Corrupted Heart: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

Something amazing filters into my nose as I come downstairs after my bath. The clatter of metal against utensils, mixed with James Brown and the hiss of sautéing, drifts from the kitchen as I head down the hall. When I step in, my brows shoot up.

Woah.

Kratos mentioned this morning that he wanted to cook dinner for me.

“What, like a DATE?” dorky-ass me teased.

“Exactly,” he’d murmured back.

Then he bent me over the bathroom vanity, spanked my ass until it was hot and sizzling, and fucked me hard, making me watch myself come in the mirror in front of us.

So, yeah. Somewhere in there, I didn’t connect that “making us dinner tonight” really meant “cooking up a storm in the kitchen.”

I stand in the doorway, feeling a little heat tease over my skin as I eye him.

Shit.

Some men make dressing up look hot as hell, Kratos included. Other guys look super sexy in workout clothes or playing sports.

Also Kratos included.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever really taken a second to watch a man cook or move around the kitchen with surgical precision. And now I’m wishing I had before. Because holy wow.

It’s hot as fuck.

He’s in black jeans and a white t-shirt, a small towel slung over his shoulder and a chef’s apron tied around his waist, slung low on his hips. Behind him, various pans sizzle. The knife in his hand is a blur as he dices something with vicious efficiency on the kitchen island. And another hot little tingle teases through my core as I watch the blade glint and slice.

It probably shouldn’t be this sexy to watch a man wielding a lethal blade. But maybe it’s that I’ve got first-hand knowledge of other ways he’s good at using a knife.

He pauses, his eyes snapping to mine like he’s just realized I’m standing there. His gaze drags over me, and I shiver as the hungry glint ripples through them.

Okay, so, maybe that look is exactly the reason I chose this dress—a short, flirty, Latin-inspired thing, in black. The halter neck ties at the back, the hem is cut on a sharp angle, slicing diagonally up from mid-calf on one side almost all the way to my hip on the other. I don’t need a bra under it. Coupled with the heels, I already feel hot.

But when he looks at me like he wants to devour me like this, I feel downright scorching.

“You like?” I grin, twirling a little.

Kratos says nothing. But his jaw grinds, his eyes flashing pure lust as he drinks me in.

“You said you were cooking Spanish tonight.”

“And you certainly did bring the spice,” he growls quietly.

I blush as I step into the kitchen. My teeth rake over my bottom lip as I survey the scene in front of me.

“You…seriously cook.” I laugh, shocked at the array of dishes being prepped. “I mean, I knew you cooked, but…”

“You thought I was bad at it.”

I giggle again. “No. I’ve just never had your cooking.”

“Tonight, that changes.”

I shiver as his hand slides over my hip, spinning me a little before he leans down to kiss me. When he pulls away, he turns to flip something sautéing on the stove that smells like shrimp. Then he reaches over to the speaker on the counter. He switches from James Brown to a sultry, Latin tango before he turns back to the stove again.

“I do love listening to James Brown when I cook,” he murmurs over the sizzle on the stovetop. “But if we’re doing a theme tonight…”

I grin, watching him flip, and turn, and dice. My hips begin to sway with the slow thud of the music. My eyes drift shut as I start to dance. I can sense his gaze on me.

My eyes fly open, and blush deeply when I see Kratos leaning against the counter, eying me with a dark, hungry look.

“What?” I blush, biting my lip.

“You,” he growls.

“And here you thought ballet dancers could only pirouette in tutus?”

He grins. “Never once crossed my mind.”

I flush as our eyes lock.

“You’ve never seen me dance before, have you?”

“Yes, I have.”

I roll my eyes. “When?”

He lifts a shoulder. “All the time, actually.”

My brow furrows. “No, you haven’t⁠—”

“I watch you dance almost every day.”

Something tightens in my chest and my pulse beats a little quicker, a little hotter.

“What?”

He shrugs, turning back to the stove with his tongs. “You’re very good.”

My skin heats as I watch him scrape sliced steak from a cutting board and into a pan full of spices and onions.

“You…really watch me?”

“Yup,” he says without hesitation, stirring the meat. “All the time.”

My bottom lip retreats between my teeth. “What, like, from the shadows?”

“Bingo.”

