Page 100 of Broken Mafia Bride
I’ve always loved you.
It’s always been you.
It’ll always be you.
Nobody else could have ever done it for me. It’d have been useless to try to replace you.
You’re mine.
I’m yours.
Always.
Always.
She grasps the knot of my towel and yanks, the fabric unraveling and slipping down my legs. Our mouths attack each other’s like rabid animals—kissing, biting, so eager.
“Want you,” I growl against her neck, raking my teeth down the side of her skin.
She tosses her head back, gasping, her nails digging sharply into my biceps. I hope they’ll leave scars—some evidence that this isn’t merely a figment of my imagination, that after so long, I have Giulia again.
As if in sync, our hands go for her clothes, grabbing at the thick bathrobe she has on, undoing the belt, and pushing it off her shoulders. I have to break away from her for a moment to take her in.
She’s still as impossibly sexy as ever—sexier, in fact. She’s filled out a lot more since Chicago. She’s softer, her hips more rounded, her breasts fuller. My cock throbs at the sight of her, and when my gaze meets hers, I find her staring up at me with the slightest hesitation.
“Fuck, baby,” I groan. “I missed you so much.”
This time, she’s the one who reaches for me. We come together like stars colliding—hands touching, mouths tasting, exploring, rediscovering. I grab her by the hips and lift her onto the bathroom countertop, then step between her spread thighs.
My mouth goes on a journey, tasting every inch of her honeyed skin I can find—her collarbone, her shoulders, the topsof her breasts. I lick circles around her beaded nipples, and they tighten even more.
“Raff,” she groans, leaning back and watching with half-lidded eyes.
Then, to my surprise, she reaches for me, thumbing my nipple. Electricity shoots straight down to my core, and I bite out a curse. A small, satisfied smile curves her mouth, and she pinches them.
“Fuck,” I moan.
My body is a live wire, and she’s about to trip me. I know I’m not going to last—no matter how many times I count backward. Everything about her is driving me to the edge of insanity: her smell, her taste, her soft skin, the mischievous glint in her eyes, the way her body responds to me.
“I need you, baby.”
She swipes her tongue over her lower lip, her voice husky when she says. “Then have me.”
I waste no time positioning the head of my leaking cock at her entrance. I pause for a second—the last rational part of my brain reminding me about protection. But that thought evaporates the moment she wraps her legs around my hips and lets out a soft, needy sound, arching toward my length.
Without another thought—not that I’m capable of any—I roll my hips back and push into her.
She’s impossibly tight, but so fucking wet that I slide right in like butter. I’m shaking so hard with the effort of not blowing right that second as her walls grip me.
“Christ, baby.” I drop my head on her shoulders. “I’ve fantasized about this, about you, a million times since you disappeared, but the reality surpasses anything and everything.”
“I’ve fantasized about this too,” she confesses. “You don’t know how much.”
I chuckle. “I can guess.”
“Fuck me, Raff,” she pleads. “I need you.”
I slap my palms down on either side of her hips, bracing myself, and then I’m moving inside her. I roll my hips back, then plunge back into her.
