Page 7 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

I hiss as I readjust so my inner thighs straddle his hip bones, drawing him impossibly deeper and making obeying him that much more difficult.

His hungry gaze lifts from my breasts to my face.

“What’s your name?”

I blink. “Riley.”

Seconds pass until it becomes obvious. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” I say.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fucking you senseless, then tossing the condom into the trash and leaving.”

Every twisted part of me breaks all over again. Because as infuriating as he is, I want his kind of dirty. “Why ask my name if you’re fucking and running?” I insist.

He snorts. “Leaving. Not running.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not. Running would imply you mean something to me. You don’t.”

Ouch.

I squirm, and he hisses. His cock is still hard as steel.

“Do it,” I demand. Surprising him, and myself. “Finish, and then stroll on out of here.”

Without warning, he grabs me by the throat. To intimidate me? To show me who is boss?

I don’t understand what possesses me. Maybe it’s tonight’s panic attack. Maybe I’ve lost so much, walking the ledge between life and death feels normal. Maybe it’s simply curiosity … At this point, I’ll take pleasure, even the risky sort, over anguish any day. Acting on instinct, I tilt my head back and dare him with my eyes to squeeze harder.

And he does.

Until my eyes tear up.

Until there’s a shift between us, this tiny fragile thing, this pull neither of us can deny.

“Christ’s sake.” He curses and drops his hand to grasp my ass. Hiding his face in my breasts, he pulls me onto him and drives into me like a man possessed.

I’m bound and at his mercy. Moving with him while we fall into a quick rhythm. “Oh God,” I cry out, my body knowing what it wants even if my mind doesn’t. “Please,” I whisper. “I’m so close.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “I want to destroy this tight pussy. Fill you with so much come, you’ll be drowning in it.”

His dirty words have me begging. “Please. Say yes. I don’t care if you leave afterward. I don’t care if you fuck my breasts on the kitchen floor. My entire body is on fire. I never…”

“Never what?” he demands.

“I need to,” I plead, avoiding his question. “Now.”

He stiffens. “Jesus Christ.”

“What are you doing? Don’t stop.”

“You asked for it.”

I’m bounced into the air, just to the point where his bulbous tip rests at my entrance. Perched in this position, the seconds feel like minutes, until he relaxes his hold and my full body weight descends onto him. I take his massive erection in one brutal fall and swear my womb is crying.

“Ahhh,” is all I manage, the sweet, painful building tension picking up where it left off. If he repeats that move again, I’ll shatter.

“Look at me.”