Page 114 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“You think honesty is the same thing as truth.”
His eyes darken.
I should stop. I do not.
“You say things that are technically true. You tell me enough to keep me moving in the direction you want, then act surprised when I notice you left out the part that matters.”
Stefano pushes away from the counter.
The kitchen suddenly feels smaller.
He comes around the island and stops in front of me. Not touching. Not yet.
“Maya,” he says quietly, “if I told you every thought I had about tomorrow, you would not sleep.”
“I am not sleeping anyway.”
Something shifts in his face.
It is gone before I can name it.
His hand comes up, fingers sliding beneath my chin. “Then do not sleep.”
My breath catches.
“Stefano—”
“I know.”
He kisses me before I can decide whether I want to argue or forgive him for making me want this. His mouth is warm and slow at first, almost careful. That restraint breaks something in me faster than force ever could.
I put my hands against his chest.
He pauses.
Not pulling away. Waiting.
The choice is there. Clear enough that it hurts.
I slide my fingers into the open collar of his shirt and pull him closer.
The sound he makes is low and rough against my mouth.
His hand moves to my waist, then my back, drawing me against him until the edge of the island presses into my hips. I can feel his control in the way he holds me: firm enough that I know I could not mistake what he wants, careful enough that I know he will stop if I ask.
I hate that I need that from him.
I hate that he gives it.
“You’re thinking again,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“I’m always thinking.”
“Not like this.”
“Then distract me.”
His eyes lift to mine.
