Page 137 of Dirty Mafia King

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With a flex of my hips, I drive home.

She hisses.

“Holy fuck!” My shout fills the room.

I still, allowing her to adjust. I run my lips across her neck, then kiss the path I created. “Prendi il mio cazzo così bene,” I murmur in encouragement.

“I do?” She relaxes.

I nip her neck. “You take my cock like a little rock star.” God created her just for me, didn’t he? “Mi senti dentro di te?” I demand.

“Yes, Bastian. I feel every inch.”

Our eyes connect.

“Can you feel me?” she murmurs.

I almost spill my seed right here and now. But I’m a sick fuck who enjoys testing his limits. “Yeah. Your hot little cunt is taking me so well. Who does it belong to?”

“Sebastiano Beneventi.”

“That’s right. Alessia Amato ismine.” I’m a possessive man, but this feels more like obsession.

“Show me,” she insists.

I drive home, and my entire body shakes. When I catch my breath, I flex my hips and grind, sinking deeper and deeper. Our lips lock, and her tongue darts inside, mimicking my thrusts and fucking my mouth. I don’t kiss, the act more intimate than the scenes I typically play out. But now that we’ve started, I can’t stop.

All sense of time and reason vanishes, and it’s just us.

I come hard, her tight passage milking every drop of my seed, on and on—she’ll be dripping my come for days. Once I’m completely spent, I still. Then, and only then, do I roll off her.

My hand finds her breast. Even drained, I can’t stop touching her.

“That was something.”

I know I’m fucked. Yet somehow, I don’t care. I roll to my side to face her. “Something?”

“Intense.” Her eyes flash. “I rode the bull, didn’t I?”

“No. The bull rode you.”

She smiles.

Fuck, she’s pretty.

I rake my eyes over her. From her flushed face and chest, flat abdomen, and …She’s still in that damn dress.

I push off the mattress to stand, then lift her off the bed. “Hold on,” I warn, before I shake the gown free.

“My dress,” she gasps as I kick it across the room. “It’s covered in blood.”

Blood and my seed.

I carry her to the bathroom and perch her on the countertop. I clean up first before running a clean washcloth beneath warm water.

She studies my every move. “Aftercare,” she finally murmurs.

“Something like that.” I tap her thigh. “Let me see.”

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