Page 122 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

He positions himself above me, careful not to put weight on my belly. One strong arm braces beside my head while the otherguides his cock to my entrance. His gaze locks with mine as he slowly pushes his cock inside my pussy, allowing my body to adjust to his size. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, breathing through the delicious stretch.

“Elena,” he whispers against my lips, the rare tenderness in his voice making my heart constrict. “You feel incredible.”

The sensation is exquisite—fullness, pressure, and pleasure building with each careful thrust. My body welcomes him, nerves singing with heightened awareness. Pregnancy has made me more sensitive, every touch magnified, every movement sending waves of pleasure radiating through me. My breaths come in short gasps. I won’t last long like this.

Damir’s expression darkens with desire as he watches me beneath him. Sweat glistens on his brow, his muscles flexing with restraint.

“Mine,” he says with a growl, snapping his hips forward more urgently. The cords in his neck stand out as his control visibly slips, his pace increasing. He digs his fingers into my thigh, possessive and demanding. “Say it.”

I arch my back, meeting his thrusts, my sheath clenching around him. “Yours,” I whisper, my voice breaking as pleasure spirals higher. I dig my nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks on his skin. “Always yours.”

My release crashes over me in waves, intense and overwhelming. Pleasure ripples through every nerve, stealing my breath and making my vision blur at the edges. I bite my lower lip to keep from crying out but fail, his name escaping in a broken gasp.

Damir watches me unravel beneath him, his rhythm faltering as his control finally snaps. His powerful body tenses, muscles locking as he grips my hip with bruising intensity.

He groans, the sound raw and unfiltered. My name spills from his lips like a prayer, reverent and desperate. “Elena.” His gaze never leaves mine, even when he shudders above me, his cock twitching inside me before he fills me with his seed. “Elena,” he whispers again, softer this time, as if speaking something sacred.

Afterward, he holds me close, his hand splayed protectively over my belly. Our son kicks against his palm, and Damir smiles.

“He knows his father,” I say, placing my hand over his.

“He’ll never doubt it. Neither of you will ever doubt how much I love you.”

We lie in comfortable silence, the candles burning low around us. Outside, Philadelphia glitters beneath us, the city where we found each other, where our story began.

“Are you ready for Tuscany?” he asks, tracing patterns on my skin.

“I’m ready for anywhere, as long as you’re there.”

He kisses me again, and I know this is just the beginning. The first night of our real marriage. The start of the life we’ve chosen together.

He rises on one elbow, looking down at me with hunger in his eyes. “Ready for round two, Mrs. Antonova?”

I pull him down to me, already responding to his touch. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He takes his time with me now, his mouth exploring every inch of my body. He worships my breasts, now fuller and more sensitive, making me cry out when his tongue circles my nipple.

“So responsive,” he murmurs against my skin. “So perfect.”

He slides a hand between my thighs again, finding my pussy wet and ready. He strokes me slowly, building the tension until I’m writhing beneath him.

“Damir, please,” I beg, needing him inside me again.

“Not yet,” he says, moving down my body. “I want to taste you first.”

His mouth replaces his fingers, and I nearly come off the bed. The sensation is too much, too intense. I fist my hands in his hair as pleasure spirals through me.

“That’s it,” he encourages between licks. “Let go for me, Elena.”

My second orgasm hits harder than the first, leaving me trembling and boneless. Damir moves back up my body, his expression smug.

“Proud of yourself?” I ask, still catching my breath.

“Very.” He kisses me deeply, and I taste myself on his tongue.

I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his cock. “My turn.”

He groans as I stroke him, his control visibly slipping. “Elena...”

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