Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Chapter 205

I can’t help myself, then, as I turn my face to Ivan, a tiny moan on my lips that he snatches away with his mouth on mine.

I kiss him without remembering to breathe, so hungry for him that I forget myself – hungry for his joy, his laughter, his ease and his jokes

the way he lets me escape the rest of my world and lose myself in him. Ivan’s mouth is hot against me as he wraps me in his arms, twisting his body and me with it so that I’m all tied up in him, his back now flat against the cushions and

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my chest pressed on top of his as I

take control of the kiss.

His hands feel like they’re everywhere, all over my body, and I want them there – and I slip my own hand beneath his shirt, feeling the flat stretch of his stomach, the ridge of the v of his muscles as they disappear into the top of his pants –

But suddenly I gasp, pulling away

remembering another stomach another stupid pair of pants –

I sit straight up, aghast, staring

down at Ivan.

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“Fay,” he says quietly, sitting

up, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I just stare at him, appalled at myself. How could I – Kent was –

“It’s all right,” Ivan whispers, putting out a tentative hand and brushing a curl of my hair behind my ear. “It’s okay. We don’t have to. Do you want to go inside?”

shaking my head, my

Ivan isn’t going to

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to. I realize that,

him.

real problem is that I…I don’t know what I want.

– the intensity

until

– I hadn’t

this, with Ivan…

is what I

more?

of me

broken

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want to have sex with

everyone –

terribly confused. “No,” I say, closing my eyes and letting myself rest.

Ivan responds instantly, leaning back against the cushions and looking at me with concern. He takes my hand and tugs on it, inviting me to come close and relax. I move to sit next to him, putting my head on his shoulder, knowing that he’ll let me take the

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long minute, Ivan reaching for two more beers from the bucket and handing me one.

that he’s… well, that

a little sigh. “Tell

he does. Ivan invents a long story for Rodrigo for me, of his childhood raised by panthers and his early years in the sands of the Sahara,

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head still pillowed on Ivan’s shoulder, I

lashes and invading my sleep. I rub my eyes, the early–morning air cold and dewy against

I look at