I heard the sound of fabric rending. Hot breath fanned my bare sex, and an even hotter tongue licked up the length of my slit before ever so lightly circling my throbbing bean—like a predator toying with its prey.

Heaven have mercy.

My pelvis arched off the table and I grabbed fistfuls of Raul’s hair with both hands as his soft lips closed over my detonation button.

He sucked it into his mouth, and my whole upper body practically shot up off the table. When my shoulders crashed back down again, he was eating me in earnest, making rumbling, growling noises against my center as he rhythmically sucked at my clitoris.

Oh, God …

It sounded like a wild animal was feasting between my thighs. And somehow something about that was so hot and dirty. So utterly delicious.

I was strung so tightly already from the experience of swallowing his huge, gorgeous cock in public—surrounded by his super-built “manny convention” friends, no less—that my orgasm hit me hard and fast the moment he began fucking me with his fingers.

My head flew back over the edge of the small table, putting the taut, well-formed ass of a manny directly in my line of upside-down sight, just as the sounds of a woman screaming for her life assailed my ears.

Upside-down forms moved closer in a blur of motion. A large, masculine hand clamped over my mouth.

It wasn’t Raul’s.

When the woman’s screaming abruptly stopped, but the animalistic growling between my thighs vibrated to new heights against my overly sensitized clit, it clicked that I had been the one screaming.

I started coming all over again as more unfamiliar male hands fastened onto each of my biceps, securing my flailing upper body to the table. The stranger covering my mouth spoke hoarsely in my ear, telling me to be quiet and calm down.

Calm down?

Mid-orgasm?

Panic set in. At the same time … my arousal skyrocketed.

Raul was definitely in the mafia. They all were. These big, built “friends” of Raul’s weren’t international mannies at all.

And they were holding me down because all my squealing and freaking out was clearly causing Raul to wig out, I realized. The growling near my nether region had grown louder. Angrier.

Yet it also seemed as if Raul was freaking out because his men were touching me—judging by the harsh-sounding words now being exchanged in Portuguese over my head and vagina. His mouth had relinquished my nub to the cool club air; his fingers had ceased pumping. And despite everything else going on around me that I should’ve been more panicked over, a sad, involuntary whimper escaped the back of my throat at the loss.

“Ah, fuck, no—”

The stranger covering my mouth had an accent, I noted, seconds before I was stabbed in the inner thigh and his words faded to white noise amid the deafening ringing sound that permeated my ears.

My vision went black and my body completely rigid.

I’d been stabbed! And the pain was blinding.

How had I been stabbed? My brain function grew foggy as I attempted to process it, and my body quickly followed suit—a sense of lethargy pervading my system.

I’d been roofied and stabbed?

But … Raul had been right there—between my thighs. His huge manny-slash-mafia men had been surrounding me. How had they all failed to prevent me from getting stabbed and roofied right in front of them? It didn’t make sense.

Faintly, I heard the accented man talking in my ear. Saying nice things. Comforting things about me being fine. Safe. He was no longer covering my mouth but stroking my cheek, and my head was cradled against his shoulder.

I couldn’t get my eyes open; they were too heavy. I was too relaxed. But I told him I’d been stabbed and drugged, and that I needed to get to a hospital. My voice was so quiet I couldn’t hear it over the loud music of the club. He heard me, though, because he reassured me that I hadn’t been stabbed. “Just a love bite,” he said. “No drugs. No hospital. All better now.”

My thigh did feel better. Raul was sucking on it now. Healing the knife wound. Or … love bite. Whichever. He was making a satisfied groaning noise as he did it that was really sexy, too. The more I focused on it, the more turned on I became.

“Raul won’t hurt you,” the foreign manny-mafia-man holding my head said. “He just needed to calm down.”

Oh.

Right. That made perfect sense. Raul liked to bite people when he got anxious. I remembered it now—how he was orally fixated and that I’d decided earlier it must be his go-to PTSD response to bite people.

I’d overreacted. It was just a love bite.

A love bite on the thigh was hot.

As was the sensation of Raul’s fingers as they resumed moving inside of me, and the scent of so many big, powerful men surrounding me—the notion that multiple pairs of male eyes were possibly about to watch me orgasm again on a little metal table in a crowded nightclub.

It all felt so dangerous. Yet at the same time, the unseen men around me made me feel safe. I could pretend they really were international mannies entrusted with the care of special-needs children.

Or vicious criminals entrenched in the Brazilian mafia.

Either way, I’d later claim to have been suffering bite-induced PTSD hysteria myself for taking up a breathy chant of “fuck me, Raul” when his thumb began flicking my slippery clit.

Accent-manny groaned in my ear as my dress was shredded straight down the middle. And then I was wrenched away from his hold on my head altogether as my body slid forward, my hips were lifted off the table, and my spread legs were pulled up around Raul’s waist. The fat head of his cock pushed into me without further preamble, and as slick and turned on as I was, it was still an uncomfortably tight fit.

Hallelujah!

I always told my female patients that size didn’t matter, that it all came down to skill and the right chemistry. But it did. It so fucking did.

Raul’s fingers dug into my ass cheeks, raising me higher and holding me steady as he grunted and thrust forward, pushing deeper.

I gasped at the delicious burn, and my heavy eyelids flew open.

I might’ve been delirious with lust, and this public sex situation all kinds of twisted wrong, but I wasn’t about to miss the sight of Raul Caro, my best friend’s super-hot, totally off-limits older brother, former neighborhood manwhore, and despoiler of innocent babysitters—who was presently either a really important manny or a dangerous mob boss—as he rammed the length of that huge, infamous penis of his inside me for the first time.

I just didn’t count on his eyes glowing a shade other than brown back at me when I gazed up at him. Or on seeing two long, sharp canines extend farther than the rest of his front teeth as his lips pulled back and he growled down at me.

And I definitely didn’t expect him to sink those dagger teeth straight into my left tit as that legendary cock of his penetrated me to the hilt in one fast, fluid movement.