I simmer.

“Stalker,” I tease.

Then I’m gasping as Kratos whirls. His hand grabs my hip, yanking me to his huge body as his gaze locks on mine.

“Now now, babygirl,” he murmurs quietly. “Let’s not pretend that the idea of me stalking you doesn’t make you wet.”

Fuck.

Heat throbs in my core. My skin is on fire as his fingers dig into the flesh of my hip. The heat of the kitchen melts over me as the tango music purrs sensually in my ears. Kratos’ hips begin to sway. He drops the tongs onto the counter by the stove, putting both hands on my hips before one slides possessively to the small of my back.

Then we start to dance.

It’s slow and teasing. Sensual and fierce. His eyes lock with mine, his strong hands gripping and twirling my body effortlessly as we dance around the kitchen. I gasp when he backs me up hard against the fridge, leaning down close, ready to either kiss me or devour me. But before he even makes contact, he’s pulling away and dancing us slowly around the kitchen again.

“You know how to tango?” I smile incredulously.

He smirks. “Apparently so.”

“How?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I took lessons with Ya-ya a while back.”

“You…learned to tango with your grandmother?”

“It was a birthday present, and she was really stoked about it,” he grunts with a wry smile. “Chill.”

I giggle, then gasp as he spins me and pulls me into his arms.

“They really do think of you as such a good boy, don’t they?”

His lips curl. “Indeed. Got ’em all fooled.”

“You don’t fool me,” I breathe.

“Good. Now, please, let’s not talk about my grandmother anymore.”

I shiver as he spins us around, dipping me low and then bringing me back up again. His arm muscles ripple and bulge at the arms of his t-shirt, his veined forearms cording as he turns us once more.

Our bodies are pressed hotly together, facing each other, my nipples dragging electrically against his chest through his shirt and my dress. My thighs feel slick, and my pulse roars as we dance body-to-body to the sensual tango music.

Kratos’ hands tighten around me even more. Our faces move closer together.

The fucking kitchen timer goes off.

I bite back a groan of sexual frustration as he pulls away with a smirk. “Dinner’s ready.”

The back yard isn’t finished or fully landscaped yet. But it’s gorgeous outside, and I seriously couldn’t care less that all the bluestone pavers aren’t down, or that not all the plants are in.

There’s a small café table outside and two chairs. Add in food, wine, and him?

That’s all I need.

Also, it turns out Kratos isn’t just good at making cooking look sexy: he’s also an insanely talented chef. We eat course after course of regional Spanish cuisine, from gambas al ajillo, boquerones, and albondigas to a a truly delicious steak and seafood paella, all paired with appropriate wines.

It might be the best date of my entire life.

It’s dark out by the time we’re done with dinner. And I’m laughing, full, and well past “buzzed” and into “drunk”. Which is obviously, I decide, the perfect time to segue into tequila.

Straight from the bottle.

Kratos arches a quizzical brow at me as I come sauntering back out of the house into the yard carrying a bottle of añejo.

“Gonna be that kind of night, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” I grin.

“Well, in that case…” He turns and cranks the volume on the outside speaker. Sultry tango music filters in to the back yard and I pull the cap off, my eyes fixed on Kratos’ amused ones as I take a sip straight from the bottle.

I sidle over to him, passing him the tequila as my hips begin to sway to the music. Kratos’ eyes stay on me as he takes a heavy sip, keeping the bottle in his hand. A soft, warm rain begins to sprinkle down. But it’s still gorgeous out, I’m not ready to go in yet, and it’s not heavy.

So I keep dancing, slowly swaying my hips and raising my arms as my fingers push through my hair.

“I want to watch you dance some more,” he rumbles quietly.

I twist, glancing at him over my bare shoulder as my hips undulate.

“Yeah?”

There’s something dangerous and primal in his gaze. A dark hunger that gets my blood pumping hot and my thighs clenching. I can feel my nipples pebble and tighten under the dress as my teeth rake over my lip.

“Yeah. Dance for me, babygirl.”

An erotic, sultry heat pulses deep in me as I keep dancing and swaying my hips. My eyes close, my fingers shoving slowly through my hair before my hands glide down my body.

