Page 81 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
One hand braces on his shoulder, the other guides him, the tip of his cock, pressing against my wet, swollen entrance.
I look down, watching the moment of contact, a shiver racking my entire body.
"Elisa," he breathes, his voice rough.
I sink down.
It's a slow, inexorable claiming.
An inch, then two, a breathless, stretching fullness that makes my head spin.
A low, guttural moan tears from my throat.
"Mmm... fuck, Nico." I take my time, lowering myself until I'm fully impaled, his hips cradled perfectly against mine, his length buried deep inside me.
I can feel every throbbing pulse of him.
I stay there for a long moment, my inner muscles fluttering around him, just feeling the profound, complete connection.
Then I begin to move.
My hips roll in a slow, grinding circle, a lazy, controlling rhythm.
I set the pace, rising up until just the head remains inside me, then sinking back down in a smooth, wet slide.
The sound is filthy, undeniable.
My nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
I throw my head back, my hair tickling the small of my back, my breasts swaying with the motion.
I'm all sensation—the friction, the depth, the sight of his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he lets me use him.
"You feel... so fucking good," I pant, my voice cracking.
But the beast I woke in him is no longer content to be ridden.
I see the change in his eyes a second before it happens.
The surrender is gone, replaced by a feral, dominant fire.
His hands, which had been lying limp, snap up to my hips, his grip like iron.
"My turn," he growls.
And he flips us.
The world spins in a dizzying whirl.
One moment I'm on top, in control.
The next, my back is pressed into the cool leather, and he's looming over me, his weight pinning me down.
His cock never leaves me, the sudden shift in angle making me cry out. "Ah!"
He doesn't give me a second to adjust.
He pulls out almost completely and then slams back into me with a force that steals the air from my lungs. "Ahh!"
