Page 7 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
My breath catches again as he slips his hand beneath my skirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of my thigh, then higher, dragging the ruined lace aside.
His knuckles brush against my slick heat, and I hear the sound that escapes me before I even realize I've made it.
"You're already wet for me," he says, voice gone hoarse. "You've been wet since I looked at you."
His words make me clench around nothing, make my thighs tremble.
I want to move.
I want to run.
I want him to never stop touching me.
He shifts, one hand braced beside my head, the other curling beneath my thigh to lift it around his waist.
The pressure between us builds, his body pressing into mine, hard and solid, and when I feel him against me, thick, hot, and rigid.
I gasp.
"Enzo," I whisper, and I don't know if it's a warning or a prayer.
"Shh," he says, mouth brushing the edge of my jaw. "Let me."
He fumbles with his belt, unfastening it with one hand, then frees himself, the hard length of him brushing my thigh, sliding between my folds.
A ripping sound ensues, and he slips a condom on.
I gawk for a moment, shocked by the sheer thickness of his cock, let alone the size.
My body goes tense, the heat of desire clashing with a jolt of apprehension.
"I don't think—" I start, but he cuts me off with a kiss, deeper this time, tongue sliding over mine with a hunger that drowns hesitation.
"I'll make it fit," he murmurs against my lips. "You'll take all of me."
I whimper, a sound that vibrates between us, and then he shifts, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance, already stretching me, teasing the place my body isn't quite ready to yield.
His hands grip my hips, anchoring me, and then he pushes in.
My breath catches on a gasp as he pushes into me, the stretch aching and obscene.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, not to stop him but to anchor myself, each inch stealing the air from my lungs.
He's thicker than I imagined, every part of me straining to take him, to hold him.
Heat floods my belly as my body clenches around him, greedy and trembling, torn between wanting him deeper and not knowing how much more I can take.
I've been robbed of all words, and instead, all I can do is just clutch him and try my best to keep myself from repeatedly moaning out his name.
He groans low, forehead pressed against mine. "So fucking tight."
My thighs tremble and my chest rises with every breath, tight and uneven.
I want to cry out, to pull away from the overwhelming stretch, but I don't.
Because beneath the ache, something warmer begins to stir.
It spreads low and slow, wild at the edges, curling under my skin like a secret I'm not ready to name.