I know how to do almost any style of dance, and I know how to move my body. But this is a first. Maybe I’ve danced like this in a club full of other people. But I’ve never done it in front of someone.

Never done it in front of a man who’s looking at me like he wants to lick me from the inside out and then swallow me whole.

I turn again, swaying my hips to the music as my eyes zone in on his. Kratos takes another pull of tequila, his gaze still roving hungrily over my body. I dance closer to him, reaching for the bottle, then gasp quietly when he roughly grabs my wrist and yanks me into his lap.

The rain begins to fall a little more heavily. But the drops are warm, and the feel of them teasing lightly over my skin and soaking my dress is a turn on. I take the tequila from his hand, taking a slow sip and whimpering softly when his mouth finds my neck.

His lips fasten on the soft skin there. I gasp sharply at the pierce of his teeth. I take another sip of tequila. This time, I don’t swallow. I let it trickle out of my mouth, trailing down my chin to my neck. Kratos’ growl rumbles against my jugular as he licks the tequila from my skin, his fingers tightening on my hips.

Suddenly, his hands are gliding up my back. He tugs the tie behind my neck, letting the top of my dress tumble down between us and my breasts spill free.

He growls quietly as he dips his head. His eyes lock with mine as he wraps his lips around one tight, pink, puckered nipple. I squeal as he bites down, viciously tugging and twisting the little bud between his teeth as I moan with desire. I take another sip, again letting the tequila dribble down my chin and onto my chest for him to lap up as my hips grind on his lap.

We’re both panting as he suddenly slides his hands under my dress. I moan when I feel him yank his jeans open, and when I feel the huge thickness of his fat cock throbbing against my thigh, my breath catches.

His thick fingers yank my thong aside. He centers his swollen head at my eager, dripping wet lips. One hand wraps around my throat, the other gripping my hip. And in one thrust, he rams up, burying his cock inside my tight wetness in one brutal stroke.

“Fuuuuck,” I groan, simmering with pleasure at the feel of him impaling me on his dick.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how big he is. But I love that. I love that it feels like he’s sliding into me for the first time, every time.

I cry out as he lifts me up and yanks me back down, squeezing his fat dick into my swollen little pussy as my eyes roll back in bliss.

Maybe it’s the masochist in me: the need for a little pain. For a little sour with the sweet.

The way I crave the Heaven and the Hell of him equally.

I just know I’ll never not want this. I’ll never want anything but this.

Kratos’ hands are everywhere: squeezing around my throat, slapping my ass. Gripping my hips and mauling my breasts as his teeth rake down my jawline and my neck. My arms wrap tight around him, my hands gripping the back of his hair as I throw my head back, feeling the warm rain and the tequila heat wash over us both.

He rips his shirt off, and I shiver at the electric feel of my nipples dragging against his bare chest. His fingers dig into me as he grabs the bottle of tequila and takes a sip. Then he’s kissing me hard, letting the añejo swirl and dance from his tongue to mine as I ride his big dick and bounce in his muscled lap.

The rain comes down harder. The sultry music surrounds us. The wet slipperiness of skin against skin and the slick squeeze of my pussy around his length drives us higher and higher as I squeal for more.

His finger drags down the cleft of my ass, pushing against my tight little back hole. My eyes flare, an erotic electricity coursing through my system as he teases me and slowly pushes his thick finger inside.

I grab him, kissing him hard and screaming into his mouth as I start to come undone, riding him for all I can. Kratos groans into my mouth, fucking up into me hard and ruthlessly, without mercy. His hand roughly pinches my nipple before sliding up to grip my throat tightly.

“Good girl.”

With another wail, I’m coming, and I’m coming hard. I can feel my entire body spasm and tighten, my pussy clenching and rippling up and down the thick length of him as he swells even bigger inside me. His hand roughly grips my chin, his thumb and forefinger pinching my lip and yanking my mouth to his as he kisses me deeply.

He groans into my lips as hot ropes of his cum spill deep inside me. I moan wildly and keep riding him, rolling my hips against him over and over until we both come apart.

We stay outside for so long I lose track of time. Just kissing as the rain comes down. Just holding each other as the world spins around us.

This is no longer a game of cat and mouse. It isn’t a game of tag anymore, either.

This might be the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my life.