Page 71 of Mafia and Scars

“You’re sure?”

I nod. Because she’s noticed it.And she doesn’t mind.

I want to explain it, but I don’t know how to without it coming across wrong. And it’s not just her touch that undoes me, it’s also the understanding in her eyes.

The unspoken acceptance she’s showing me.

The way she hasn’t ever made me feel strange or different.

“You’re just you…” She whispers like she can read my mind. “And I like that about you.”

I close my eyes, breathing hard. That shouldn’t feel like the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to me.But it does.

I don’t say anything else.

I just tentatively cup her face, pulling her close to me.

For once I don’t think about how her hands are touching me or where they are.I just feel.

Her lips against mine. The way she touches my chest. The heat from her fingers that spreads through me.

And it feels so fucking right.

Her mouth finds mine again, and everything else in my mind disappears.

Her fingers move, slow and careful. No sudden touches. Nothing jarring to send me into a panic. It’s not frenzied like some women get. She’s so attuned to my body that I can relax.

My hands settle at her waist, hesitant, as if unsure she’ll allow it. But when she doesn’t pull away, my grip becomes firmer, and she doesn’t flinch. She presses in closer, her hand sliding around my shoulder.

We shift, and I’m hovering over her. Unhurried, we settle against the bed and explore each other softly. Her lips trail my jaw, and I breathe in her scent. The vanilla and something sweet I can’t name…but if I had to, it’d be sunshine.

My hand moves to her thigh, pulling it up around my hip as I lay her back against the bed, our lips still moving against each other and tongues exploring.

Her legs part, allowing me to nestle between them. She’s still careful, like she can read me like an open book. My hand skims under the hem of her sleep shorts as I inch her back further.

Our kisses turn deeper and deeper, and each one is a little piece of me letting go.Holding her instead of the fear.

My hand slips beneath her sleep shirt, feeling her silky skin before I tug the fabric over her head, exposing her breasts and making my breaths turn ragged.

Her fingers are careful as they untuck my dress shirt and slide beneath it, ghosting over my spine. It should feel like too much. But it doesn’t.Not when she’s the one doing it to me.

My lips trail against her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, as I make my way to her breasts, her nipples hard and waiting. My mouth waters for them. This, whatever this is with her, I want it.So badly.

My mouth finds her breast, and she arches like she’s been waiting for me all night. My lips close around the tight peak, sucking gently, letting my tongue sweep in slow circles around it. Careful and deliberate.

Her breath catches. And her fingers slide so slowly into my hair, not tugging but just resting there as if to keep me where I am.

I wait for a beat, lavishing one breast and then the other, waiting for the urge to pull her hands up and away from me. To tie her up like I have every other woman.

But…it never comes.

A shiver rolls through her. I feel it against my palm as I steady her waist, my grip firm but gentle. She’s warm, like soft velvet under my mouth. And those sounds she makes, those sweet breathy gasps, make it damn near impossible to control myself.

I shift, kissing across to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. Her back bows, hips shifting to meet mine. And I press into her, hardness into her softness. She’s so responsive like her body knows it’s mine now. And that does something to me I can’t quite name.

“Viktor,” she breathes, her voice husky and wrecked in the best possible way.

I pause just long enough to lift my eyes and meet her gaze. Her pupils are wide, lips kiss-swollen, breasts rising and falling like she’s run a marathon. And my name sounds like something sacred when she says it like that.