Page 60 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
My moan deepens, mouth going slicker, sloppier, as I move faster on myself.
It’s all too much—his body, his voice, the need tearing through both of us.
And then I’m coming fast, hard, my hand still working between my thighs as my orgasm hits.
I gasp around him, a long, guttural sound vibrating through my throat.
The rhythm of my mouth stutters, but I don’t stop.
He feels me fall apart, hears it in the way I moan, sees it in my eyes.
“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I—fuck, I can’t?—”
He pulls back, out of my mouth, eyes wild, flushed from throat to chest.
He looks like he’s about to fall apart, like heneedsto.
Then he grabs me.
Not roughly, but with purpose.
With desperation.
Hauling me up into his arms, mouth crashing against mine in a messy, open kiss that tastes like heat and hunger and everything he’s been holding back.
What remains of my clothes come undone.
He turns us, bodies colliding with the table behind him, and lifts me onto it in one smooth, frantic motion.
The air between us is molten.
He doesn’t pause.
Doesn’t ask.
His eyes meet mine just long enough to make sure I’m still with him.
Then he pushes inside.
The stretch, the sudden fullness, the sharp snap of heat steals my breath, my thoughts, everything but the feel ofhim.
His mouth finds my neck, my shoulder, biting down on a curse as he buries himself deep.
He’s not slow now.
There’s nothing careful about this.
Every thrust is a surrender and a demand all at once.
My nails dig into his back, his hips slam into mine, and the rhythm is wild, unstoppable, like he’s trying to disappear inside me.
Like heneedsto.
He growls my name like it hurts to say it, like it saves him.
Each time he drives into me, I feel the force of everything he’s held back, all the softness turned sharp, all the patience snapped like a wire pulled too tight.
The sounds are filthy, skin on skin, the wet slap of our bodies meeting, my moans catching with every thrust.
