Page 78 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
“Oh,” I gasp.
And nearly mew at the sight of his lips curling.
“Hold them tight, or I’ll blister your ass. Capisci?”
I nod.
He sinks his teeth into his lip as he thrusts forward and buries himself between my breasts. I relax yet keep a firm grip like he demanded, not for my efforts at complete obedience but because deep down inside, I’m thrilled at the prospect of watching him get off.
His movements lengthen and pick up speed. So does his breath, until I’m quite certain he’s panting.
Lord, he’s a sight to see. Lips parted and eyes wild. So untrusting, so unforgiving, yet so handsome it’s no wonder my excitement coats my clenched thighs.
I lick my lips.
His eyes narrow. He’s well-aware I’m provoking him, and like yesterday, almost seems shocked I’d dare.
And like yesterday, his movements now become more aggressive. His hips flexing as his cock thrusts accelerate.
I recognize the moment he’s about to unleash. It’s hard to miss, as loud grunts turn into murmured curses.
I part my lips in offering.
His blue eyes turn black, but he shakes his head no. Eyes closing and head angled back, he comes hard and fills the tight tunnel I’ve created for him.
I hold him in position long afterward, and mentally prepare for the inevitable.
He springs off me, then delivers.
“Get out.”
I roll off the desk, and then find my uniform. “Should I report back at two o’clock?”
There’s a long silence. “I’ve got shit to handle.”
“Okay.”
As I step out, I can’t shake the thought: if this was all for his pleasure, why is my body still humming, every inch of me alive, vibrating with the aftershock of what we’ve just done?
CHAPTER 17
SANDRO
The secondhe enters my office, Tommaso’s attention swings from my desk to where I’m sitting on the sofa. “Why are you working there?”
“Stop with the inquisition and take a seat.” I gesture to a nearby chair. My concentration is shit, my mind on things it shouldn’t dwell on. I toss my phone onto the cushion. “You were talking to the men by the pool for a long time. You have updates?”
“The men located Renzo in Rome.”
That earns my full attention. “Where did you put him?”
Tommaso grimaces. It’s a reaction Renzo frequently inspires.
“Don’t tell me he escaped?” I thunder.
“Like goddamn Houdini on speed.” He sighs. “The men feared telling you, but then you were busy—”
I cut him off, not giving credence to the comment. My villa, my rules. And if playing with my fuckdoll in the goddamn mid-morning’s a problem, my men—even Tommaso—can fuck off.
