Page 60 of Princess of the Mafia

He sucked the tender skin on my neck. How did he have the willpower? I didn’t know shit about sex, but I knew he couldn’t get any harder than he was on my back. Right?

“What do you call me?”

“Ugh….” Confusion marred me. “Lorenzo?” I mumbled. Please let it be the right answer.

“Good enough for now, Principessa but one day, you’re going to call me something else.”

I had no idea what he meant, but it evaporated from my mind the moment his thick fingers slipped inside me. My eyes flew open when he yanked my hair again. “Eyes on me.”

If it wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever known. He fucked me slowly. He fucked me rough. His calloused fingers went in and out of me as the sound of wet slickness pounded in my pulse. His hot gaze scorched me. Like I was the be-all and end-all of his world. Like he’d burn the whole damn world to satisfy a silly whim of mine. His eyes burned hot on the edges, and his face colored dark. And when I came, I came hard, shaking against the cold marble on the front and the hot lava on my back. He caught me when I flew off and brought me down slowly with a soft kiss on my lips like I was something precious that he’d never let go of. Dreams I’d thought before. They were only dreams. Because, in reality, made men were never so nice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LORENZO

Jesus. I was going to explode in a fucking ball of hot cum, and she was the damn reason for it. The air clung hot and clammy onto my skin. The sound of her soft moans riddled my skin like a thin sheet of fabric slithering along my veins. The feel of her on my fingers. She was so fucking tight. I swallowed tightly to the memory of her hot slickness on my fingers. It was like fine-grit sandpaper on a pool of hot honey.

My gaze caught on the metallic reflection of the kitchen cupboards. The urge to wrench her dress to shreds and fuck her against the kitchen island was so strong that a hiss spilled out through my gritted teeth.

She stilled in between my thighs. Subtly she pulled herself away from me. A mere inch away, except I’d notice the crack between our bodies any day. Smart girl. She realized she had a fucking monster on her back.

Blood boiled under my skin, and my pulse throbbed in my head. I couldn’t think straight. I’d never gone this long without sex, and fuck if it didn’t hurt to have a constant hard-on rubbing the ridge of my stomach every time she let out a hot puff of air.

My gaze fell on my hands. Traitors. They were rubbing up and down her thighs, hoping to get some. But even my blood-fueled brain knew better. We’d be celebrating our golden wedding anniversary before she’d allow me to fuck her with my cock.

It was insanity. Insanity that made me want her to come to me. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t know how to. Good Sicilian girls were never taught how to seduce a man intentionally. So why did I want her to seduce me? To know she wanted me badly enough to put her upbringing to hell and come stand in front of me naked. Like she didn’t give a fuck what her Mamma had taught her.

A harsh laugh escaped me. I had wanted a fucking doll. One who’d be a puppet and nothing more. Now I am wishing for seduction? From my own wife? Stefano was fucking right. I was changing, and I didn’t care for it.

But it didn’t stop me from hoping. From catching her hip and whipping her around. From tracing my hands on her hips like I was a fucking accessory on her skin.

I waited. For something. Anything. A word. A gesture. A sudden wrenching of clothes and my wife begging me to fuck her.

The only thing that echoed in the room was my harsh breathing.

It was clear as day. I wasn’t getting any. My thoughts coasted to the idea of a hot shower and my dick between my hands. The next best thing. But I refused to give up. The next time I came, it was going to be inside her, even if it killed me. Jesus! My cock jerked. Thinking about it wasn’t helping me.

With a rough shake of my head, I pulled my hands off her soft skin and laid them on the cold marble worktop. The difference in texture furrowed my forehead. With a sigh, I pulled back and leaned on the barstool.

I hadn’t come out to finger fuck her. I’d come to ask her about her studies. But she was leaning on the kitchen island with that ridiculously short dress, and all logical thought had ridden out the window in a heartbeat.

“Have you decided?”

Confusion marred her face. Well, it was good to know that she wasn’t following any more logical thoughts than I was.

“Your studies, Principessa,” I muttered. Not about fucking. Unless you want to.

“Oh, I was thinking….” She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and chewed like her life depended on it. My fingers itched to pull that lip out and trace the dent with my tongue. My hands fisted by my side.

“Am I to guess what’s in that pretty head of yours?” I muttered darkly.

“I’d like to design homes.”

I frowned. “What’s that then? An interior designer?” I growled.

“Well, yes. Didn’t you have one do this up?” She nodded to the kitchen, distaste evident in her scowl.

I’d had one to do this. She’d followed me everywhere in the apartment, asking me what I would like and shit like that. I’d told her to do whatever she wanted. But she’d been in my bedroom. Alone with me. Like how my fucking wife planned to be with strange men.

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