Page 38 of Secret Mafia Daddy

“You can do it, kitten,” he croons. “I know you can.”

“I just want you,” I croak out, but it’s not true, I love the way he’s making me feel. My head feels fuzzy like I’ve had a few glasses of wine and my body feels lax, my limbs loose and heavy. My abdomen aches a little from coming and rolling my hips, but it’s like a good ache, like after a good ab workout.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he continues. “It’s what our wedding night should have been, and I’m going to make it one to remember.”

I should say something snarky, like this is only temporary, but he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of me, adding a third, and it’s still not enough as I gasp and rock my hips forward.

I barely even register it when I come a fourth time because everything feels so good and I’ve gone ragdoll under his touch.

He laps at my entrance with his tongue before licking up against my swollen clit again, and I jerk and tremble with overstimulation when he makes me come five, and then six times, never letting up to even breathe, just letting air out through his nostrils as he eats me out.

I’m all-but boneless when he sits up on his knees, breathing hard, his lips and mouth and chin covered in my juices.

“Did so good, pretty little kitten,” he praises, and warmth spreads through my body. I feel fuzzy in a way I’ve never felt before, not even with booze.

“Want you,” is all I can manage. “I want you inside me so bad, Angelo. Make me come again with your cock.”

“That’s the plan, princess.” He chuckles, tilting his head as he looks down into my probably glassy eyes.

I feel weird, so floaty, but Angelo’s there and he grounds me with his touch, moving his hands up to cup my breasts again before he pushes up my dress over my ass, revealing my lower stomach which makes me a little nervous. I still have a pouch there from Chelsea, but Angelo just growls low in the back of his throat and at some point while I was out of it he must have freed himself from his slacks.

He holds himself in hand and there’s liquid at the tip of his dick. I realize that he’s as excited as me.

I smile, rolling my hips into the air and pouting at him.

“I’m so ready, Angelo, please,” I manage, and I swear there’s a slur to my words.

Angelo doesn’t waste time, doesn’t even pump himself with his fist before he pushes himself inside of me, and it feels so fucking good that I almost scream, biting my fist with my hand to keep the sound in.

Angelo roughly takes my hand from my face, pinning my arms above me and just rolling his hips to slide in and out of me. I’m so wet it’s an easy glide, and he moans, looking down at my breasts bouncing as I rock my hips, wanting more.

“I could fuck you so hard right now. Until you were sore the next day, feeling me between your thighs,” he mumbles in a low tone, his voice raspy.

He’s fucking me smoothly and evenly, not as hard as I want but my seventh orgasm is building and I can’t believe that’s even happening.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum again,” I say, and that’s when Angelo’s hips stutter.

“You taste so good I could have eaten you out all night,” he tells me, his eyes dark as his hips move faster, harder, ramming into me. “But you feel so fucking wet now, kitten, look at you. So pretty like this, begging under me.”

I don’t even realize I’m begging until he says it, the “please please please” coming out of my raw throat.

I come around him with a silent cry, my whole body going stiff, and Angelo shouts and keeps pumping into me, just a few strokes behind me before he pulls out, spilling white all over his hand, my sex, my stomach, and my black dress.

I frown down at the sight, head feeling light on my shoulders. “You ruined the dress.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll keep it for special occasions,” he says mysteriously and sits me up, stripping it off me, over my head.

I nearly fall over and giggle a little, looking up at him. “Why do I feel so....drunk?” I ask him.

Angelo laughs a little. “Never been in subspace before?”

“What the hell is subspace?” I ask, curious.

He shrugs. “Never experienced it myself, but I’ve been with a few girls who drop into it. It’s just when you’ve had a particularly rough night of sex, you get all floaty and...agreeable.”

“Oh no,” I mourn. “Agreeable.”

Angelo snickers. “So I should ask you to do whatever I want when you’re like this?”

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