Page 62 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
When he removes my bra, his eyes darken with appreciation. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, lowering his head to kiss the newly exposed skin. His mouth closes over my nipple, and I gasp, arching into the sensation.
“Do you like this?”
“Yes,” I manage, my fingers threading through his hair.
He takes his time, like he’s mapping out my body.
Each touch, each kiss is deliberate.
When his hand slides beneath the waistband of my jeans, he pauses again.
“You sure?”
I nod frantically, beyond words now.
His fingers find me wet and ready, and the growl of satisfaction that rumbles from his chest makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced.
“You’re so fucking wet. Just for me.” His fingers move in slow circles that make my body hum. “Say it, Isabella. You’re wet just for me.”
I can barely think, let alone articulate words.
“Say it.” He moves down my body, his shoulders settling between my thighs. “Say it or I stop.”
Oh, God. I’ll die if he stops. “I’m… wet…”
“Just for me.”
“Just for you.”
Then oh, my God.
His mouth is on me… down there… and it’s like nothing I could have imagined.
He licks and sucks and my body goes wild, rocking and trembling as pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter.
And then it all comes apart. It’s like a bomb detonates inside me. My breath catches. My body goes taut. Pleasure floods through me.
“Mmm… You taste delicious,” he says, still licking and lapping at me. I feel completely spent. Done. It’s a disappointment because I wanted to experience it all. The feel of him inside me.
As I lie in his bed boneless, he kisses my stomach as his finger slides inside me. “Let’s see if you’re ready.”
Wait. He’s not done?
He uses one finger, then two, moving them in and out of me. I can’t believe it when my body starts to hum again. When pressure builds again. And then he stops.
I whimper as he moves away, but then I see him undressing. God, he’s like a marble statue carved by Michaelangelo himself.
Sculpted chest and abs. Strong arms and hands. And his penis…
Good Lord, will it fit?
When he’s naked, he positions himself above me. He looks down on me with concern. “You can’t un-ring this bell, Isabella.”
I’m terrified, but desire outweighs it. “Don’t stop.”
“This might hurt,” he warns, pressing against my entrance. “We'll go slow.”
The initial discomfort as he enters me is brief, overshadowed by the fullness, the connection, the way he watches my face with such intensity, checking for any sign of pain.
