Page 151 of Chicago Sin
His cock throbs, the girth increases, and the heat intensifies.
The pleasure is so intense I can barely breathe. I’m being consumed. Consumed by his unending love. Is this solely my feelings, or am I also feeling his?
“Oh, Armando,” I moan, the ecstasy so intense it feels like pain.
He moves faster, his cock slamming into me with such fervor I cry out. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I can feel every ounce of raw, unadulterated emotion that courses through his body. It’s like I can feel every emotion he has ever felt in his lifetime.
I can feel every old wound he has suffered, every time someone he cared about hurt him, every time someone he trusted betrayed him. I can feel everything inside this man.
His fingers dig into the tender flesh of my hips, and he slams into me once more.
“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he declares as he pounds into me. His lips move to my neck, and he nips at my throat.
I feel every inch of him inside me, and I want nothing more than to relish this feeling. I know that this moment is fleeting, but I want it to stay with me. I’m falling into oblivion. I’m not sure what I’m falling into, but I know this is peaceful. This is how I want to forever feel in this world. Nothing can touch me. Nothing can hurt me. Nothing can make me feel this good.
My lips touch his, his body trembles against me, and I feel his soul in my soul. My legs begin to tremble, my toes curling as I scream out. I’m so close. So damn close.
“Oh Christ, now, Hannah—come now,” he shouts and plunges deep, filling me with his hot essence.
Because he does command my body, it responds immediately, the walls of my channel clenching and squeezing around his cock in the most satisfying—emotionally and physically—orgasm of my life.
Armando slows his rocking and showers kisses on my cheeks, eyelids, across the bridge of my nose. “I love you, beautiful girl.”
“I love you, too,” I croak, fighting my way back from the other galaxy where I’d been shot by my pleasure. I wrap my legs around his back and pull his hips in even tighter. “So much.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Armando
The scent of dirt, metal and blood hits my nose the minute I’m let into the warehouse.
It’s three in the goddamn morning. I had to leave Hannah in my bed for this, which nearly killed me. But the don called me himself and told me to get down here. And when the don calls, you come. No questions. No complaints.
He could’ve dragged it out and made Emilio sweat his judgment, but instead the don chose to mete out the punishment tonight.
There are two parts of me now. The dead part. And the part Hannah made feel. The dead part doesn’t give a shit what goes down tonight. Not if they bury Emilio at the bottom of Lake Michigan with a pair of cement shoes. Not even if they make me pull the trigger.
But the other part—the Hannah part—fuck. I can’t stomach it. Like it physically makes me ill to think of Emilio getting whacked. Gracie being widowed before she even gets married. Not having her big wedding.
I don’t like it.
It’s not that I forgive the guy. He hired a hit on me just to save his own ass after stealing my girl.
The thing is, Grace isn’t my girl anymore. Right now it feels like she never was. We were pretending. Going through the motions of what Made Men and their pretty, gold-digging girlfriends did.
I am in one of the don’s warehouses in Little Italy, not far from Garden of Eden.
Emilio’s curled up in the fetal position, bleeding and crying like a baby. The guys have already worked him over pretty good.
Everyone important is here. All the old-timers. Alex, Don G’s son-in-law. Marco and Leo.
Don Pachino glances my way and lifts his chin to summon me. I walk over like the scene means nothing to me.
Which is only half true.
I’ve seen enough violence to harden me to the sight of it. Hell, I perpetrated enough violence to make Emilio think I was going to kill him when I got out. So the sight of him bruised and bleeding does nothing to me.
But knowing he might die soon? That makes me itchy.
