Page 10 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

Unexpectedly, he angles one of my legs over his shoulder, pulling out and slamming back in with rough precision. A cry escapes my lips as he pins me in place. His pace doubles, his eyes trained on my breasts, bouncing rapidly with each thrust.

His breath comes in ragged gasps. Mine spills out in loud, uncontrollable moans.Damn.

“Don’t stop,” I cry, when he starts to hit the spot.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel so divine.”

With every thrust, I feel full. My spine arches, and my nails press into his taut skin.

“I’m going to cum,” I moan, as he continues his strokes.

He slaps my ass and pins me with his gaze. “Not yet.”

Everything in me aches to obey, and I do. My hands slide up to his chest as his strokes grow ferocious.

“Ezra, please…” I croak in pleasure.

He smirks and a hand wraps around my neck before his movements turn erratic, tightening as he leans in, voice hoarse. “Now. Cum for me now.”

Instantly, the knot in my stomach unravels, and I explode with a scream. He follows, pulling out just in time to release his cum onto my stomach.

I'm still quivering as his warm liquid spills over my skin. Moments later, he falls beside me, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Did I really just have three orgasms in a row? I never knew my body was capable of even one, let alone three. I guess that’s where the skills of a Greek god like Ezra Marino came in handy.

My legs are still quaking, and as we lie there, coming down from the high, I know this is my undoing.

Chapter two

Ezra

Twelve Hours Before The Kidnapping

The chessboard in front of me usually offers some sense of peace, a way to lose myself in strategy and outmaneuvering an opponent. Today, I’m playing alone.

The black king is on the brink of defeat, and the pieces on the board feel like a reflection of the pressure building inside me.

“Elio,” I call out, not bothering to bring the cigar away from my lips. I know he’s there, my right-hand man, waiting somewhere outside. “Have you found out why that bastard was at Club Serenita the other night?”

Dark hair, tan skin, and dark eyes come into view. He's in a black suit as usual, arms folded behind him and legs a few feet apart ina sturdy stance, just how I like my men. Suited up and ready for action.

Elio hesitates, just for a moment, the brief glint in his eyes giving him away, but I catch it. “Our men are still working on it, Boss.”

I hate to hear that. Elio knows that. It’s the easiest way to set my mood on fire. The easiest way to incur my wrath.

I slam my fist against the wooden table, my anger rising. “Still working on it?”

He straightens himself and stiffens his posture but doesn’t repeat it.

“You’re telling me a high profile drug dealer broke out of prison, appears at my club, and you don’t know why?!”

“Stiamo ancora cercando di rintracciarlo(We’re still trying to trace him),” he responds, quickly adding, “…our other sources say they have no idea why Russo would be at the club.”

I feel a surge of blood rush through my hand and, instinctively, I fling it against a chess piece.

Russo shouldn’t have been anywhere near my club. He’s a lone drug dealer known to be unstable with cartels, dealing with anyone for the price attached to it rather than for strategy and relationships. He’s a lone wolf, and I never do business with lone wolves because they have nothing to lose. I don’t play the game like he does.

Readjusting myself in my leather chair, I bring down the cigar from my lips before releasing air through my nostrils. I clench my fist when a tinge of it circulates roughly through my brain.