One look at his curvy captive and this Mafia boss will risk it all. Even if it means toppling his own kingdom to the ground...
Rafe Valentino
A life in chains was the deal I made with my father to win my twin's freedom.
My soul is black with the things I've done to keep my promise.
I never regretted any of it until now. Until her.
Amalia Santiago's bravado and fierce defiance make me feel alive in a way I never expected.
I was never meant to fall for her.
I don't deserve to put my filthy hands all over her pristine body.
She's supposed to be my prisoner.
But now, she may be my downfall instead.
Amalia Santiago
When the devil came for my foster brother, I let him take me in his place.
I swore I'd find a way out of this mess for both of us.
Except Rafe Valentino wasn't supposed to have a heart...
And I wasn't supposed to fall for the ruthless crime boss.
So why do I come alive when he touches me?
Now, I'm one wrong move from destroying everything.
And nothing is what it seems.
How do I sacrifice the man I love to save my brother?
If you enjoy OTT possessive older men with a little bit of darkness in them and sassy, curvy heroines with heart, get ready to fall for Rafe and Amalia in this sweet and extra steamy romance. As always, Nichole Rose books come complete with a guaranteed HEA.
Rafe Valentino
A life in chains was the deal I made with my father to win my twin's freedom.
My soul is black with the things I've done to keep my promise.
I never regretted any of it until now. Until her.
Amalia Santiago's bravado and fierce defiance make me feel alive in a way I never expected.
I was never meant to fall for her.
I don't deserve to put my filthy hands all over her pristine body.
She's supposed to be my prisoner.
But now, she may be my downfall instead.
Amalia Santiago
When the devil came for my foster brother, I let him take me in his place.
I swore I'd find a way out of this mess for both of us.
Except Rafe Valentino wasn't supposed to have a heart...
And I wasn't supposed to fall for the ruthless crime boss.
So why do I come alive when he touches me?
Now, I'm one wrong move from destroying everything.
And nothing is what it seems.
How do I sacrifice the man I love to save my brother?
If you enjoy OTT possessive older men with a little bit of darkness in them and sassy, curvy heroines with heart, get ready to fall for Rafe and Amalia in this sweet and extra steamy romance. As always, Nichole Rose books come complete with a guaranteed HEA.
Excerpt:
Shaking, I climb to my feet and then step in front of Rafe. He leans back, looking up at me through dark lashes, every inch the king. But I see the cracks in his armor now, the thin spots where the steel isn't quite as thick. His nerves are raw, his shoulders tense.
I crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs.
His hands settle on my hips, his lips curving up at the corners. "What are you up to now, tigrotta?"
I desperately need him to make me his, but I don't say that.
"Well," I say, looping my arms around his neck and sliding down his thighs. I bite my lip, fighting back a moan at the glide of fabric and the thickness of his thighs against my bare skin. I'm still in a skirt. They're what I wear most days. I may be big, but the world can just deal with it. I refuse to hide behind baggy clothes and the weight of their shame. "I was thinking."
"About?" He slips his hands beneath my skirt, palming my ass. One fingertip skims along the band of my panties, teasing me.
"You gave me something I want," I murmur. "I should give you something you want."
"Yeah? I want you bouncing on my cock and screaming my name." He smirks, one brow arched. "Preferably with my hand around your pretty throat. I know how much you liked that this morning."
I moan quietly.
His smirk grows, his fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass. "Or maybe I'll take you face down so I can watch this ass bounce while I'm bottoming out in you. Tell me, Amalia, how hard do you think I can fuck you before you break?"
Not very. Not if he's going to use that wicked mouth and his filthy words.
"Depends," I say, leaning forward like I'm going to kiss him. I bring my mouth right up to his, until I feel his uneven breath pelting my lips. Something wholly wicked prompts me to flick my tongue out to touch his lip before I turn my head, denying him the kiss he silently demands. I kiss a trail along his jaw instead, slowly driving him crazy.
By the time I reach his ear, he's rigid and tense beneath me, his fingers gripping me hard enough to leave marks in my skin. I hope they do. I want a reminder of the moment I brought this man to his knees.
"On what?" he snarls.
"On how hard you want me to fight," I breathe before biting his neck. Hard.
He bellows my name like a bear, only he's not wounded. Not even close. I know that sound. I made the same one earlier today. It's ecstasy. This wicked, beautiful man likes it rough and dirty. And as it turns out, so do I.
It's freeing to know I'm not alone in this storm. That the maelstrom raging in my veins rages in his too. We're two imperfect people, but together, we're something that defies description. Yin and yang. Light and dark. We're polarity, the force that balances all things.
Maybe I'm supposed to be a frightened, quivering little virgin. But I'm not. In his arms, I'm powerful and safe. His darkness calls to the sexual, curious woman inside, the one eager to explore all those fantasies that make me ache with longing.
I want to yield to this man, give myself over to him, but I don't trust easily. He wants to possess me, to ruin me for anyone else, but this complicated man wants to worship me too. This—the way I fight him, the way he revels in it—isn't about consent. It's about submission.
I crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs.
His hands settle on my hips, his lips curving up at the corners. "What are you up to now, tigrotta?"
I desperately need him to make me his, but I don't say that.
"Well," I say, looping my arms around his neck and sliding down his thighs. I bite my lip, fighting back a moan at the glide of fabric and the thickness of his thighs against my bare skin. I'm still in a skirt. They're what I wear most days. I may be big, but the world can just deal with it. I refuse to hide behind baggy clothes and the weight of their shame. "I was thinking."
"About?" He slips his hands beneath my skirt, palming my ass. One fingertip skims along the band of my panties, teasing me.
"You gave me something I want," I murmur. "I should give you something you want."
"Yeah? I want you bouncing on my cock and screaming my name." He smirks, one brow arched. "Preferably with my hand around your pretty throat. I know how much you liked that this morning."
I moan quietly.
His smirk grows, his fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass. "Or maybe I'll take you face down so I can watch this ass bounce while I'm bottoming out in you. Tell me, Amalia, how hard do you think I can fuck you before you break?"
Not very. Not if he's going to use that wicked mouth and his filthy words.
"Depends," I say, leaning forward like I'm going to kiss him. I bring my mouth right up to his, until I feel his uneven breath pelting my lips. Something wholly wicked prompts me to flick my tongue out to touch his lip before I turn my head, denying him the kiss he silently demands. I kiss a trail along his jaw instead, slowly driving him crazy.
By the time I reach his ear, he's rigid and tense beneath me, his fingers gripping me hard enough to leave marks in my skin. I hope they do. I want a reminder of the moment I brought this man to his knees.
"On what?" he snarls.
"On how hard you want me to fight," I breathe before biting his neck. Hard.
He bellows my name like a bear, only he's not wounded. Not even close. I know that sound. I made the same one earlier today. It's ecstasy. This wicked, beautiful man likes it rough and dirty. And as it turns out, so do I.
It's freeing to know I'm not alone in this storm. That the maelstrom raging in my veins rages in his too. We're two imperfect people, but together, we're something that defies description. Yin and yang. Light and dark. We're polarity, the force that balances all things.
Maybe I'm supposed to be a frightened, quivering little virgin. But I'm not. In his arms, I'm powerful and safe. His darkness calls to the sexual, curious woman inside, the one eager to explore all those fantasies that make me ache with longing.
I want to yield to this man, give myself over to him, but I don't trust easily. He wants to possess me, to ruin me for anyone else, but this complicated man wants to worship me too. This—the way I fight him, the way he revels in it—isn't about consent. It's about submission.
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