Page 93 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
The taste of her makes me wild.
She feels too good, and I’m too far gone.
Her muscles milk me with every pulse, her slick walls dragging against every inch of my cock like velvet soaked in heat.
I grind deep, again and again, hard enough to bruise her.
I watch her face.
Eyes glassy.
Mouth open.
Breasts bouncing with each thrust, shiny from my tongue, reddened where I bit down.
Her nails dig into my arms, her body softening beneath me, pliant now, spent and wide open for me to ruin.
And I do.
My balls tighten.
My vision narrows.
I slam in one last time and stay buried there, cock pulsing hard, spilling deep inside her with a groan that scrapes up from my chest.
My seed floods her, thick and hot, and I don’t stop grinding even after I’m spent, keeping her full, dragging every last drop into her until her belly is marked with the flush of it.
We collapse together, slick bodies tangled, her leg hitched around my waist and my hand still locked on her ass.
The room is thick with the scent of sweat, sex, salt, and the lingering heat of a fight that turned into something neither of us can name.
She’s the one who speaks first, voice hoarse and rough like she smoked a pack between moans.
"You’re an asshole."
I smile against her throat, too breathless to laugh.
"Takes one to know one."
We fall into silence.
Her leg is still hooked around my waist, her pulse steady beneath my lips as she drifts in and out of a light sleep.
Part of me wants to embrace this life and the contentment that comes with it, but I can’t compel my mind to quiet.
Closing my eyes, I breathe her in.
The walls of this room have seen more truth in one night than most men face in a lifetime.
And still, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not enough.
That no matter how tightly I hold her, how deeply I bury myself in this life we’ve built, something’s coming.
Something I won’t be able to fuck or fight my way out of.
17
DANTE
