Sinners Condemned : An Enemies to Lovers Mafia Romance (Sinners Anonymous Book 2)
Sinners Condemned : Chapter 22

I BLINK. “WHAT?”
“So, show me,” he repeats, expressionless.

A chill drifts through me. Despite the planes of his face being completely devoid of humor, he can’t be serious. He wants me to strip for him?

Another game. Just like the one where he boxed me into the phone booth with his eclipse-like silhouette and silk-clad threats, this game is designed to make me squirm. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I straighten my spine and pin him with my best look of indifference.

“You’re eating.”

He inches down the window and frisbees the burger into the night.

I swallow. “Here?” He nods. “There’s no room.”

Wordlessly, he reaches down beside his seat and it whirs all the way back, creating a large space between his knees and the steering wheel. Large enough for me to shake my ass in. I let out a ragged breath, butterflies erupting in my stomach. Fuck, I wish made men drove Smart Cars or Mini Coopers.

“It’ll cost you.”

Again, he does nothing but stare at me. His hand slides in the pocket of his door, and then a brick of notes falls among my French fries with a dull thud. I stare down at the wedge of hundred-dollar bills, bundled together by an elastic band. Christ, there’s at least a grand there, much more than I’ve ever dreamt of earning in a night, let alone for one dance.

But this wouldn’t be just any dance, for any man.

Grinding my jaw, I roll back my shoulders and meet his gaze. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

The heater whirs. Wham! croons something about last Christmas on the radio. I slide my sweaty palms over the back of Raphael’s jacket and try not to pass the fuck out.

The rain hammers against the glass heavier than ever, but I’m sure my heartbeat is louder. Each thump inside my rib cage ripples like a sonic boom through my nervous system and creates a pulse in my clit.

I’d rather carve my eyes out than lose a game to Raphael Visconti, so I guess I have no choice but to call his bluff.

“Fine.” My admission slides from my mouth and blooms in the air between us. The click of my seat belt releasing reminds me there’s no going back now, unless Raphael admits he was joking. But something about the tension cracking off his body tells me that’s not going to happen. “No touching.”

As I dump my food and his jacket on the back seat and rise, I catch sight of his large hands curling into fists on his thighs. “I know how lap dances work, Penelope.”

Of course he does. This isn’t going to be his first lap dance, but that doesn’t stop hot jealousy from braiding with the knots in my stomach. Doesn’t stop me from accidentally stomping on his toe as I slide into the gap in front of him, either.

He lets out a hiss, and I feel it crackle up the length of my spine. Even drunk on the idea of peeling my damp clothes off for Raphael in such close proximity, I have the good sense to face the windshield. If I had to watch his gaze roam my body up close, I’m not sure I’d survive it.

Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, I turn the dial of the radio up with the other. “Gotta have something to dance to,” I mutter. As music fills the air, Raphael lets out a breath of amusement. I know why; Driving Home for Christmas isn’t exactly a hit at strip clubs.

Knowing I can’t delay it any longer, I focus on the steam misting up the windshield, and I slowly lower my body until the backs of my thighs rest on Raphael’s lap. Denim crackles against expensive wool as I shift my ass forward, to his knees, and arch my back.

Despite my trembling hands, my top slides over my head like melted butter. The thighs underneath mine tense, and the soft hiss that comes from Raphael’s direction makes my nipples tighten beneath my bra.

Spurred on by the heat of an impatient gaze on my back, I lift my ass off Raphael’s lap in a slow, sensual roll. Any reservation I had about looking at him gets swept away by a heady cocktail of lust and adrenaline, and suddenly, I need to see the expression cut onto his face.

I peer over my shoulder and when my gaze clashes with his, I forget to take my next breath. His jaw is tight and his body is rigid, like he doesn’t trust himself to move a muscle. The danger dancing in his eyes both thrills me and scares me at the same time; not a single trace of gentlemanly disposition exists within those irises. Not anymore.

Drawing a steadying breath, I don’t take my eyes off him as I slide my damp jeans over the curve of my hip. His gaze tracks my movements, all the way down to my ankles, and then climbs up the back of my thighs, trailing the strip of my black thong.

I kick my sneakers and pants among the pedals and lower myself back to his lap. Now, the front of his thighs graze against my bare skin, and the feeling of warm, soft fabric brushing over my most sensitive areas makes my mouth water and my lower belly shiver.

