Page 22 of His Mafia Lover

And then I'm in his arms, Matteo sandwiched between us as Santino yanks me close, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that sears me to my soul. I pour everything I am, everything I feel into that kiss, all the love and longing and desperate, aching need. He meets me with equal fervor, his tongue delving deep, his hands clutching at my back, my hips, relearning the shape of me.

Dimly, I'm aware of our family surrounding us, their joyful voices rising in welcome. But in this moment, there is only Santino, only the heat of his body and the taste of his mouth, the pounding of his heart against mine.

"I love you," I gasp when we finally break apart, my forehead resting against his. "I love you so much, Santino. So much."

"I love you too," he rasps, his hands framing my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spill down my cheeks. "You're my everything, Aaron. You and Matteo, this family we've built...it's what kept me going, what gave me hope even in the darkest times."

I kiss him again, soft and sweet and brimming with promise. "It's over now, my love. You're home, you're free. And we're going to face whatever comes next together, as a family. Always."

Santino nods, his eyes shining with tears and a joy so fierce it steals my breath. He turns to embrace Gia and Marco, to shake Logan and Enzo's hands and thank them for being here, for supporting us.

But his hand never leaves mine, our fingers entwined in a grip that says "I'm here, I'm yours. And I'm never letting go again."

Later, much later, when the welcome home festivities have wound down and Matteo is tucked into bed, Santino and I find ourselves alone at last. We stand in the doorway of our bedroom, the air between us thick with tension, with anticipation, with three years worth of pent-up longing.

Here's the expanded section with more detail, dialogue, physical sensation, sensory description, setting details, positions, and high heat:

The bedroom is awash in the warm, honeyed glow of candlelight, the air heavy with the scent of sandalwood and musk. The bed is an inviting expanse of crisp, white sheets and plush pillows, the perfect altar for the reunion we've both been aching for.

Santino stands before me, his eyes molten pools of desire as they rake over my body, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Aaron," he rasps, his voice low and rough, sending shivers cascading down my spine. "I need...god, I need to touch you. Need to feel you, skin to skin. Please, amore mio. Let me worship you."

"Yes," I breathe, already reaching for him, my hands trembling with anticipation as they map the changed landscape of his body. I trace the new scars, the planes of whipcord muscle and warm, olive skin. "Yes, Santino. Anything, everything. I'm yours, always."

He surges forward, capturing my mouth in a kiss that sears me to my soul. His tongue delves deep, stroking and teasing, igniting a fire in my blood that threatens to consume me whole. I moan into the kiss, my hands fisting in his hair, holding him to me as if I could crawl inside his skin, merge us into one being.

We undress each other with desperate, fumbling hands, our mouths barely parting as we work the fabric free. Buttons scatter, zippers rasp, until finally, blessedly, we're bare before each other, skin to skin at last.

Santino walks me backward until the edge of the bed hits the backs of my knees. With a gentle push, he lays me out like an offering, his eyes dark and reverent as they drink in every inch of my exposed flesh.

"Look at you," he murmurs, trailing his fingertips down the column of my throat, over the furious pounding of my heart. Lower, mapping the ridges of my collarbones, the planes of my chest, the quivering muscles of my stomach. "So beautiful, Aaron. So perfect. I've dreamed of this moment, of having you spread out beneath me again. Of taking you apart with my hands and mouth and putting you back together, making you mine in every way."

"I am yours," I gasp as he follows the path of his fingers with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He paints a trail of fire down my body, nibbling at my nipples until I arch off the bed with a strangled cry. "Always, Santino. There's never been anyone else for me, never will be. Only you, only this."

He hums against my skin, the vibrations making me shudder and twist restlessly beneath him. "Gonna make this so good for you, baby," he promises, nuzzling into the crease of my thigh, his breath hot and damp against my aching cock. "Gonna worship this body like it deserves, until you're shaking and sobbing for me. Until the only word you remember is my name."

And then he swallows me down, takes my length into the slick, velvet heat of his mouth, and I see stars. My head slams back against the pillows, my hands flying to his hair, fisting in the thick, dark strands. He works me with lips and tongue and the barest hint of teeth, hollowing his cheeks and humming around me until I'm keening high in my throat, my body drawn taut as a bowstring.

"Santino," I babble, my hips making abortive little thrusts into the welcome pressure, chasing the heat, the friction. "Oh god, your mouth, it's so...fuck, I can't...I'm gonna..."

He pulls off with an obscene pop, his lips shiny and swollen, his eyes black and burning. "Not yet, amore. I'm nowhere near done with you."

He reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, slicking his fingers thoroughly. The first press of his finger against my entrance makes me gasp, my body clenching instinctively against the intrusion. But he soothes me with kisses and whispered endearments, working me open with patient, sure strokes until I'm rocking back against his hand, silently begging for more.

By the time he has three fingers buried deep, brushing that spot inside me that makes me see white, I'm a writhing, desperate mess. My skin is flushed and damp with sweat, my cock weeping steadily against my stomach, my thighs shaking with the effort of holding back my climax.

"Please," I moan, my nails biting into his shoulders, my heels digging into the bunched muscles of his lower back. "Santino, please, I need you. Need to feel you inside me, filling me up. Please, baby, fuck me."

He groans like I've punched him in the gut, his control shattering like spun glass. He withdraws his fingers, leaving me open and aching, only to replace them with the blunt, heavy pressure of his cock against my slick rim.

"Look at me," he commands roughly, one hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face to his. "I want to see your eyes, want to watch you fall apart on my cock. Ti amo, Aaron. So much, so fucking much."

And then he's pushing forward, breaching me in one long, relentless slide that punches the air from my lungs, that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. The stretch and burn of it is exquisite, overwhelming, a pleasure so acute it borders on pain.

He stills when he's fully sheathed, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants. I can feel him trembling above me, fighting for control, giving me time to adjust to the sheer size of him, the way he fills me up so completely.

"Move," I finally manage, my voice wrecked and raw. "Santino, please, I need...I need you to move."

He does, pulling out slow and sliding back in deep, setting a pace that's both tender and utterly devastating. He kisses me as he moves, swallowing my cries and moans, his tongue mimicking the thrust and drag of his cock in my body.

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