Page 80 of The Mafia's Christmas Baby

His breathing hitches, turning into ragged pants. "God… your mouth…"

I pull off with a soft, wet pop.

A string of saliva connects my lips to his glistening skin for a second before breaking.

"You like that?" I ask, my voice dripping with false innocence.

I don't wait for an answer.

I lick a long, slow stripe from the base all the way back to the tip, my eyes rolling back a little at the sheer, primal taste of him.

He can only manage a strangled, "Yeah."

My hand wraps around the base of his shaft, pumping slowly in time with the shallow bobs of my head.

I take him deeper, inch by agonizing inch, letting my throat relax.

My nose brushes the coarse hair at his root.

I hold him there for a moment, feeling him pulse against my tongue, listening to the guttural, broken sounds tearing from his chest.

"Fuck… Elisa, I can't…"

I pull back, gasping for air, a line of spit trailing from my chin.

"You can," I breathe, my own desire making me dizzy. "You're going to take everything I give you."

I dive back down, faster this time, my head bobbing in a more determined rhythm.

The world narrows to the salty-sweet taste of him, the feel of his velvety skin sliding over my tongue, the sounds—the wet, slick sounds of my mouth working him over, his choked-off moans, the creak of the couch as his body tenses.

My free hand wanders, cupping and gently squeezing his heavy balls, rolling them in my palm.

He cries out, a sharp, shattered sound. "Oh, God, right there, don't stop!"

I double my efforts, my jaw aching in the sweetest way.

I look up at him through my lashes.

His head is thrown back, tendons standing out in his neck, his mouth slack. He is a masterpiece of unraveling control.

I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard as I drag my mouth up, then plunge down, taking him all the way to the hilt again.

My throat opens, accepting him, and the guttural, choking sound I make seems to push him right to the edge.

“If you do any more?—”

And right there, I stop and pop his cock out of my mouth.

My eyes locked on his, I push myself up, my knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips.

My fingers find the waistband of my panties, the lace damp and clinging.

I hook my thumbs into the sides and, with a slow roll of my hips, I peel them down my thighs and let the scrap of fabric fall to the floor.

His eyes darken, the haze clearing to be replaced by a raw focus.

I rise up on my knees, positioning myself over him.