Page 44 of Kidnapped By the Mafia

My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as I come apart in his arms, the wave of ecstasy crashing over me with a force that leaves me breathless.

He doesn’t stop, not even when the aftershocks ripple through me, prolonging the pleasure until I’m gasping, trembling against him. Only when I’m completely spent does he slow down, his touch becoming gentler, more reverent, as if he’s savoring every moment, every touch.

He tilts my chin up, making me look into his eyes, and the intensity there steals my breath all over again. There’s something raw, something vulnerable in his gaze that makes my heart skip a beat.

“I love you, Lucas,” I whisper, the words coming out unbidden, but they feel right, they feel true. “God help me, I love you.”

31

EMILY

He freezes for a moment, his eyes searching mine, and for a heartbeat, I think he might pull away, that I might have said too much too soon. But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up his face in a way I’ve never seen before.

“I love you too, Emily,” he replies, his voice rough with emotion, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s soft, tender, and filled with a promise that makes my heart ache in the best way.

And then, with a gentle but insistent tug, he pulls me closer, his body pressing me back against the cool tile as he positions himself between my legs.

There’s a moment of stillness, of anticipation, where all I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the rush of water around us. He looks into my eyes, and in that gaze, I see everything—his desire, his need, his love.

When he finally enters me, it’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment as much as I am. The sensation of him filling me completely, the way our bodies move together so perfectly, it’s like everything else falls away—there’s only the two of us, connected in a way that goes beyond the physical.

“Emily,” he groans, his voice thick with emotion, his hands gripping my hips as he starts to move. The pace is slow at first, unhurried, each thrust deep and measured, like he’s determined to make this last as long as possible. And I feel every inch of him, every movement, with a clarity that takes my breath away.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing him closer, needing to feel every part of him. His name is a breathless plea on my lips, and he responds with a low growl, his lips finding mine in a kiss that’s as desperate as it is tender.

The pace quickens, the intensity building between us like a storm, until there’s nothing but the heat of his body, the rhythm of our movements, and the overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by him. I lose myself in the pleasure, in the way he makes me feel—so wanted, so cherished, so completely his.

And then, as the pleasure builds to a crescendo, I’m lost, my body arching against his as I cry out his name, the ecstasy washing over me in waves.

He follows me over the edge, his body tensing, his movements becoming more erratic as he reaches his own climax, a deep groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest.

For a long moment, we stay like that, our bodies still joined, our breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. There’s a silence between us, but it’s not empty—it’s filled with the weight of what we’ve just shared, something deeper, something more than just physical. It’s like the very air around us is thick with the connection we’ve forged, something unbreakable.

Slowly, he pulls back, his movements gentle as if he’s afraid to shatter the fragile peace between us. He gazes down at me, his eyes soft, the hard edges of his usual demeanor smoothed away by the tenderness of the moment.

Without a word, he leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there as if committing the feel of my skin to memory.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against my forehead, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Every part of you.”

A warmth spreads through me at his words, a soft smile tugging at my lips. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me feel cherished, like I’m the most important thing in his world. It’s a heady feeling, one I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to.

He shifts, slowly pulling out of me, and I can’t help the soft whimper that escapes my lips at the loss of his warmth. But he’s not done. His hands glide down my sides, his touch lingering, possessive, before he reaches for the bottle of shampoo on the shower shelf.

“Turn around,” he says softly, his voice carrying an edge of command that sends a thrill through me.

I obey without question, turning to face the spray of water, the warmth of it washing over my skin. I hear the sound of a bottle being opened, and then his hands are in my hair, working the lather through the strands with a care that almost brings tears to my eyes.

It’s such a simple thing, but the intimacy of it, the way he takes his time, makes it feel like a declaration of how much he values me.

His fingers massage my scalp, his touch firm but gentle, and I can’t help the sigh that escapes my lips, the tension melting away under his skilled hands. It’s a different kind of pleasure, a soothing, nurturing one that makes me feel completely cared for.

“You’re mine, Emily,” he murmurs, his voice close to my ear, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable. “Every part of you. I’ll never let you go.”

I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me, sinking into the feeling of being completely, utterly his. There’s no fear in his possessiveness, only comfort, the knowledge that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. He rinses the shampoo from my hair, his hands still working gently, as if savoring every moment, every touch.

When he’s done, he turns me back around to face him, his hands cradling my face as he looks into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze making my heart skip a beat. “I’m going to take care of you, Emily,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “In all the ways you need.”

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