She Whispered That No Man Had Ever Touched Her, and the Coldest Mafia Boss in Chicago Did the One Thing She Never Expected

The kiss should have been explosive, desperate, a collision of two worlds crashing together.

Instead, it was agonizingly slow.

Adrian’s lips brushed against hers like a whisper of smoke. He gave her every opportunity to pull away, to remember the danger, to retreat behind her walls of control.

Nora didn’t retreat. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the soft dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Adrian groaned against her mouth, his arms wrapping around her waist, lifting her effortlessly against his frame. The sheer, terrifying power in his muscles was tempered by an exquisite, almost reverent gentleness. He kissed her with a hunger that had been starved for a decade, yet he moved with the precision of a man terrified of breaking something precious.

He carried her toward the expansive bedroom suite overlooking the glittering, snow-covered expanse of Chicago.

The city lights bled through the glass, painting them in shades of silver and amber. Adrian lowered her onto the vast, silk-sheeted bed, hovering over her like a dark guardian angel.

He peppered kisses down her jawline, along the sensitive curve of her neck, making her arch into his touch with a soft gasp.

His hand slid down her side, resting on the hip of her dress, sliding the zipper down with agonizing slowness.

Nora’s breath hitched. A sudden, unexpected wave of vulnerability washed over her. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt.

Adrian felt the tension in her muscles instantly. He stopped.

He pulled back, his dark eyes searching hers in the dim light, reading every micro-expression with terrifying clarity.

“Nora?” he asked, his voice rough with need, yet entirely controlled. “Talk to me.”

Nora stared up at him. The man who made bankers shake, the man rivals feared, was waiting for her permission.

“Adrian...” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

At 11:47 on a freezing November night, Nora Ellison stood barefoot in the penthouse of the most feared man in Chicago and told him the one truth she had never trusted another person enough to hear.

“I’ve never been touched.”