Page 72 of My Mafia Queen

“What about our clothes?” I ask, my eyes glued to his face.

Still looking down, he curls his lips into a sultry smile.

“Our closet is full of clothes…” he comments, bringing his hands to my thighs.

He slides my skirt up, flashes a grin when he notices the tiny white panties I have underneath, and, without wasting another second, grabs my butt, hops me up on the vanity, and rolls my underwear down.

My panties dangle from an ankle when he slides his hand under my knees and pulls me toward him, catching me completely unprepared.

“Hey,” I say, laughing and falling to my back, struggling to grip the edge of the vanity with both hands. “We’re not doing this,” I say with my legs up and folded against my chest, my back lining the smooth surface, my pussy completely exposed and right against his mouth.

I have never felt more vulnerable.

I don’t think there is a more vulnerable position.

The only thing I can do is stare at the ceiling, grab his thick hair, lift my head to watch him swirl his tongue and lick my clit or just give up, close my eyes, and enjoy what he’s doing to me.

I get so wet, so fast, he grabs a towel from a glass shelf and runs it between my legs.

“I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Your pussy loves me,” he says before sucking on my clit and tongue fucking my hole.

It all goes down the hill within seconds.

My composure disappears, my worries vanish, and the panicked thoughts about my dress leave my brain.

He kneads my chest while eating me out with gusto, and I turn stiff with a little vortex of pleasure spinning fast inside my abdomen.

I come, moaning quietly, trusting him fully, removing that layer of embarrassment fueled by being smooshed against the vanity.

I’m already basking in the post-orgasmic afterglow when he straightens, unzips his pants, and slides his hard length into me.

The groan of satisfaction peeling off his lips makes me smile in agreement.

It feels good. Even though I’m past my high, my core is warm and wet. And he’s rock hard, throbbing inside me.

He moves slowly, observing me through his lashes down his nose, a knowing smile tilting his lips.

He splays his fingers over my lower stomach, and I’m convinced he feels how I shudder every time he thrusts into me.

Our eyes connect, and we share a guilty smile, acknowledging what we have just begun to understand.

Sex ties us together faster than we anticipated.

It’s our little secret.

The magic between us.

The comfort he has created so I can grow up and mature fast while he delights himself with something new.

No one bothers us here.

Nothing messes with his brain, his time, or his focus.

We’re here on vacation. And we are also here to enjoy each other’s company without being affected by external events.

He paces himself, drinking in my smile, stroking my breasts and clit at the same time.

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