Page 95 of Runaway in the Mafia
His hand ran from my hip to the side of my breast. His skin was tanned. Lighter than mine. When his hand cupped my breast and squeezed, I almost combusted watching the vision in the reflection.
“Are you wet for me,mia ammaliatrice?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t respond. He didn’t expect me to. Suddenly, he shifted and sank to his knees. A large hand rolled the ivory lace to one side, and the other pushed my back to bend. Before my next breath, he’d stuck his head in between my legs.
I gasped. One hand flew to my mouth, and the other gripped the mirror in front. He gave me a hungry gaze before his lips found my core.
“Hey Bhagwan.”
He gave a soft lick. Traced the line from top to bottom. “Fucking sweet.” His rough whisper hit my clit. Then he went from zero to one hundred. Instantly. He French kissed my core like the beginning and end to all that existed. Heat spread fromhis lips to the rest of my body. My eyes dropped shut. My legs trembled, trying to hold on to my eight-inch heels and not sink to the floor. My arms strained from holding on to the mirror. My clit throbbed when he traced it. Then he took it in his mouth and sucked. I gritted my teeth and bit into my palm. I had long since closed my eyes. I couldn’t look. Couldn’t.No. I have to look.My eyes snapped open, and oh my god. Watching him completely dressed in his three-piece, dark head between my legs, devouring me… I snapped. Groaned into my palm and burst into a cluster mess of emotions. Need. Greed. Ecstasy. Heaven. Nirvana.
When I came to, I tasted copper on the inside of my mouth. My body was flushed, and my eyes were infused with lust. Behind me, his face appeared next to mine, his chin was wet, and his lips were thick. The fact that it was because he’d gone down on me made me quiver.
He left a trail of rough five o’clock scratches on my shoulder. “What do you say I send the priest home and fuck you all day?”
My breath halted. I wasn’t too far gone not to take the out to ease the burden in my chest. My vocal cords were dysfunctional. I worked my throat. But my words didn’t even spill before his expression thundered.
His eyes flashed, and a hand slammed into my mouth. “Don’t even fucking think about it. Just one fuck to get me through the day. Then you’re going to sign the papers that make you mine today.”
The room filled with the sound of his zipper going down. He pulled my hips to him, and his rubber-clad thickness touched my opening. I wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or that he just made me that wet, but he didn’t even have to push for his erection to slip an inch through my lips.
A knock on the door jerked my hips away from him. “Ahana, are you ready?”
My panicked glance caught his glare in the mirror.
He gripped my hips against him and slipped inside me. Entirely. I bit into my lip to stop myself from moaning. “You leave me hanging this time, I’m going to snap someone’s head off.”
“Ahana?” Divya’s voice rang out.
“Don’t even fucking think I’m joking,” he growled against my neck.
Wouldn’t I know it.
“We can’t keep everyone waiting,” I whispered.
“Try me,” he growled.
The door handle rattled. “Vitale will be coming soon.”
“Oh, Vitale is going to come soon.” He bit my neck.
I rolled my eyes and cleared my throat. “Just another ten minutes.”
Silence. Oh my God. My voice. Divya sure wasn’t an idiot. She knew what was happening. It was clear when she said, “Okay, ten minutes, Vitale.” And walked away.
“Kill me now,” I muttered.
“If it’s heaven, you want to see, I got you,mia ammaliatrice.” With that, he pounded into me, and somehow, somewhere, I decided it was better to see the heaven he showed me than the one I’d see one day.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
VITALE
Satisfaction hummed in my body. Pleasure coasted through my veins. My gaze followed her in a half-aroused state. She was a lamb put amid my devious family. But she handled it like a queen, with a smile on her face and praise falling from her lips.
They said beauty was in the beholder’s eye. Well, it looked like this party of made men only followed one eye line, and that was the path of my wife.My wife. Fuck.I knew the moment I met her that she was made to be mine. I’d had suits custom-made for me. Furniture down to the last hinge and little screws with my fucking initials. Hell, my entire house was tailor-made just for me. But nothing moulded so perfectly into place like she did. Like the ying to my yang. The lock to my key.
The only difference now was that the rest of the world had finally caught up. There was a fucking piece of paper to prove it and a ridiculous ceremony I couldn’t give a shit about to show it. If it were up to me, I would have put the gun to the mayor’s head in the town hall, and it would have been a done deal. Butthere was something to be said about my whole ass family and covetous cronies seeing her with me. I could get used to this. If I had known marriage was going to be this enticing, I would have tied her down the second she rocked up to me in her towel-clad body.
