Page 30 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

Each thrust is edged with that perfect ache, that maddening pressure.

Her cunt clenches around me, wet and pulsing, and it takes everything I have not to lose it too soon.

My breath is harsh now, the need crawling up my spine.

Her moans have turned into keening cries, her skin shining, her fingers white against the table’s edge.

I reach around to press against her swollen clit, and she jerks, almost collapsing forward, another wave of pleasure threatening to consume her. She’s too sensitive.

I don’t care.

"Now," I growl, slamming into her harder. "Turn around."

I pull out fast and flip her without waiting, her back hitting the table as I slide her down by the thighs, her legs spread wide, her eyes glassy and stunned as she tries to recover.

But I don’t give her the chance.

I’m going to fuck her all over again.

She’s trembling, but not with fear.

Not with weakness.

It’s the kind of tremble that lives between exhaustion and desire, the edge of something that’s been taken too far and still wants more.

I run my hand down her spine again, slow this time, fingers splayed, claiming each vertebra like it belongs to me.

Her skin is hot, damp, the silk of her dress bunched up at her waist.

I slide my other hand between her thighs, drag two fingers through the wet heat still dripping from her.

She whimpers when I touch her clit, too sensitive now, but I do it anyway—slow, lazy circles, making her twitch.

"You feel what you did to me?" I murmur, pressing the head of my cock against her soaked entrance. "You think I’m just going to let you walk away after this?"

She doesn’t answer.

She exhales, shaky, her body tilting back toward mine even as her fingers dig into the table again.

Good.

She’s ready.

I thrust into her in one hard, unrelenting stroke, the sound of it echoing off the glass walls around us, obscene and wet.

Her body tightens around me, and I groan low in my throat, the pressure finally tipping over from want to need.

"Fuck, Gianna."

Her name leaves my mouth like a curse, like a prayer.

She gasps, pushing back into me with a force that makes my thighs flex, makes my hand grip her hip hard enough to bruise.

I take her faster, deeper, each thrust driving the desk forward an inch, her breath breaking in soft cries.

Her cunt is drenched, clutching at me, velvet and heat and chaos.

I can feel her unraveling again.