Page 22 of The Don's Proposal

Turning to look behind me, I watch him shove his waistband down and free his cook. Looking so hard like he can burst at even a single brush, his brows knit together when he catches my stare.

“You enjoy seeing me like this? My balls are so fucking tight because I keep getting stopped before I can come.” He squeezes himself at his base and groans deeply. “Show me where you want my load, Camellia. Part those lips and let me see.”

I can feel my thighs getting wet off of nothing but his words. I don’t know how he does it, but everything that comes out of those lips makes me feel like I’m not in control of my body.

Reaching behind me, my fingers glide down my slit. Radiating heat, we both groan in unison as I push my lips apart. I’ve never been so tingly before from my touch. Maybe it’s because I have an audience now that everything feels so intense.

“Fucking hell.” He chokes on another groan. “Fuck four men. I’m going to have to get an entire party of them, aren’t I? At least ten men should be enough to keep anyone with a cock away. None of them will dare touch you, not when you belong to me.”

I shiver at his words and bite my lip when he erases the distance between us. Brushing my fingers with his cock, he doesn’t waste another second before pushing himself inside with one deep thrust.

Unlike the first time, there isn’t a rough stretch or a pinch of pain. Instead, we both moan together as he pushes against spots I’ve never had touched before.

“I’m going to come so deep, you’re going to feel me for days.” He sucks another spot against my throat, probably leaving another spot. I’m going to be decorated in them at this rate.

He continues to thrust, and I can’t stop the noises from coming out. Between my moans and the sound of our bodies meeting, I don’t think anyone would mistakenly step inside.

Unable to help myself, I look behind me to see Santino, with his flushed cheeks and furrowed brow. What was such a pristine man yesterday now looks so disheveled. His hair is clinging to his forehead, and his muscles are taut.

“Touch yourself for me. Rub that clit so we can come together. I want you squeezing me tight.” His frown is gone, and the light is back behind his gaze. He’shappy.

I’m pretty sure only this man can make my heart bend at his will. Molten hot butterflies swarm my stomach, and thrash against my ribs as I move my hand to the front of my body. My clit is already so sensitive as it is, and even a simple graze is enough to make my hips jerk forward.

Santino easily uses his grip on my hips to put me back in place. He has to do it more than once as I lose myself with every circular motion of my fingertips.

Feeling the knot in my stomach growing tighter and tighter, I know I won’t last much longer. He doesn’t slow down, welcoming the fluttering of my walls.

“That’s it, Camellia. Squeeze around me, suffocated me. Drain me fucking dry for every drop I have to give.” His grunts match his thrusts, but they grow less even. More wild, more frantic.

My back arches as he crashes against a sweet spot and pushes me over the edge. I try to contain my cry, but nothing can stop the way my chest seizes up.

He curses behind me before hardly lasting more than a couple more thrusts. Keeping his word, he buries himself deep before a burning heat washes over me. I feel each pulse, each spurt of his release.

“All of this is just for you.” He hums his approval as he pulls out and slides right back in. “I’m going to give you my last name. Going to fill your belly too while I’m at it.”

Even after he grows still, my head is spinning from his words. Santino has this all figured out, and I’m still dizzy from the night before.

I knew people knew him for his craziness, but this takes the cake. I don’t think he can do anything else to top this.

Even if it’s wrong, or crazy or what, I can’t help but never want this to end.

I might be as gone as he is.

9

Santino

My knee bounces as I sit at my desk. Brows pinched between my fingers, I focus on how empty the room is when I’m completely alone.

There’s a leather couch against the wall with three cushions, plenty of space for Camellia to spread out on if she wanted to keep me company.

Half of my desk is bare thanks to her stunt of knocking plenty off, so she could sit there as well. It’s probably why I’ve yet to straighten up the room, the evidence of yesterday constantly surrounding me.

If cool leather or hardwood isn’t enough to satisfy her, I’m happy to lend her my thigh. So many options, yet none are used.

I’m in here suffering from my loneliness. How in the fuck have I survived this last decade without having her in my life?

My knee continues to bounce and the highlighter in my grip creaks beneath my grip as I look over a transcript of a phone call placed between the men at the docks and an unknown number.

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