Page 8 of Paying the Mafia Don

He cups my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “No. There will be no more fucking.”

My breath releases in a rush. I’m relieved. I’m disappointed. I’m… I don’t know what I am. “I didn’t mind it.” Heat floods my face. “Some of it was…” I bite my lip. “Nice. I just didn’t appreciate being made to feel like a… Um…”

“I know.” He pulls my lip free and rubs it with his thumb. “It won’t happen again.” His eyes singe mine. “At least not like that. If you want soft, I’ll give you soft. You want it rough, I can do that as well. You want me to make you scream, I’ll make you scream.” He tips my chin up, and his jaw is tight with his resolve. “And all of it will be an improvement on… nice.”

“Better than nice?” I arch my brow doubtfully.

“Definitely. But here, let me show you…”

I can’t help wincing at the thought. “Now might not be the best time. I need to recover.”

“Fair enough. But there are more ways to bring you pleasure than penetration.” He leads me back to the bed. My body is too exhausted to protest. I’m emotionally spent, but the idea of being alone in my room with only my thoughts and the memory of our lovemaking is too much to bear.

“Lay on your stomach.”

When I hesitate, he arches a brow. “I can’t sleep like this. I’m too tired.”

“I’m not asking you to sleep.” I open my mouth to respond, but he silences me with a finger to my lips. “You trust me?”

“No.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “Let me make it better.”

Leo’s eyes flicker to the bed and back. I lay down on my stomach, and he gently pulls the blanket away. I suck in a breath when he takes away my only security and sits beside me. If it’s possible for a man to smell of new cars, old leather, and fine wine, then he does. He also smells of us. His scent reminds me of the wicked things he said and did to me, and my poor, battered pussy clenches. But not from fear. Anticipation. Wet, weepy anticipation. Because despite what I told him—it was already better than nice.

He picks up a bottle and pours some liquid on my back. Warming it with his hands before he starts with my neck and works his way down my back, kneading and caressing until I’m a puddle. The massage lasts an hour. He leaves no part of me untouched, unkneaded. Not my breasts, thighs, or the hungry juncture between them.

Part of me can’t believe I’m letting him do this. But it feels so good I don’t want to tell him to stop. “Hmm,” is all I can manage.

He lifts my head and places a pillow beneath it. “Comfortable?” I nod and close my eyes as I drift.

My eyes shoot back open when he lifts my leg over his shoulder, and his tongue tastes me with soft kisses and long licks. His tongue claims my vaj as he takes soul-stirring laps and licks. “You awake?”

“Mmm,” I mewl in a tone I don’t recognize.

“Good, I want you to watch me eat you.”

I don’t know what that means, but I’m not stupid enough to argue. His mouth is on me, and I moan. It’s so soft and hot and wet. His tongue flicks and whips until I’m riding his mouth and fingers. “Leo,” I beg. My hands clench his sheets. His mouth leaves me, and I almost scream.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” I cry. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

His mouth covers me, and he sucks my clit into his mouth.

“Oh!” I buck, but he pushes me down. I watch him, his dark head moving between my legs. I have one foot planted on the mattress and my other leg over his broad shoulder.

“You like it?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Then come for me.” He thrusts his fingers inside me, and I arch off the bed. I don’t want to come. I want this floating to go on forever. Need to ride every wave. But then he twists his fingers, and I crash. My body clamps down around him as a million sparks erupt. The sensation is so strong my head falls back, and I scream. I. Actually. Scream. I’ve never made that sound in my life. My entire body shakes with the aftershocks. My ears are ringing, and I’m gasping for air.

He pulls my limp body onto his and cradles me while I recover. “Nice?” He asks, and though I can’t see his face, I hear the smirk in his voice.

I want to think of something snarky to say that will wipe the arrogance from his face. But I can’t. I’m too replete and satiated to offer even a faux complaint. So I settle for another, “Mhmm.” Which earns me a sharp tap on the ass. I grin to myself, and this time, when I close my eyes, I sleep.

Chapter 4

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