Holding onto the steering wheel, I arch my back and roll my ass into the direction of Raphael’s groin. The guttural tone of his grunt sends a shock of pleasure up to my clit. It’s so animalistic, so ungentlemanly, that I’m desperate to hear it again. So, I slide back even further, until the tip of his swollen dick brushes between the cheeks of my ass.

Fuck. He’s hard. Really fucking hard. The realization sends an electric thrill through my core and a warm, wet heat into the gusset of my panties. I’m going out of my mind. Heart picking up pace, I slide back and forward again, sliding higher up Raphael’s erection with every roll of my hip. I could drown in the sound of his ragged breathing; curl up against the hardness of his muscles.

A rough finger slides beneath my thong. The snap and sting of elastic meeting skin elicit a moan of my own.

“I knew your panties would be ridiculous,” he grunts.

Gasping, I tilt my head to the roof and let my lids flutter shut. ““I thought you’d had lap dances before? You should know you get fined for touching.”

A cool breeze whistles past my ear, and when I snap my eyes open, I see another brick of bills bounce off the windshield and skid across the dashboard.

Muscles shift underneath me, then a hot, ragged breath grazes my throat. “Turn around, Penelope.”

Too breathless to think of a witty comeback, I rise on shaky legs and turn to face him. This time, I’m not prepared for the way he’s looking at me. His stare is so intense it’s borderline violent. It burns as it trails up the seam of my thigh and over my lower stomach.

“Beautiful,” he mutters. It’s more to himself than me, but still, I shudder underneath the weight of it.

Raphael Visconti thinks I’m beautiful. Dizzy with a new wave of confidence, I grip the back of his headrest and slowly lower myself onto his lap. It doesn’t go to plan though; my foot rolls over my wayward sneaker and I fall backward against the steering wheel. I let out a little yelp when the horn sounds, but Raphael leans forward, catching me before I fall again.

Large hands with a hot, greedy touch slide behind my back to steady me. Black hair tickles my throat, and a chuckle works its way down my cleavage, making my nipples ache. Raphael’s dry joke vibrates against my collarbone, lighting every nerve ending in my body on fire. “I’m beginning to think I overpaid.”

“No refunds,” I whisper back, a smile twitching my lips as I roll my clit against his throbbing cock. Christ, he’s so warm and hard that I know I could get myself off with a lot less.

The dirtiest part of my brain races with possibilities, but the fingers sliding underneath the back band of my bra bring me back to earth.

Raphael looks up at me through dark lashes. “Take it off.”

“Costs extra.”

The snap as he drags his thumb out from underneath the band makes my back arch in pleasure. Jaw tight, his eyes run down the length of my throat and back up to my parted lips. “I’ll take it off.”

“That costs even more.”

There’s that animalistic groan again; my pussy clenches around it, and fuck, how I wish it was tangible. My fingers dig into the headrest, and raspy breaths tickle the planes of my chest. I shoot a half-lidded glare at the roof and feel a sudden weight in my lap.

I rake my teeth over my bottom lip to suppress a smile, familiar with the weight of his money now. “Not gonna cut it.”

Another thud, this one harder, lands on my stomach. I shake my head. “Not even close—”

My sass morphs into a gasp as Raphael’s thick fingers find purchase in the base of my hair and yank my head back. I open my mouth to protest, then something cold and smooth slides into it.

At first, I think it’s another playing card, but when I pull it out, I realize it’s a Black Amex.

My eyes clash with Raphael’s.

“Pin is four, eight, four, two,” he says quietly. He locks his fingers behind his head and leans back against the headrest. His gaze flashes like a warning sign. “Now, take it off.”

A numbness creeps over my body. I stand just enough to toss his card onto the passenger seat—like hell am I forgetting that pin number—and drop back onto his lap.

He stares at me expectantly. Three stuttered heartbeats pass before I muster up the courage to slide my bra off.

I throw it in his face, and when a lace cup slides off his chin, slow breath escapes his parted lips. Tension tightens the line of his shoulders as he rakes hungry eyes over my breasts. They grow heavier with every inch he covers; more sensitive with every flutter of his hot breath.

He cocks his head. Flexes his biceps as he readjusts his hands behind his head.

He nods. “Carry on.”

