Page 11 of His Mafia Lover

For a moment, he just stares at me, something fierce and determined hardening in his gaze. Then he surges forward, capturing my mouth in a kiss that sears me to the bone.

I groan, sinking into the heat of him, the demanding press of his lips and tongue. He tastes like whiskey and desire, like everything I've ever wanted and can never have. I walk him backwards until his legs hit the edge of my desk, my hands fisting in his hair, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss.

He moans, arching into me, his hands scrabbling at my shoulders, my back. I can feel the evidence of his arousal against my thigh, hot and hard and insistent. It inflames me, ignites a hunger I've never known, a need that threatens to devour me whole.

I tear my mouth from his, panting harshly against the racing pulse in his throat. "I'll ruin you," I rasp, my hands clenching convulsively on his hips. "I'll break you apart and put you back together in my image, until you don't know where you end and I begin."

"Yes," he hisses, his nails digging into my skin, branding me. "Ruin me, break me, make me yours. I want it all, Santino. I want everything you are, everything you're afraid to show the world."

With a growl, I claim his mouth again, pouring all my longing and desperation into the hot slide of lips and teeth and tongue. He meets me passion for passion, his hands tearing at my clothes, seeking skin. I shudder at the first press of his fingers, the rake of his nails down my back. It's too much and not enough, a wildfire consuming me from the inside out.

I strip him with ruthless efficiency, baring him to my hungry gaze. He's beautiful, all lean muscle and golden skin, his cock flushed and heavy against his stomach. I want to devour him, to brand my name into his skin until there's no part of him that doesn't bear my mark.

"On the desk," I command, my voice harsh and guttural. "I want you spread out for me, want to watch you come apart on my cock."

He scrambles to obey, his eyes black with need, his chest heaving. I take a moment to just look at him, to commit this sight to memory. The way the moonlight plays over his skin, the wanton sprawl of his limbs. The trust and desire shining in his gaze, bright enough to blind.

Then I'm on him, covering him with my body, aligning us from chest to hip. He gasps at the first hot slide of skin on skin, his head tipping back, his throat working. I latch onto the pulse point beneath his jaw, sucking a brutal mark into the tender flesh.

"Santino, please." His voice is wrecked, desperate. "Need you inside me, need to feel you."

I groan, the words igniting a fire in my blood. I reach blindly for the drawer where I keep the lube, finding it by touch. Then I'm slicking my fingers, pressing them to his entrance, feeling the tight furl of muscle quiver and yield beneath my touch.

He cries out as I breach him, his body clenching around the intrusion. I gentle him through it, murmuring praise and reassurance into the salt-damp skin of his throat. "That's it, baby," I rasp, working him open with slow, deep thrusts. "Let me in, let me feel you."

By the time I have three fingers buried inside him, he's writhing beneath me, his hips lifting to meet every press and retreat. "Enough," he pants, his eyes wild and desperate. "I'm ready, Santino. Fuck me, claim me, make me forget my own name."

I don't need to be told twice. I slick myself up and position the blunt head of my cock against his entrance, feeling the flutter of his body trying to draw me in. Then, with a slow, relentless push, I breach him, sinking into the tight, clutching heat of his body.

We both groan at the sensation, the feeling of being joined so intimately, so completely. I pause when I'm fully seated, giving him a moment to adjust, to breathe through the stretch and burn. Then, when he nods, I start to move.

It's slow at first, a deep, rolling rhythm that ignites sparks of pleasure with every thrust. But soon the heat is building, the need cresting like a wave, and I find myself driving into him with increasing urgency, chasing the release that coils hot and tight at the base of my spine.

"Touch yourself," I command, my voice rough with strain. "Want to feel you come around me, want to hear you scream my name."

He obeys with a whimper, his hand flying to his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. I can feel him tightening, can feel the telltale flutter of his impending orgasm. It spurs me on, makes me snap my hips harder, faster, until the room is filled with the obscene slap of skin on skin and the broken melody of his cries.

"Santino," he sobs, his back bowing, his body clenching like a vise around me. "Oh god, I'm gonna come, I can't hold on."

"Don't," I growl, biting down on the tender juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Let go for me, baby. Come for me, give me everything."

And he does, with a ragged scream that echoes off the walls, his release pulsing hot and wet between our straining bodies. The force of it, the unbearable tightness of his climax, is enough to send me hurtling over the edge after him, emptying myself deep inside him with a guttural cry of his name.

In the aftermath, as we lie tangled together on the sweat-damp surface of the desk, I can feel reality starting to seep back in, cold and unforgiving. The weight of what we've done, of what it means for him, for us, settles like a stone in my chest.

"Aaron," I start, my voice scraped raw. "We can't...this can't happen again."

He stiffens in my arms, pulling back to look at me with wounded eyes. "What? Santino, what are you talking about? I thought...I thought this meant something to you."

I close my eyes, hating myself for the pain I'm about to inflict. "It does. God, Aaron, it means everything. But that's why I have to let you go, why I have to end this before it's too late."

He sits up, his expression hardening. "Is this about my safety again? About your fucking martyr complex? Because I told you, Santino, I don't care about the risks. I want to be with you, whatever that means."

"You should care," I snap, anger rising to cover the ache in my chest. "You have no idea what you're asking, the kind of danger you'd be putting yourself in. My world...it's no place for someone like you."

He flinches like I've struck him, hurt and disbelief warring on his face. "Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I turn away, unable to bear the devastation in his gaze. "Someone good. Someone kind and caring, someone with a fucking conscience. You're too pure for the filth I walk in every day, Aaron. Too bright to be tainted by my darkness."

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