Page 83 of Claimed By the Possessive Mafia Prince
“I’m not saying I need to make you a mafia princess or that you have to pledge yourself to me or that we’re going to do some goddamn blood-brother-style ritual in a dark room. I’m just saying… don’t run from me.”
“This always had an expiry date.”
“It doesn’t have to. And even if it did, not tonight, Siena. Not now.”
He slides his hand down to my ass. If I were stronger, maybe I’d slap him and tell him to get away from me. I’d tell him he has no right to touch me like this after concealing such a dark truth.
But he makes me weak, disarms me in a way I never thought possible. I grip his side, feeling my fingernails bend.
He crashes his lips passionately against mine. My moan gives the pleasure away. He smirks through the kiss, laughs huskily. I moan again, pull myself tight against him, rocking my hips when I feel his solid manhood against me.
“We need to get back to the room,” he groans. “Right fucking now.”
“No.” I gasp. “Let’s just…”
I want him to say it.
“Here?” he moans.
I’m afraid that if we go back, I’ll come to my senses.
He looks intensely at me, and must see I’m serious.
Somehow, I laugh when he lifts me up. My legs wrap around him on instinct. He carries me deeper into the trees, into almost total darkness, then takes his shirt from me and lays it on the sand.
Still carrying me, he sits down so that I’m straddling him, his hands sliding over my ass as he rocks, grinding the solid outline of his thickness against me through our clothes.
We consume each other desperately, a kiss like we’re fighting for breath, like the more we kiss, the less we have to think.
When I twitch my hips, he sinks back and smooths his hands up my body, massaging my breasts through my shirt.
“Fuck, that’s hot.”
“You like when I ride you?” I prop my hands on his bare chest, feeling his thudding heartbeat through the hard sheet of muscle.
“You’re perfect.”
As I rock on top of him, even with our clothes separating us, I feel so sexy. Maybe the sexiest I’ve ever felt. My eyes adjust to the low light, and I see him looking at me like I’m all he’s ever wanted. He stares like nothing else matters.
And maybe, for now at least, it doesn’t.
He shudders as he slips his hands under my shirt, over my bare skin, his touch tickling and teasing as he smooths his hands under my bra and presses down on my bare breasts.
“Oh,fuck,” he growls, his dick twitching in his shorts.
I sit down heavily, grinding my core up and down his length through our clothes. My body is burning, fire clearing away the doubt.
He gently caresses my nipples. I push my hand against his through my shirt. Lying my hand atop his to make the contact closer.
“That feels…”
“Yeah?” he groans.
“Yeah, Dario. Oh…yes.”
He keeps massaging, then sits up to kiss me again. It’s like fuel to the heat of our passion, our mouths wide open, our tongues eager. Each caress relegates my concerns to a deep recess I don’t have to think about.
“I need you,” he groans. “So badly.”