Pussy throbbing with awareness, I lean back and grip his knees as I rock my hips forward again, lighting a path of ecstasy along the hard plane of his thigh. Of course, I’d never grinded on a patron like this at the strip club. I’d rather have caught the plague than saunter into one of the VIP rooms and indulge in any of the…off-menu activities.

But Raphael isn’t a regular patron, and I’m no longer a stripper. Whatever this is, there’s no denying we have a thing. A highly flammable thing, and it’ll explode if we light a match to it.

Another hip roll brings out another moan from deep within me. Raphael’s eyes narrow, his jaw ticking in realization. “Are you wet, Penelope?”

Flustered, I nod.

His gaze slides down to where my thong meets his slacks. “Pull your panties to the side. Leave me with something to remember this by.”

I’m too high off the friction to argue. To flushed from the wet and the wanting. I slide my panties to the side and bask under the heat of his fascinated stare as I grind against his leg.

The pressure between my thighs builds and builds with every friction-filled glide, and with every brush of Rapahel’s bulge against the top of my clit.

“Fuck,” he whispers in my ear as I slide my hands between his bent elbows and lock my fingers behind his headrest in order to get a better position. “You’re really going to come on me?”

What type of fucking question is that? Maybe I’d be able to decipher the tone of it, if my pulse wasn’t thumping so loud in my ears; if my body wasn’t screaming with the need for release.

I’m hot, desperate, full of steam and depraved thoughts. In no fit state to answer his question, that’s for sure. But he gets his answer and all it takes is a flex of his thigh. Buckling under the unexpected movement beneath my clit I sink my teeth into Raphael’s bicep to ride the orgasm that licks through my body like a forest fire.

After a few, star-filled moments, my high settles around me like dust. I melt into his chest—a storm to his calm, fire to his ice—to catch my breath back.

Only when my semblance comes crawling back to me, do I realize he hasn’t moved. Hasn’t fucking breathed. With unease and the embers of embarrassment crawling up my throat, I push off him and warily meet his gaze.

It’s expressionless. The colors in it don’t shift, even as he hands me my bra. Even as he drops my top on my lap. I tug it on, heart pounding for a completely different reason now.

Nerves pinching my skin, I slip off him and drop into the passenger seat, awkwardly tugging on my jeans and sneakers.

He stares at me.

“What?” I whisper. I wish my question didn’t make me sound so vulnerable.

Wordlessly, he slips his blazer back over my thighs and turns his attention back to the sheet of rain on the windshield. The car comes to life, headlights casting a yellow glow beyond fragmented water, and a new, cheery Christmas song fills the car.

Throat growing thick, I stare at the glove box, unable to ignore how dread tugs at my heart like an anchor. I’ve been in a similar situation before—twice, actually. I’ve only slept with two men, and both managed to fool me. They laughed when I insulted them, leaned over dining tables and feigned interest when a few glasses of wine loosened my tongue and softened my defenses. Both times, I let them fuck me rough in the backs of their cars, and then never heard from either again.

And now here I am, sitting in silence, squirming in the passenger seat. It feels all too familiar.

But then a firm, hot hand slides under the blazer and rests on my thigh. I glance up at Raphael, but he’s focusing on the gap between the whooshing wipers, steering the car with the palm of his other hand.

“Strip for another man again, and he’ll die crossing the road.”

Warmth grazes one side of my face, and when I roll my head to chase the darkness, the scent of leather and man assaults my nostrils.

Ice and instinct course through my veins and I bolt upright. Through bleary eyes, I blink at the low sun through the windshield. We’re parked outside my apartment. It’s early; I can tell by the frost cloaking the Santas and the shop owners shivering as they wait for their automatic shutters to open.

I slept in Raphael’s car? Shit. I twist my aching head to find him sitting in the driver’s seat, replying to an email on his phone. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night—slacks and shirtsleeves. In the cold light of day, the ink shrouding his arms looks all too real. Sinister. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I whisper, smoothing a hand over my hair.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Wish I did, ‘cause you snore like a donkey.”

“No I don’t.”

He laughs easily, drops his phone in the cup holder, and pins me with a smooth smile. “You go that red over everything?” Before I can reply, he reaches out and runs a thumb down the indentation of my chin. “Relax. You fell asleep, and I thought if you got a good night’s rest, you might not be so shit at your job.”

He holds my gaze for a moment, before lunging over me and shoving open my door.

“Now, get out before I remove your adenoids with my bare hands.”

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