Page 145 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby
I press it against her, circling, the juice beginning to seep out, staining her skin a faint, purplish red.
Then I lean in and eat the cherry from her cunt.
My tongue laps up the sweet, tart juice, my mouth closing over her clit, sucking hard, the fruit pulp mixing with her own slickness.
The sensation is too much.
Her control shatters.
Her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.
She screams, a raw, uninhibited sound that echoes off the kitchen cabinets.
“NICO! FUCK!”
Her body convulses, her inner muscles clamping down rhythmically on my still-moving fingers, her release gushing over my hand.
I ride it out with her, lapping gently, drinking her in, until the last tremor subsides and she collapses back, panting, her body slick with sweat and honey and juice.
I rise to my feet, my own need a painful, throbbing ache.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my gaze burning into her.
She looks utterly debauched, sprawled on my kitchen counter amidst the breakfast debris, her skin marked and sticky, her eyes glazed with satiation.
I push my sweatpants down, my cock springing free, thick and angry.
I grip her hips, pulling her to the very edge of the counter.
“My turn,” I tell her, my voice thick with lust.
I don’t guide myself in.
I just thrust.
I sink into her wet, welcoming heat in one smooth, brutal motion.
She cries out, her nails digging into my forearms, her legs wrapping around my waist, locking me to her.
The fit is perfect, searing, impossibly tight.
I set a punishing rhythm from the start, my hips slamming into hers, the force of it shaking the counter.
The sounds are obscene—the wet, slapping cadence of our bodies, her choked-off moans, my own guttural grunts.
I fuck her like I’m trying to brand myself inside her, to carve out a space that is mine and mine alone.
I bend her back over the counter, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises.
I want to see her face.
I want to see every flicker of pleasure, every wince of overstimulation.
“This is what you get,” I snarl, driving into her, my pace relentless.
“This is what happens when you stay. You belong to me. Every fucking part of you.”
“Yes!” she sobs, her head thrashing from side to side. “Yours! All yours!”
