Page 304 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

I’d be ash by now.

Marchella’s nails lance the skin of my back, digging into my flesh, deeper and more frenzied as I lunge forward. Her body thrashes beneath me, soft cries slipping from her mouth.

And, my God, I love the fucking music drifting into the air around us.

Our bodies slap together, pebbled with sweat. Our limbs entwine, connected in a way that was never intended, but one in which our bodies were destined to find. I wrap my arms around her, smothering her cries with my hungry mouth. She clenches, dragging me deeper, farther into her, and I suddenly…and blissfully…become her prisoner.

And I don’t ever want to be released.

Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to handcuffs…

I thrust hard into her carnal abyss…once, twice, three times, and as she whimpers against my lips, I let go…of everything.

What I’m supposed to do, what I’m instructed to control, what I’m responsible for managing…I let it all go.

In this second, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of it.

I don’t want to think.

I only want to feel.

So I let the blaze rage through me, incinerating all of the objections and the criticisms.

Sparks ignite deep within my groin and I explode inside of her with a loud roar that I don’t bother to mask.

This is me, not giving a fuck about anything but the beauty writhing against my lust-soaked body.

My God, I’d wanted this so badly years ago.

And what I imagined doesn’t even come close to the salacious reality.

I’ll pay for it later, but right now?

I’m actually…good. Better than good.

I’m amazing, in a way I’ve never been before.

In a way I don’t ever want to lose.

I let out a deep breath, settling myself against her flushed skin. “Damn…”

She flings an arm over me, her dark hair tickling my chest as she shifts herself closer. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” I can say other words but they’re stuck in the back of my throat, along with all of the conflict.

Marchella rolls herself onto her elbow, her breaths short and sharp and her cheeks bright pink. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful, or alive, for that matter. “So, is this Stockholm Syndrome, but like, on steroids?”

I snicker. “I guess in some twisted way, it could be.”

“How does one cure themselves of this syndrome?” she whispers, trailing a finger down the front of my chest. A shiver zips through me and she giggles. “You’re ticklish?”

“Maybe…” I say, shuddering again as the tingles ripple across my skin.

That’s all she needs to hear. Suddenly, those devious fingers are digging around into every possible crevice they can find and I wiggle and twist to get out of their path.

“S-stop!” I croak, clutching myself. This really isn’t a good look for me, I know. But dammit, tickles are kind of my kryptonite.

Well, tickles and ego, if I’m being honest.

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