Page 31 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
She moans, louder now, no pride left in it, nothing but pleasure bordering on desperation.
"That’s it," I say, voice rough with the strain of holding back. "Give it to me. Show me how many times you can fall apart for me."
She’s falling.
I can feel it.
Her body tightens, legs shaking violently as she comes again, and this time it rips through her like a storm, her cry raw, broken, her cunt pulsing wildly around me as if she’s trying to keep me inside forever.
And it’s that—her breaking open like that—that undoes me.
I grab both hips and slam into her once, twice, and then I’m there, falling over the edge.
My release crashes through me with a groan torn from my chest, hips jerking as I empty into her in thick, pulsing waves, the tension finally giving way to a brutal, dizzying rush.
We stay like that, joined, shaking, breathing in tandem.
She collapses onto the desk, her back rising and falling in shallow pants.
I pull out slowly, watching the mess drip down her thighs.
Her body is a portrait of ruin and pride; flushed, trembling, but never bowing to anyone’s will.
5
GIANNA
The desk is cold beneath my cheek, and my thighs still tremble faintly from where he left me undone.
Soreness blooms low in my belly, a deep, tender ache threaded with something almost smug.
The kind of ache that reminds you of who you are.
Of what you survived.
Dante doesn’t speak at first.
He’s still behind me, adjusting his shirt slowly.
I can feel the heat of his gaze as it moves across my back, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around until I am good and ready.
When I finally do, my hair clings damply to my shoulders, my lips are swollen, and my legs still feel loose at the knees.
I smooth my outfit back into place, my spine straightening as I slide off the table and reach for the documents I printed before the meeting even began.
He chuckles under his breath, the sound low and amused, but I ignore him.
I pour myself another espresso and take a sip.
It is lukewarm now, but it grounds me.
The sugar coats my tongue, balancing the lingering taste of him in my mouth.
"I see you’re still focused," he says, voice slower now, satisfaction curling beneath the words.
I look at him over the rim of my cup.
"Did you think I wouldn’t be?"
