Page 28 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby

“Elisa,” he says, my name like a warning and a prayer all at once. “Tell me you want this.”

My legs wrap around him.

I drag his hips into mine and tilt up so he can feel how ready I still am.

The ache hasn’t gone anywhere.

It’s changed shape, sharper now, an opening instead of a build.

“I want you,” I whisper. “Now. Don’t make me wait.”

He curses softly, something reverent in another language, and rises up just enough to strip off his shirt.

I watch the way his muscles flex under the low light, how the shadows pool in the hollows of his chest, the scars, the history written across his skin.

I reach for his belt, unfastening it with fingers that shake less than I thought they would.

He watches me with eyes gone heavy-lidded, waiting, letting me undress him piece by piece like it matters how this happens.

Like this isn’t just heat, it’s also trust.

His pants hit the floor, and I pull him back down, gasping when his bare skin presses fully against mine.

Every inch of him is hot, tense, restrained.

His hand finds my thigh and pushes it higher, spreading me open beneath him.

The head of him nudges against me and I swear I forget how to breathe.

He doesn’t push in yet.

He lingers there, one hand cradling my jaw, the other steadying himself at my hip. “I need to feel you,” he says. “No more waiting.”

“Then do it,” I whisper. “I’m yours.”

His breath stutters, like the words cut straight through him.

Then he sinks into me.

Slow. Deep.

Every inch an invasion and a relief.

I gasp, my mouth falling open, back arching into him.

He groans into my neck, the sound guttural, wrecked, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’ll admit.

He stretches me wide, fills me completely, and the ache of it is exquisite—too much and not enough at once.

I clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging in as he stills inside me, buried to the hilt.

We don’t move at first.

We just breathe.

My body throbs around him, alive with sensation, my pulse hammering behind my knees, in my throat, everywhere.

His mouth brushes my collarbone, then my jaw, then finds my mouth again, slower now, softer.