Page 18 of The Underboss's Secret Twins
He grins against my thigh, his fingers squeezing just hard enough to leave marks. "What’s wrong, baby?" he murmurs, all mock innocence. "You were close, weren’t you?"
Bastard.
I want to slap him. I want to scream.
I want him to fuck me.
But he’s waiting, watching, waiting for me to say the words.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pride warring with need, but when he leans down again, breathing against my clit without touching me, I break.
"Please," I gasp, shaking. "Please, Marco, I need you to fuck me."
His growl is pure, satisfied male. "That’s my girl."
"Please. Now."
The moment the words leave my lips, Marco moves with a kind of raw, masculine force that steals the breath from my lungs.
He grips my thighs and yanks me forward, dragging me to the very edge of the table.
I barely have a second to react before his mouth is on mine, claiming, devouring, his tongue sliding deep as his hands roam my body with reckless abandon.
My fingers claw at his back, nails digging into muscle as he grinds against me, his cock heavy and hard against my soaked, aching core. Every nerve in my body is on fire, my skin flushed with heat, my entire being desperate for him to take me.
And then he does.
He flips me over in one swift motion, my chest pressing flat against the cool wood, my ass in the air, completely exposed to him. A sharp gasp escapes me, but before I can gather my thoughts, his hand is on the back of my neck, pressing me down, holding me in place.
"Stay still," he growls, his voice rough, dangerous. "You wanted this, baby. You begged for it."
I shiver, my thighs clenching together instinctively, but he parts them with his knee, making room for himself.
The sound of fabric ripping fills the air. His shirt. He’s tearing it off, the buttons scattering to the floor.
I twist my head to the side, desperate to see him—this man who has owned every filthy thought in my mind for far too long—but before I can, his hand slides down my back, grips my hip, and then?—
He slams into me.
A cry rips from my throat as he fills me in one thrust, stretching me wide, forcing me to take all of him.
"Fuck, Sofia," Marco groans, his fingers digging into my waist as he holds me still, buried to the hilt. "You feel so goddamn good."
I can’t speak. Can’t think. All I can do is feel.
He doesn’t wait.
He fucks me.
Hard.
Each thrust is punishing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure-pain through my core, knocking the breath from my lungs as he takes me exactly the way I need him to—without restraint, without hesitation.
The table creaks beneath us, my body jerking forward with every stroke, but he doesn’t let me go, doesn’t give me an inch to escape.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, his hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back so his lips can graze my ear. "Is this what you fantasized about when you looked at me?"
"Yes," I gasp, nails clawing at the wood, my body tightening around him, pulsing. "God, yes."
