Page 24 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

I want to scream, to tell him he’s wrong, but the truth is, he’s not. There’s something between us, something dark and twisted, but it’s there, undeniable. And Lucas knows exactly how to use it against me.

He doesn’t give me a chance to recover. His hands move with practiced ease, sliding under my borrowed suit jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. I don’t resist, too dazed and overwhelmed to fight back. His fingers trail over my skin, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and I feel myself melting under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck as he continues to undress me. “So perfect, and now you’re finally mine.”

I hate that his words send a thrill through me, that his touch makes my skin tingle with anticipation. I hate that despite everything, I still want him. But there’s no escaping it now. He’s broken through my defenses, and I’m too weak to resist.

16

EMILY

My skirt and panties are discarded in a hasty, urgent mess. I’m perched on his office chair, the leather cool against my bare skin, my breathing already ragged as I stare down at him.

His hands rest on my thighs, firm but gentle, spreading me open with a confident insistence that sends a jolt of anticipation through my veins.

The room feels smaller, the world reduced to the space between us and the electric pull of his touch. His fingers glide up my inner thighs, a slow, deliberate journey that makes me shiver.

I feel the heat of his breath, so close to where I need him most, and I can't help the whimper that escapes my lips.

He smirks, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his throat. “Patience,” he murmurs, his voice rich and teasing, sending another shiver down my spine. He leans in, his lips ghosting over my skin, barely there, as if savoring the anticipation as much as I am.

The softness of his mouth contrasts with the calloused touch of his fingers, creating a symphony of sensations that leaves me breathless.

His tongue makes the first contact, a light, teasing flick against my clit that makes my hips jerk involuntarily. I gasp, my fingers curling into the armrests of the chair, desperate for something to hold on to.

He doesn’t give me a chance to recover; he’s relentless, mouth and fingers working in a rhythm that’s both torturous and blissful.

Each stroke, each caress is precise, almost too much, yet not nearly enough. He’s mapped out every inch of me, knows exactly where to touch, where to linger, where to apply just the right amount of pressure to make my breath hitch and my body tense.

I try to control the rising tide of pleasure, try to bite back the moans that threaten to spill from my lips. My head falls back, eyes squeezed shut as I battle for some semblance of composure, but he isn’t having it.

His hands tighten on my thighs, holding me firmly in place as he increases his pace, tongue swirling, lips sucking, fingers slipping inside me with a rhythm that is maddeningly perfect.

I can feel myself teetering on the edge, the coil of desire winding tighter and tighter inside me.

“Lucas,” I manage to gasp out, laced with a desperate plea. I’m so close, so unbearably close, and he knows it. His mouth moves faster, his fingers curling inside me in a way that makes my entire body tremble.

The tension builds and builds, a sweet, aching pressure that has me writhing in his chair, my hands reaching down to grasp his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

He hums against me, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body, and it’s the final push I need. My world shatters, pleasure crashing over me in intense, overwhelming waves.

I cry out, a soft, broken sound that fills the small office space, my body arching off the chair as I come undone. Every muscle tenses, every nerve alight with the fire of release.

His name is a moan on my lips, repeated like a prayer as the climax ripples through me, each wave stronger than the last.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, his fingers and mouth guiding me through the crest of my orgasm, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from my trembling body until I’m left breathless and utterly spent.

My chest rises and falls in rapid breaths, my mind floating in a haze of euphoria. Slowly, he eases up, his movements becoming softer, more languid, until he finally pulls away.

I feel the cool air brush against my overly sensitive skin, and my eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. There’s a gleam of satisfaction there, a possessive pride that makes my pulse quicken even in the afterglow.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving mine, and a slow, almost predatory smile spreads across his lips.

“I could do that all day,” he says, his voice low and rough with desire, and I can’t help but shiver at the promise in his tone.

I’m still trying to catch my breath, still coming down from the high, but I manage a shaky smile, my body still tingling from the aftereffects of his touch. “I might just let you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and filled with a mix of exhaustion and desire.

For a moment, I’m lost in the sensation, my mind blank, my body humming with satisfaction. But as the pleasure ebbs away, reality crashes back in with brutal force.

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