Her Mate Turns out to be the Mafia King

It has been three days since my husband claimed he left for a “business trip.” I don’t believe a word of it. Though he promised to be back before Christmas Eve, which is in three days.

I stare at myself in the mirror for the last time, wearing a long, navy-blue down coat that reaches my knees, the hood trimmed with soft faux fur. It is snowing outside. I draw a deep breath, trying to mask the sadness I can’t control. I have to be mentally ready for my Christmas charity.

Opening the door, I find him standing there. My new bodyguard. In his dark suit, stoic as ever—as if born for the job.

Months have passed since my husband hired him to protect me after my former bodyguard was shot. I feel terrible that he is in a coma for doing his job, protecting me from my husband’s enemy. My husband has lots of enemies. And dark secrets.

“Morning, Ma’am.”

His voice is rich, thick and impossibly smooth. I realize I’ve been holding my breath since seeing him standing outside my room. I had informed just him of my visit to the elderly home today.

He is so tall, handsome, quite young—maybe in his early thirties. He seemed all muscly beneath that suit. And to be honest, he is totally my type, someone I would definitely fuck if I wasn’t a faithful wife married to an ugly, fat, old, nonchalant man. Sometimes I wonder if this is a trap, if my husband hired him to test me, to see if I would stray.

His eyes watch me constantly and sometimes linger. The way he looks at me is so intense, it makes me ache in ways I’m not supposed to.

Maybe if I didn’t watch him so constantly too, even from a distance, I wouldn't feel so hot and achy. Our eyes seem to always find each other. I catch every subtle shift in his expression, every small movement as he stands on guard, and I'm always entranced by how he makes me feel.

He is everything I shouldn’t even think about wanting, yet I can’t stop.

“Ma’am?” His voice pulls me from my many thoughts.

I look away quickly, forcing a hard expression, embarrassed that I’ve been caught staring.

“Are you okay?” He sounds concerned… or maybe just professional.

I nod briefly and walk past him, my cheeks warm. He follows. The mansion is heavily guarded, but it feels like we’re alone.

My Christmas charity gala is later today at the elderly home. I visited the orphanage yesterday, and now I need to check on the gift preparations at my husband’s company.

The elevator doors slide open at his gesture, and I step in.

“Fifteenth floor,” I say once we’re both inside, watching his broad back as he presses the buttons. I imagine how that strong, muscular back would look when he's having a shower, and I bite my lip at the forbidden thought.

He turns toward me suddenly, and my thoughts immediately seize as he stands a short distance away, looking at me.

No, he isn’t looking. He is staring.

Like he heard those dirty thoughts of mine seconds ago.

“What?” I ask, trying to sound harsh, hoping he will stop staring at me with those deep blue eyes which was making me tense and the elevator to feel much smaller.

He doesn’t look away. A casual smile spreads across his handsome face, his first smile I have ever noticed. I didn’t notice his dimples before but here they are—charming.

“Nothing.” He finally looks away, biting back another smile, amused.

I scoff. Why is he amused? Do I look ridiculous?

“Do I look ridiculous?” I ask half-seriously, glancing down at my dress, almost checking my face with my phone.

He shakes his head, the motion barely noticeable as our eyes meet.

“You’re perfect.”

His whisper sends goosebumps racing across my skin, his unreadable expression intensifying the effect.

We hold each other’s gaze for a beat too long. My face burns. I probably look like a fool, smiling like a teenage girl being complimented by her high school crush.

Before I regain my composure, the elevator jolts to a stop.

Darkness envelops us.

“Don’t panic. It’s just a slight power outage. You’ll be fine,” he assures me.

I’m taken aback, but I don’t panic. I’m not scared either.

He’s here.

My hand reaches for my phone, but he already has his out, illuminating the small space as he stands closely in front of me.

The tension between us magnifies instantly, thick and electric, as my eyes drift to his lips. Those lips I always fantasize about.

Maybe it’s the closeness.

Maybe it’s the forbidden desire.

Maybe I’m simply tired of pretending.

Something reckless pushes me to grab the lapels of his jacket and kiss him.

It is brief at first, almost rushed, like I want to act before thinking of the consequences. My chest pounds hard as I listen to his uneven breaths.

Oh shit.

I just kissed my bodyguard.

Oh my God.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his tone heavy and raw, like a man in heat.

I open my mouth to apologize, but he silences me with a kiss, his phone dropping to the elevator floor as both hands cup my face.

His kiss is deep and urgent, as if he has been starving for this moment. As if he has been waiting for my permission and I have finally given it to him.

His lips and tongue trace mine, exploring, demanding, igniting something primal in me. Too sinful. Too intimate.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, moaning as he places his hand at the back of my head and presses me against the elevator. His lips move down my neck, nipping and teasing.

Light floods the elevator as I feel his hands slide under my coat, grabbing my ass and caressing. And just when I think I can breathe, his lips find mine again, hungry and relentless.

This is no longer a kiss.

He is kiss-fucking me, if there's such a thing because it's what it feels like.

The more I crave him, the more I can’t get enough. He kisses me with a ferocity I’ve never known, making me dizzy with need.

My hands roam his back, gripping the hard muscles beneath his thick suit. Every motion is charged and deliberate. I am helpless under his touch.

My thighs instinctively wrap around him when he lifts me. Our bodies press together in a desperate dance of need. He sucks on my lower lip, nipping so hard. I moan and pull away briefly.

Our tongues tangle again, and my pussy grows wet and aching for him.

Then the elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

We both stop kissing abruptly, reality crashing back.

But it is already too late.

We are tangled in each other’s arms, breathing hard, staring at a figure standing outside the elevator.