Page 11 of Falling for the Mafia Dom
As if this isn’t already the most romantic gesture a man has ever made for me, the sun is just beginning to set behind the skyline.
It’s perfect.
“How did you-” I shake my head. I can’t even finish my thought, because I am so in awe of the effort Angelo put into this date.
“My roommate is on the construction crew,” he takes my hand, leads me to the table, and pulls out my seat, “He may have helped me out.”
Before taking his seat, Angelo pours us each a glass of white wine and lifts the stainless plate covers. As he does, I cannot help but chuckle.
“Were you expecting filet mignon?” He cheekily raises an eyebrow at me.
“No,” I continue laughing as I pick up a waffle fry from the Chic-Fil-A box, “This is absolutely perfect.”
“To me not having ruined this date,” Angelo lifts his glass. Lifting mine, I gently clink it against his, my eyes not leaving his.
“Far from it,” I say softly before taking a sip of my wine. Placing the glass back on the table, I cannot help but smile at him.
“What?” He smiles back as he questions me.
“It’s just,” my fingers fidget around the stem of the wine glass, “This just wasn’t what I was expecting. Ya know. On a date with a guy that works for the Botticelli family.”
“What were you expecting,” he smirks at me, “Car chases and shakedowns?”
“No,” I snicker, “I don’t know what I was expecting. But it definitely wasn’t this.” My hands gesture around us at this unbelievably romantic location he put together for us.
“Good,” he mockingly snickers at me, “I want to surprise you.”
Conversation between us continues to flow with ease as we talk over our chicken nuggets and chardonnay. While we are nearly complete opposites in nature, there is a weird familiarity and comfort with him.
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the rooftop view. Maybe it’s both…. But this is the most amazing date I have ever been on.
The sun has fully set when we move to a couch at the edge of the rooftop. The stringed lights above us and glow from the city around us are the only things keeping us from sitting together in darkness.
Walking in front of me, Angelo takes the first seat on the couch. As I go to step around him to take the seat next to him, he reaches up and grabs my hand. His touch stops me in my tracks between his feet, and I turn to face him.
Holding my hand, he places his wine glass on the floor near his feet. His head tilted slightly up toward me, his eyes stare into mine as he takes my glass and places it next to his. He gently pulls me toward him until my legs flush with the couch. I stand between his thighs as his heated gaze continues to bore into me.
“Ellie,” his voice low, he leans forward and slowly tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingering along my jaw as he brings his face closer to mine, “I’ve wanted to kiss these pouty, pink lips for days. Please tell me I don’t have to wait any longer.”
I think I just died.
Swallowing hard as my heart flutters in my chest, I instinctively lick my lips. He slides his free hand over my cheek and he gently cups my face as he slowly pulls me toward him. His lips dust against mine, barely touching me, leaving my whole body wrought with anticipation.
His large palms gently squeeze my face as he pulls me against his lips. The kiss is soft and gentle. My lips part and he slowly explores my mouth as my tongue gently intertwines with his.
This is the type of kiss they write romance novels about.
Leaning down into our kiss, Angelo sits back against the couch, providing me the opportunity I wanted to climb onto his lap. Sliding my legs over his thighs, I wrap my arms around his neck as I pull myself against his hips.
The kiss between us slowly grows more passionate until our breathing is quick and shallow, both of us struggling to catch our breath against our need for more of each other. Angelo’s hands travel down my back, and I whimper into his mouth when I feel them slide against my skin under my shirt. His hands roaming up and down my spine, he breaks our kiss to allow his lips to travel the length of my neck.
My hips rock over his, and a quiet moan whispers over my lips when I feel him growing hard beneath me. His lips make their way back up my neck to my jaw as I continue to grind against him. Pulling back from him, I lift my arms over my head encouraging him to remove my shirt.
“Are you sure?” He lifts my shirt to just below my bra and pauses for my response.
“Yes,” I quietly answer him, biting my lip, “I’m sure.”
His hands slowly slide my shirt up my arms and over my head. Tossing it to the floor, he fists his T-shirt at the nape of his neck and pulls it over his head. It has no more hit the floor when his lips are back on mine and his fingers are working to unfasten my bra. His hands promptly replace the cups, as he slides the bra from my body. Gently kneading my breasts, his lips delicately make their way from my neck to each of my nipples.
