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He slips out, then plunges back in. His manhood presses against my walls, igniting every inch with sexual energy. Each subsequent thrust makes me feel poised on the precipice of another orgasm.

I moan instinctively, without inhibition. His expression embodies pure desire. Pure obsession. He gazes into my eyes like the timeless cliché, as though lost within them. With him, it feels genuine rather than cheesy. I stare back and lose myself equally in him.

Our pace quickens. After a minute– or more, or less, time is distorted – I rock my hips in rhythm with his. He groans approvingly. But words elude us both now. We can only communicate through moans and primal sounds of pleasure.

I adjust my hips again. His cock, impossibly hard, drives into me at the perfect angle. It glides upward, electrifying my sex with each intimate inch, until his massive tip presses against a pleasure point, I've never discovered before.

He's buried deep inside me, striking something that sets off exquisite sensations.

He moans, his lip quivering, his eyes registering the revelation. He recognizes the effect he's created. No questions necessary.

Finally, he lets go of my hands. I grasp his muscular shoulders, feeling his firmness, his strength, as he thrusts at that perfect angle again. The angle becomesourangle as we move in perfect harmony.

When he withdraws, I shift away oh-so slightly. When he drives his hot, slick cock back inside me, I position myself precisely, so his tip strikes that sizzling spot again. His smirk widens.

"Yuh-yes," I barely manage to get out. "That's... the..."

"Spot," he growls, evidently struggling to speak as well.

"Uh, huh." I nod eagerly.

He accelerates, lavishing attention on my sweet spot. His muscles rippling, signaling his approaching climax. Our bodies create slick sounds that somehow heighten the eroticism.

It's just what I described to him: primal instinct. The raw physicality propels me closer to the edge, and I yearn to surrender. I don’t want to hold on tight anymore: on life, on the past, on my grief. I want to let go. I want him to take control.

Perhaps he sensed that in my moans or my movements. He takes my hands again. No – it's not as simple as that. He takes one hand, and when his intention finally dawns on me, I offer the other.

He restrains both wrists in his grip, driving into me at that delicious angle. The bed creaks as he thrusts faster, harder, with Don-infused confidence.

"Come," he commands. "All—over—my—dick..."

I can’t resist as he pounds into me with increasing intensity. The walls of my sizzling core contract around him. He pushes through the resistance, penetrating me fully again, thrusting repeatedly until I have no choice but to surrender completely to the desire.

The orgasm is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. If the climax from his tongue and fingers resembled a firework, this eruption feels like a volcano. I clench my legs around him, my walls gripping him, the friction so overwhelming I have to lean up and bite his bare chest to prevent from screaming loud enough to wake the entire house.

Then he gasps, veins bulging along his neck. His eyes blaze with intensity, making me marvel at how lucky I am. He collapses atop me, releasing my hands so I can wrap my arms around him. I feel his cock pulsing inside me, gradually softening after unleashing his seed.

Afterwards, he lies atop me for several intimate moments. I hold him tightly, kissing his cheek. He turns, finds my lips, and kisses me with the same tenderness.

"I never thought I'd say this," I whisper. "About you. About anybody. Especially not about a mob guy. But I'm ready to trust you, Nico."

"Good," he says fervently. "I won't let you down. I've never experienced anything like that before."

"Not even when you scored all those holes in one?"

"Thishole in one was the sweetest."

"Ew!" I exclaim, though I'm laughing uncontrollably, a ridiculous grin spreading across my face. "Did you seriously just say that?"

"I'm afraid I did," he replies, chuckling. "And I'm afraid my Vignette liked it."

"That's because you bring out the unexpected in me," I tell him. “Wanting to be owned – all that... That's not me. Not typically."

"It is now," he growls.

A previous version of me, one that existed not long ago, would have resented such a statement. I wouldn't have wanted to belong to him, or anything remotely similar. But hearing him say it, I recognize the truth in his words.

"Please don't make me regret it," I murmur.