Page 26 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby

It feels like inevitability.

His mouth returns to mine, but now it’s slower, deeper, like he’s taking his time to learn me inside and out.

He kisses like a man who understands that foreplay isn’t a stage.

It’s a language.

He moves lower, mouth trailing a wet, open path down my throat, along my collarbone, between the curve of my breasts.

His stubble leaves behind the faintest scrape, not enough to hurt, just enough to make my skin hum with sensation.

He stops just below my ribs, looks up at me with eyes that are all heat and control, and then keeps going.

Lower. Slower.

His hands slide under my skirt again, this time with intent, fingers grazing the insides of my thighs, coaxing them open.

I tremble as he kisses the soft skin there, the heat of his breath ghosting over the damp center of me.

His mouth is close, so close, and the anticipation is unbearable. “Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Already soaked for me. You’ve been wanting this.”

I swallow hard.

He slides my panties down in one slow motion, baring me completely.

The air hits me and I shiver, not from cold, but from the sheer exposure.

His eyes flick over every inch of me, and the way he looks at me makes me feel high.

“Stay just like this,” he says, his voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Let me taste you.”

The room narrows to the space between my thighs.

His breath ghosts over me, hot and humid, a whisper of what’s coming.

I’m bare beneath him, thighs parted, slick and pulsing, and there is nothing between his mouth and the place I need him most.

I feel his breath first, then the slow drag of his tongue, a single stroke from bottom to top that leaves me gasping, spine arching off the mattress.

My body shivers like its been charged by the sound of his groan as he presses in again, slower, firmer, taking his time.

His tongue moves like he knows my body better than I do, like he’s following a map etched into my skin.

I can’t stay still.

My hips buck helplessly, chasing each movement, and his hands come down to hold me in place, thumbs pressing into the crease of my thighs.

His grip is firm, grounding.

It doesn’t stop me from trembling.

I feel every pass of his mouth like it’s a chord strummed low in my belly, and when he flicks the tip of his tongue over my clit once, then again, just a little harder, I cry out.

“Jesus—” My voice breaks around the name.

He hums in response, a deep vibration that sends a jolt of heat straight through me.

His tongue circles again, slower this time, then flattens and licks hard.