Page 23 of The Mafia's Septuplets
“Your safety depends on maintaining professional distance.” His teeth graze my earlobe, sending shivers through my entire body.
“Absolutely.” I arch into him, loving the way his breath hitches when our bodies align.
“This complicates everything we’re trying to accomplish.” It’s hard to tell if he’s reiterating my concerns or gently mocking me.
“Everything.” I pull his head down for another kiss, this one hungrier than the last.
His control finally snaps. With one fluid motion, he spins us from the window and lifts me onto the edge of his desk, scattering papers and sending his scotch glass skittering across the polished surface. The documents flutter to the floor, but neither of us cares about anything except the fire building between us.
“Tell me to stop,” he says against my lips, even as he undoes the buttons of my blazer. “Tell me this is a mistake.”
“I can’t.” I help him with the buttons, desperate to feel his hands on my skin. “I want this too much.” The admission seems to shatter his last restraint. My blazer hits the floor, followed quickly by my conservative blouse. When he finds the clasp of my bra, I arch into his touch with a sound that’s pure need.
“So beautiful.” His voice carries appreciation that makes my chest tight. “Even more than I imagined.”
“You imagined this?”
“Every night since I met you.” He captures one nipple between his lips, and the sensation sends lightning straight to my pussy. “I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking about how you’d taste, and how you’d sound when I made you come.”
The crude honesty makes my inner walls clench with want. I’ve never been with a man who talked like this, who made me feel desired and powerful and completely out of control all at once.
His mouth works magic on my breasts while he explores the rest of my body with his large, warm hands. When he reaches the hem of my skirt, he pauses to look up at me, silently asking permission for what comes next.
“Yes,” I whisper, past the point of pretending I want him to stop. “Please, yes.”
He pushes the fabric up my thighs, revealing the sensible panties that suddenly feel anything but practical under his heated gaze. He fingers the edge of the lace, so close to where I need him most but not quite touching. “Tell me what you want, Willa.”
“You know what I want.” The words come out breathless and desperate.
He gives me a crooked smile. “I want to hear you say it.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but the need coursing through me overpowers embarrassment. “Please, just touch me.”
He hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them down my legs before my skirt follows. When I’m bare before him, he takes a moment to look his fill, and the hunger in his expression makes me feel beautiful and wanted in ways I’ve never experienced.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, then drops to his knees between my spread thighs.
The first touch of his mouth against my slick, heated flesh makes me cry out. I grab handfuls of his dark hair as pleasure floods my system. He explores my slit thoroughly, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch against his desk, and what makes me whisper his name like a prayer.
When he finds the perfect rhythm and pressure, I’m climbing toward something incredible. The tension builds and builds until I’m trembling on the edge of release.
“Iskander, please?—”
“Let go,” he murmurs against my slick flesh before flicking his tongue across my clit. “Let me feel you come.”
His words combined with one final, devastating caress send me flying over the edge. The orgasm crashes through me with such intensity that I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. He works me through it, gentle and relentless until I’m weak and gasping and utterly undone.
When the waves finally subside, he kisses his way back up my body, and I taste myself on his lips when he claims my mouth again. The intimacy of it makes me moan again.
“My turn,” I whisper against his lips as I sit up, reaching for his belt with shaking fingers.
“Willa—”
“I want to taste you too.” I work at his belt buckle with determination born of four years of celibacy and more than a week of wanting this specific man. “I want to make you feel as desperate as you just made me.”
His control fractures at my words. He helps me with his clothes, and when I see him fully aroused, my mouth waters with anticipation. His cock is magnificent, being thick and hard and perfect. It’s exactly what I need to fill the ache he’s created.
I slide off the desk and drop to my knees, appreciating the thick Persian rug that cushions me. When I take his shaft in my mouth, he grips the desk’s edge with white knuckles.