Page 22 of Gardener for the Mafia

She glances up, a pout puckering her kissable lips.

“How long have you been lurking there, huh?”

“Lurking?” I chuckle deeply, power infusing my savage’s laugh. “I’m observing the most beautiful thing in existence.”

She bats her eyelids, a smile lighting up her face.

She’s wearing no makeup and I wouldn’t have it any other way, her smile one hundred percent genuine and real. She’s the mother of my children, already, even if we’ve yet to complete the sacred, blood boiling act.

Soon.

Today.

I can’t wait any longer.

“Is that really how you’d describe a bunch of cardboard boxes and food packages, huh?” she sasses.

I stalk across the room and place my hands on her shoulders, the only thing stopping me from fisting her bouncy ponytail and bending her over to get a peek at that pink wet pussy is the knowledge that we may be interrupted.

And she’s for my eyes only.

Always.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“About this place? It’s amazing, Lorenzo. I’d heard of Never Alone before but I had no idea you owned it. And the supervisor, Casey, she’s the one who roped me into doing inventory, FYI she said you own loads of charities throughout the city. Apparently, you volunteer at them yourself, too.”

“When I get the chance,” I allow. “But right now the only thing I want to volunteer is my sperm for your aching womb, Lena. Just looking at you, I know I can’t take it anymore. You’re perfection made flesh. Every inch of you is screaming out for my manhood. I want to bust open your hymen and let it drain into a cocktail glass, and sip it slowly, at leisure, because it’s the sweetest fucking drink I can imagine. And it’s mine.”

She shivers, her eyes going wide in that just Lena way that means her lust is becoming as frantic and starving as my carnal desire.

“Jeez, Lorenzo. Do you think it’d be hella rude if we sort of got out of here right frickin’ now?”

“No,” I growled. “Because we’ll be back. As partners, as king and queen, we’ll have more days and nights to volunteer our time. But right now, in this moment, the only thing that’s real for me is you, Lena. And I can’t wait anymore. I can feel my seed bulging and roaring in my balls. I’m so hard for you, all the fucking time. I’ll die if I don’t spear you with my engorged cock.”

I loop my arms around her and smash our bodies together, the force like planets colliding.

I part my lips and taste her, brushing my tongue inside her mouth. Our tongues dance around each other like two electric eels tossing their energy at each other, tasting every sparking drop.

She moans and sinks deeper into the kiss, gripping onto the front of my shirt and pulling me closer.

My hands twitch with the urge to slide up her legs, to tear open her pants and make a hole of lust just for me. Then I’ll drive my fingers up into her sweet red delicious center and puncture it with my lust filled motions, beckoning her red juices all over my hand.

Fuck.

I’m too hard and resisting her is becoming too difficult, the urge to reveal my eleven inch weapon like a command straight from God, or Fate, or whatever the fuck voice is roaring in my mind with the fury of a Viking berserker.

Take her.

Own her.

Now, now, now.

It sings out like a war song I can’t ignore.

I break it off, panting, chest rising and falling like my whole body is going to erupt into a mess of muscular sinew and heat.

“I need you now,” I say, voice breathy with groans. “I need every inch of you. I need to bend you over and have you squeeze your legs together, hiding your pinkness. And then I’ll spread you apart and watch your beautiful squirting pleasure make a film over your hole. Which I’ll break with my bulging cock.”

She gasps, wiggling as though trying to grind her panties against her sex.

“Then let’s get the heck out of here, bad boy,” she moans.

Chapter Twelve

Lena

I stand in the doorway of the plush hotel room as Lorenzo swaggers around the room, ostentatiously turning over chairs and lifting up cushions, shooting me his savage’s smirk each time it’s revealed that there’s no camera there.

“I had the place combed three times before we even arrived,” he growls, stopping near the four poster bed.

The room is more like an Aztec emperor’s bedroom than the medieval finery of last time.

The bed is covered with light silk sheets and the bed curtains are a gauzy emerald material, draping down slightly like little semi circles of hazy glass. A white stone bar sits at one end with plush leather white seats – okay, not all Aztec then – and in the corner there’s an elaborate finely constructed shelf, upon which sits giant oversized eggs, inlaid with jewels.

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