Page 104 of Mafia and Gold Digger

I sit up on my knees, watching him for just a moment. Taking in my feel of this man who’s usually so composed but right now is falling apart piece by piece.

He helps me strip him of his shirt and pants until he’s left standing in front of me in his boxer briefs.

God, this man. Lean muscle and hard angles make up every inch of him.

Holding my gaze, he takes himself out, tightening his fist around the base and giving himself a few languid pumps. I watch mesmerized as his stomach clenches.

“Keep looking at me like that, baby, and this is gonna be over real damn quick.”

I smirk at him. Because I like the power I have over him like this.

His other hand sinks into my hair at the base of my neck, and the other guides his dick toward my mouth. “Tongue out, baby.”

I do as I’m told, and I swirl the tip of my tongue against the head, tasting the salty tang there already.

He hisses, and his fingers in my hair tighten when I wrap my lips around the tip and suck gently. His hand moves deep into my hair. “Fuck, Em.”

The moan is low and loud. And just like that, I lose any ability to wait on his orders. Bracing my hands on the front of his thighs, I lean forward, taking him until he hits the back of my throat.

I swallow back the gag, trying to relax my throat, my eyes watering at the stretch.

A series of curses drip from his lips and echo around the room. His other hand sinks into my hair on the other side as I take over. My hand wraps around the base that doesn’t quite fit and moves it in rhythm with my mouth. I look up at him through my watery lashes, moaning around him.

His head falls back, the muscles in his stomach clench and flex, deep satisfying grunts fill the air as he drives his hips forward, nudging deeper and deeper. “So damn good, baby, so damn good. You’re fucking beautiful like this.”

His thrusts grow rougher, choppier, telling me just how close he’s getting. My hand drags up his thigh to cup his balls, and he’s a goner. “Hell, Em.” His hand tightens almost painfully in my hair, tugging at the strands as he spasms. I relax my throat and swallow everything he gives me, tears leaking from my eyes and my throat raw.

I suck down a deep breath as I wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb, licking it clean. “Was that enough of a good use of my mouth for you?” I tease.

His laugh is deep, spearing me in a way that makes me feel that flutter in my stomach. I’m not used to him looking at me like that. His eyes are dark and wild. God, does he look beautiful. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” Saint lifts my arms, pulling me back to my feet as he tugs my shirt from my body. “Off. Now.”

“So bossy.”

His fingers pop the button of my jeans as the fabric of my shirt puddles at my feet. He doesn’t waste any time pushing the material from me until I’m left standing in a pile of discarded clothing.

My entire body is thrumming with this frantic, untamed energy. His movements are so controlled, so slow and purposefully meant to torture me. His hands palm my breasts, fingers rolling my nipples as my body leans into him, brushing against him.

“Ask nicely and I’ll take care of that for you,” he murmurs into my ear. “And I’ll do it so good.”

I brush his hands from where they explore my curves, leaving that fire in their wake. I crawl to the middle of the bed, propping myself up against the pillows.

His knees drop to the mattress to follow, but I push my foot into his chest with a shake of my head.

He looks confused, his eyes narrowing as he moves forward. “Don’t play games, Emerald.”

“I thought you liked them?”

The growl that answers me makes me shiver. My fingers slip below the material of my thong, shimmying the fabric down my legs before tossing it at his chest. I can see the muscles in his jaw clench, that hungry predatory look filling his eyes.

His cock is already hard again. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I watch him pause when my legs spread wide, giving him a good look. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says in a hoarse voice.

I smirk, teasing myself while holding his gaze.

He moves from the bed toward his discarded pants. He bends, pulling out a condom. Tearing the packet, he rolls it onto himself and stalks toward me.

My mouth runs dry.

Crawling slowly toward me, he settles between my thighs and reaches for the pillow to my left. “Hips up,” he orders.

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