Page 33 of Mafia Christmas Vows

“I… okay,” I whisper. I wasn’t exactly worried about it, but I guess it’s good to know anyway.

“And I expect the same from you.”

I bark out a laugh. “Who could I possibly do that with?”

“No one,” he growls, his blue eyes darkening. “Because you’re mine.”

My head tips up, some kind of sassy response on my lips…

But it dies.

Quickly.

Because Alexei’s lips on mine end any thoughts in my mind.

I explode.

There’s no other word for it. His hands are everywhere. His mouth on mine makes me ache, and when his tongue laps at me, begging me to open for him. I do.

I’ve never felt anything like this.

The smell of citrus and spice in the air is intense, and mixed with Alexei’s dark scent I feel lightheaded.

Or, that could be the fact that his hands are tugging on my skirt.

Alexei’s hands come to my hips, and I squeak when he leans me down onto the comfortable couch. With a motion, he pulls me on top of him…

Then I moan, arching my back, as I realize that I can sense how much he wants me. It feels like another gem of truth, one that I’m holding onto with both hands.

Namely, the way his body is reacting, which sends me into a sort of frenzy.

I need more of him.

Rocking over the hardness that’s between his legs, I gasp when Alexei’s lips touch my neck.

“I compliment you on your taste,” he grunts when his fingers tease at the edge of the soft cashmere on my shoulder, “but please, please take this off.”

I comply.

The sweater comes up, drifting like gossamer over my head, until I’m bare from the waist up.

Except for the equally as expensive lingerie that I treated myself to.

I thought that the lingerie might have been a little bit of a splurge. I haven’t exactly treated myself to something so pretty in… well. Ever, I guess.

I thought it was pretty. I think I look good in it.

However, I don’t know if that’s just me.

So when Alexei sees my breasts, framed in fabric that costs more than a semester of my tuition, I’m a little insecure…

Until his rough hands palm them and I moan, arching into his touch.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Magdalena,” he rasps before he laps at one of my nipples, pulling down the expensive lace to reveal my breast to him.

I gasp.

I’m not used to men worshiping my body. I’ve always been too curvy, too much.

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