Page 110 of Runaway in the Mafia
“Stop it.”
She didn’t. Instead, she lifted one leg and dropped it on the back of the sofa, and the other fell on the floor. I could clearly see the dark stain on the lace and, for the life of me, couldn’t get myself to look away. “Please stop.” I was not going to fuck her when she was drunk.
My cock disagreed. My control shook.
I forced my gaze to move up. She wasn’t even reading her damn book. It was, in fact, held upside down. It had taken me that long to even figure that out. I squeezed my eyes shut. Hers were unrelenting. Needy as she stroked inside from bottom to top. Top to bottom. “Ahana, this is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“Oh, fuck me then,” she moaned.
“No.” I had more control than this.
She pushed two digits inside. Her groan grated on my aching cock. I was making it worse.Walk the fuck away. Go upstairs.She’d just follow me. But I couldn’t get myself to move. My fucking feet wouldn’t move. She let out a frustrated sigh. “This isn’t working.”
Thank fuck.
She pulled her fingers out. It glistened with her wetness. She yanked the lace down.
My control snapped.
“I agree.”
I stole her breath by yanking her hips off the sofa and smacking my mouth to her pussy. She was messy. I was worse. I lacked coordination. No control. Only animalistic instincts. She bucked and fumbled. It took me a hot minute to realise she was flipping my belt off. I swatted, her hand away. She pushed through and unzipped me.
“Ahana, I’m not going to—”
In one shift, she was on my lap, and my dick slipped inside. “Fuck.” I groaned and gripped her hips. My arms strained to keep her from bouncing. “Stop it,” I said, my voice a sharp whip.
She froze. Turned into ice right in front of me. Her eyes flat-lined out of any feeling. “Are you going to make me feel bad?” Her voice was tiny. Full of past insecurities.
My nails bit into her skin. “What do you mean?”
“For wanting sex. I shouldn’t want it.”
Jesus.I wanted to bring that fucker back so I could chainsaw him again into a thousand fucking pieces. “I love that you want me,mia ammaliatrice.”
“What does it really mean?”
I sighed. “There’s no direct translation for it.” She pouted. “Something between an enchantress and a witch.”
She cocked her head, slowly rolling her hips. “I love it.”
“It’s what Odysseus called Circe.”
“Yeah?”
I growled and gripped her hip. “Do you want to talk or fuck?”
“Fuck, please.”
And that’s what we did. At least that was something she wanted from me.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
VITALE
Two hours after I left home, I found myself walking back through the front door. Not because I didn’t have shit to do and tension to cool off. But because I’d driven back home in automatic gear. When I should have driven to my warehouse.
But since I was already there, I figured I might as well walk in. Check in on my wife. Make sure she took the Tachipirina I’d left next to her nightstand.
