Page 42 of Mafia Men Need Love Too
“Don’t stop!” she pleaded. “I’m so close.”
She needn’t have worried. He showed no signs of stopping.
He let out a string of words in Italian and just went at her harder and faster. The bed frame banged against the wall with every thrust, but she barely heard it over the sound of her broken cries and his harsh breathing.
When she finally did come again, it was so intense it bordered on painful. She might’ve blacked out. Her wail went on for so long her poor raw throat might never recover.
And still, he didn’t stop. He rode her hard through every last wave of her orgasm, demanding, “Again!”
“I can’t!”
“You will,” he growled.
To prove his point, he pulled out and flipped her onto her back. When he plunged back into her, he covered her breasts with his big, hot hands and squeezed. Hard.
She didn’t come, though. Not when he shifted one hand down to her clit. Not when he forced her to hang onto the headboard and kept fucking her like he was on the clock and the rent was due. Nope. She was too spent to come again.
Until he let go of her breast to circle her throat with that big hand of his. He leaned down so they were nose-to-nose and hissed, “I said again.”
All it took was a tiny flex of his hand on her throat to shock her into yet another mind-melting orgasm.
Jesus. Christ.
That’s when he finally let go. He buried his face between her breasts and came with a sexy growl that probably would’ve made her come again if she had a drop of fluid left in her body. Which she didn’t.
They stayed that way for what could’ve been hours or days, breathing hard, clinging to each other, sweat (and other fluids, ahem) drying on their skin.
He finally lifted his head, looking concerned. “You’re very quiet, fiorellino. I don’t like it.”
“That was just…intense.”
“Was I too rough?”
Well, if rough was what got her more orgasms in one night than she’d had in the past five years, she wasn’t about to complain. “You were perfect. Like, almost too perfect. I’m afraid it’ll all be downhill from here,” she teased, just to smooth out his furrowed brow.
His eyes darkened. “Care to wager on that?”
She squealed when he rolled her over and hoisted her up so that she straddled him. Oh, good grief. “I couldn’t possibly come?—”
How the hell was he hard again?? She moaned when he grabbed her hips and moved her up and down on his cock. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is come.”
She bit her lip, leaning up to grab the headboard for support. “Well, who am I to say no to such a generous offer?”
Chapter 24
The next two and a half weeks were a whirlwind of sex, great conversation that almost always ended in nudity, date nights that almost always ended in nudity, and lessons about the inner workings of the Italian mafia, which also almost always ended in nudity.
Nico had also started teaching her basic self-defense and Aikido techniques, should she ever get separated from her armed guards. Those lessons typically ended in nudity, too.
In other words, her naked ass had been on every flat surface (and a few of the not-so-flat ones) in Nico’s mansion. And the aviary, much to Feather’s discomfort. And the SUV, much to Enzo’s discomfort. And the alley outside the bar where they’d met, much to her discomfort. (Sex up against walls always looked so hot in movies and on television. In real life, you just ended up with the imprint of bricks on your back).
And she’d loved every minute of it.
As it turned out, despite what her ex had always told her, she was great at sex. Like, spectacular, even. Because all it took was a glance in Nico’s direction and one of his sleepy-eyed smiles and they fell on each other like wild animals, clothes and inhibitions flying. No one who was bad in bed could generate chemistry like that.
She’d also learned she was super helpful when it came to mafia business. Nico was a great leader, and his men (with the obvious exception of Ricky) followed his orders without question. She had no doubt they’d beg, steal, or kill for him. What he lacked was a business-minded person he could trust to organize daily operations and manage the finances.
That’s where River truly shined. After years of pinching pennies, clipping coupons, and transferring balances from one card to another to avoid penalties and interest just to make sure ends met, she was an expert at balancing the books and eliminating financial waste. Nico fired his accountant (a shifty little weasel named Frenchie who he’d never liked anyway but had kept on staff because he was too lazy to vet a new one) a day after River reviewed his holdings and found no less than a hundred thousand in savings without even trying very hard.
