Page 61 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
His name slips out of me between gasps, low and pleading.
His hand finds my breast, thumb flicking over my nipple as he drives into me.
I clench around him, and his rhythm stutters.
“Do that again,” he growls, and I do, tightening, pulsing around him, and his entire body shudders. My second orgasm builds fast, sharp and aching and close to the edge. “Come for me,” he whispers. “Let me feel you break again.”
That’s all it takes.
I shatter with a cry, body locking around him, back arching.
The pleasure rips through me in waves, fast and hot and endless.
I tremble under him, mouth open, unable to breathe, unable to think.
He thrusts through it, groaning as I clench and flutter around him, and then he’s right there with me, head tipping back, body seizing as he buries himself deep one last time.
“Fuck, Elisa…” he gasps, and then he’s coming, hot and hard inside me, hips jerking as he spills into the aftershock of my orgasm.
The world stays hazy for a while after it ends.
My body is trembling, not from cold, not from fear, just from too much of everything.
I can still taste him, still feel the echo of his breath against my skin.
He’s the first one to move.
His forehead finds my shoulder, the weight of it warm and heavy, his breath rough against my neck.
I rest a hand at the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair, slow and thoughtless.
We stay like that, half-standing, half-holding each other upright, until the world stops spinning.
When he pulls back, his eyes find mine in the dark.
The look there is raw—tired, wrecked, tender in a way that makes my throat ache.
He runs his hand down my arm, his thumb tracing the inside of my wrist where my pulse won’t quiet.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, but the air catches in my chest anyway.
He notices.
He always does.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then reaches for my coat on the floor and drapes it around my shoulders.
The lining is cool against my skin, the smell of him all over it.
It makes me want to laugh and cry at once.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
I do, and the world steadies a little.
My pulse evens out.
