she seemed to be under the impression that she was saving me from you. Just like she wants to save you and the guys.”

“Save us?” Michael snorts. “Save us from what?”

“Her exact words were: ‘I want them out of the clutches of that fucker’. But I don’t know who.” I shrug as I speak, but I catch a subtle shift in Rafael’s expression. It’s so faint that if my gaze hadn’t landed on him, I wouldn’t have noticed. I frown, wondering if he knows more than he’s letting on.

“I’m afraid I don’t care to find out what Emily’s motives might have been,” Maximo says. “I care about her, as I’m sure everyone else in this meeting does, but she not only fucked with our business—she also fucked with my wife. My wife,” he repeats, his tone hardening, and I have to place a soothing hand over his chest.

“She tried to take Elira from me,” he continues. “And that’s one thing I’ll never forgive. She better pray I never find her.”

Before anyone can respond, he ends the call, chest heaving with barely contained rage. I know that look. He’s not ready to hear any defense of Emily’s actions. So I’ll bring the subject up again later.

I let it hang for a beat before I nuzzle against him and slowly raise my hand to his face, threading my fingers into his hair as I suck his neck. “I think,” I whisper, my lips brushing his skin, “we were right about here.” I roll my fingertips over his nipple, feeling his sharp inhale.

He chuckles gruffly and tugs at my shirt. “Right here, indeed,” he says as he pushes his head between my breasts.