Page 18 of The Mob Boss's Bride
"It's not." I bite down lightly, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. "They all see what I see. How fucking beautiful you are. How sweet." My hand slides up her thigh, bunching her dress. "But they can't have you. No one touches what's mine."
"I didn't—I wouldn't—" She's breathless now, her protests weakening as my fingers find her through the thin silk of her panties.
"I know." I press harder, feeling her wetness. "Because you're mine. My wife. Say it."
Her head falls back against the wall, her eyes closing as pleasure overtakes her anger. "I'm yours."
"My what?" I tug her panties aside, sliding a finger into her heat.
"Your wife," she gasps, her hips moving against my hand. "Atlas, please?—"
The plea breaks something loose in me—the last thread of restraint. I spin her to face the wall, lift her dress to her waist. My hands are rough with need as I free myself, position myself at her entrance.
"Everyone out there is going to know exactly what happened when we come back," I growl against her ear. "They're going to see you, flushed and satisfied, and know that I fucked my wife backstage because I couldn't wait. Because you're mine."
I enter her with one hard thrust, swallowing her cry with my mouth on hers. She's wet, ready for me despite her protests, her body honest even when her words aren't.
"Mine," I grunt as I establish a punishing rhythm, one hand holding her hip, the other braced on the wall beside her head. "My wife. No one else touches you. No one else sees you like this."
"Atlas," she moans, pushing back against me, taking me deeper. "God, Atlas?—"
"Say it again," I demand, slowing my pace to torment her. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she gasps, desperation in her voice. "I belong to you. I'm your wife. Please, Atlas, don't stop?—"
I give her what she begs for, driving into her with renewed force. The sounds she makes—little gasps and moans that go straight to my cock—echo in the narrow hallway. Anyone passing would hear, would know exactly what we're doing.
Good. Let them know. Let them all know.
"Touch yourself," I command, needing to see her come, needing to know I've satisfied her. "Make yourself come on my cock, wife."
She obeys, one hand sliding between her legs as I continue to thrust into her. The sight of her pleasuring herself while I take her from behind nearly undoes me.
"That's it," I encourage, feeling her begin to tighten around me. "Let go. Show me who makes you feel this good."
"You," she cries, her body beginning to convulse around me. "Only you, Atlas, only—oh god?—"
She comes with a shudder that travels through her entire body, her inner muscles clenching around me in waves that drag me over the edge with her. I bury myself deep, my release hitting me with an intensity that whites out my vision for a moment.
For several heartbeats, we stay locked together, both panting, both trembling. My forehead rests against her shoulder, my arms now wrapped around her waist, supporting her.
"You're insane," she finally whispers, but there's no real anger in her voice. Only a breathless wonder.
I turn her in my arms, adjusting her dress back into place with surprisingly gentle hands. Her face is flushed, her hair slightly mussed, her lips swollen from my kisses. She looks thoroughly claimed. Thoroughly mine.
"Not insane," I correct, pressing a softer kiss to her mouth. "Just possessive of what's mine."
She shakes her head, but a small smile plays at her lips. "Most husbands don't drag their wives backstage for sex because someone talked to them."
"I'm not most husbands." I smooth her hair, tuck a strand behind her ear. "And you're not most wives."
Something shifts in her expression at that—something vulnerable and open that makes my chest feel too tight. Before I can analyze it, she rises on tiptoes and kisses me, soft and sweet.
"Take me home," she whispers against my lips. "Take me to bed properly."
The request—the word 'home' falling so naturally from her lips—does something to me. Something I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"Whatever my wife wants," I murmur, taking her hand.
