Born into blood, I was a mafia princess. Raised in hiding, I was a Californian sweetheart.
The day my father sold my thirteen year old body to pay off a five year old debt was the day my mother stole me in the dead of night. She protected me as she was supposed to.
My father may have been the king, but my mother was the queen.
The mafia blood was hers.
That was ten years ago. Now… the devil was on the loose.
Carlo ‘Hunter’ Rosso was my father’s right hand man and the boy I’d loved since I could tie my own shoelaces. He was always the most ruthless and the most deadly of all the children.
He’d thought I was dead until the day his assignment was given: Kill Adriana and Alexandria Romano. Kill the princess, and definitely kill the queen.
What he didn’t know was that the queen was dead, and the princess had taken her throne.
Blood didn’t lie. It smeared, distorted, stained. But it didn’t lie.
My father was going to learn the hard way that the empire he’d stolen belonged to me.
And so did Carlo ‘Hunter’ Rosso.
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“Staying, are you? Figure it's easier to kill me in my sleep?”
Once again, he rubbed his hand across his face. He said nothing.
“Trying to work out whose life is worth more, right? Mine is probably worth a lifetime of comfort for you. Kill me and everyone's happy, right? My pathetic excuse for a father gets to keep his empire and you're taken care of for life.”
He looked at me, and his expression was a little tortured. I was being harsh. I knew that. But I needed to be. It was easier to provoke him and be angry with him than give in to the horrible ache that had settled in my heart.
“Adriana...” Weak. The word was weak.
I wanted to ignore the indecision on his face, but I couldn't.
He was considering it.
He really was.
I scoffed quietly at him and grabbed the gun from the coffee table. His mask and gloves fell to the floor, but he made no move to pick them up. The safety was on the gun, and I held it out to him. “Here. Take it. I don't care, Hunter. I don't have much of a life here in hiding anyway.”
He didn't even look at the gun. His silvery gaze never left mine. I wished he would look away, because in that gaze, I saw the Hunter I knew. The boy who once ripped his favorite shirt to stem the bleeding when I fell and cut my leg, then proceeded to carry me home. The boy who offered to pee on my foot when I got stung by a jellyfish in Mexico on vacation when I was seven.
The boy I loved before I knew what love even was.
“You're weak, Hunter,” I whispered. Slowly, I turned the gun back to me and touched the barrel to my temple the way he did earlier. His jaw clenched when my thumb edged toward the safety, and when my finger moved to hook around the trigger, he moved.
He was like a lightning bolt. He came at me like a flash, snatched the gun from my hand, and dropped it on the sofa. It bounced but stayed on the seat, and then he turned on me with blazing eyes. “Don't,” he ground out, his arms tensing and looking even bigger. “Don't ever fucking put that to your head again.”
“Why? I was saving you the job.”
The words had barely left my lips when he pounced on me. It was deadly, the way his hands clasped my face and his mouth descended on mine. I staggered back into the wall, gasping at the ferocity of his movement. Shock paralyzed me as he kissed me harshly. His tongue ran along the seam of my mouth, and as I fisted the sides of his shirt, I bit his lower lip.
A low growl left his throat, but he didn't relent. He just kissed me harder. He kissed me until I was fucking spinning and could barely string two thoughts together. Until my whole body was alight with his touch and responding to his every movement.
He tasted like whiskey. The strong, rich taste that lingered on his lips was heady and only added to the intoxicating way he touched me.
And then... It hit me. He was touching me. Kissing me.
Twenty minutes ago, he could have killed me.
He leaned forward and rested his mouth by my ear. “You still have time to make me stop. I meant it, Addy.” Two of his fingers trailed up the inside of my thigh, coming dangerously close to my wet pussy. “I don't want to ruin you. I don't play nice, but the second my mouth is on your cunt, I won't be fucking playing at all.”
I turned my face toward his, and my lips brushed his jaw when I spoke. “Then don't play.”
He pushed two fingers inside me, and I gasped at the sudden intrusion of my body. Heat rushed over me as he pumped them inside me and gripped the back of my neck. “You have until I reach 'one' to make me stop. Five.” He dragged his mouth down my neck. “Four.” His tongue circled my nipple, and he pressed his thumb against my clit. “Three.” He released my neck, licking down my stomach and dipping his tongue into my naval, falling back onto his knees, still bending forward. “Two.” His mouth hovered over my pussy, and he pulled his fingers from my me. “One and a half...”
I half-laughed, half-gasped as he dipped his fingers back inside me.
He grasped my ass with both hands and lifted my hips. “Fucking. One.” He slowly ran his tongue up the length of my pussy, from my ass to my clit.
I threw my arm over my eyes as he zoned in on my clit. Pleasure rocketed through me like waves as he worshipped that tiny spot, rolling his tongue over it again and again. I writhed against him as he fucked me with his mouth, bringing me close the edge before he pulled back and stretched his tongue inside my pussy inside.
I was mumbling incoherently. I didn't know if I was begging for more, for the end, or if I was just pleading his name. The only thing I was sure I knew was that I didn't want him to stop but he needed to stop right now.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” he rasped, his fingers tightening on my thighs like all his restraint was being channeled through his touch.
I nodded and waved toward my nightstand. I was the kind of girl who was prepared for every situation, and apparently having sex with my assassin was one of those.
The drawer slammed open and shut within seconds, and I propped myself up on my elbows to look at him. Hunter dropped his pants, and my throat went dry as he pulled down his boxers. The tip of his cock was just free when he noticed me watching him. His lips tugged up on one side, and the look in his eyes was heated and predatory, but amusement glinted, too.
“I thought you didn't play.”
My words were a challenge, one that sobered him.
The smirk dropped, along with his boxers, and his cock sprung free from the constraints of the fabric. Desire hit me like a tidal wave as he ripped open the packet and pulled out the condom. He grabbed his long, hard cock in a firm grip and rolled on the protection.
I was never surer that a guy touching his own cock was the hottest fucking thing ever.
The second the condom was on fully, Hunter climbed back onto the bed over me and grabbed my hips. I half-laughed as he dragged me down to him, but he swallowed my giggle as he closed his mouth over mine.
He was inside me seconds later.
Blaire Drake is a pseudonym for a New York Times bestselling author who wanted to think outside her box and write the kind of things that would shock even them. She loves taboo romance and pushing boundaries in her work. She also enjoys long walks on the beach at sunset, as long as it’ll be follo
wed by a good, old-fashioned spanking right after.
DEAR PROFESSOR is her debut standalone novel, and her next book, PRETTY PORNSTAR, is also a standalone novel that promises to be equally as taboo and sexy.
You can connect with Blaire online at:
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