Page 53 of The Mafia's Septuplets
His mouth continues its journey south, trailing fire across my belly. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, he spreads my legs wider with gentle hands, his breath warm against my mound. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he says, his voice dark with promise. “About tasting you and making you come apart with my mouth.”
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out, lifting my hips off the bed at the intensity of the sensation. He holds me steady with strong hands while he explores my folds thoroughly, alternating between broad strokes that make me writhe and focused attention on my clit that builds the tension to unbearable levels.
“You taste so good,” he says against me, the vibration of his words adding to the sensation. “I could do this for hours.”
He slides two fingers inside me while his tongue continues its assault on my clit, finding that spot inside that makes stars explode behind my eyes. The dual sensation is overwhelming, making pleasure build in waves that threaten to crash over me at any moment.
“Not yet,” he says when I’m trembling on the edge. “I want to make this last.”
He pulls back, leaving me gasping and desperate. He returns his mouth to mine in a deep kiss that tastes of my arousal, sliding his tongue against mine while his fingers continue their slow torture inside my pussy.
“Please,” I whisper against his mouth. “I need more.”
“Tell me exactly what you need.”
“Your cock inside me. I need you to fill me completely.”
He positions himself at my entrance, nudging the head against my slick heat. Without barriers between us, every sensation is magnified. He pushes forward with exquisite slowness, stretching me as my body opens to accept him.
“God, you feel perfect.” He groans as he sinks deeper. “So tight and wet for me.”
When he’s fully seated inside me, we both pause, overwhelmed by the intensity of our joining. The connection feels deeper than just physical, like something fundamental has shifted between us.
He begins to move with slow, deliberate strokes that make me gasp with each thrust. His rhythm is hypnotic, building the tension gradually while he watches my face with hungry gray eyes. “I love the way you look when I’m inside you,” he says, his voice strained with control. “The way your eyes go unfocused and how your lips part when you’re close.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling his cock in deeper as the pleasure builds to desperate heights. “Harder,” I plead. “I need you to fuck me harder.”
The request breaks his careful control. His thrusts become more demanding, hitting that perfect spot inside. The sound of ourbodies joining fills the room, accompanied by my breathless cries and his rough groans.
“You’re so close,” he says, reaching between us to stroke my clit in time with his thrusts. “I can feel your pussy tightening around my cock.”
The added stimulation sends me flying over the edge. My body convulses around his shaft as ecstasy spirals through me so intensely that I cry out his name while I rake my nails down his back, lost in sensation.
“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice dark with satisfaction. “Come all over my cock.”
The words push me higher, extending my climax until I’m shaking with the force of it. His rhythm becomes erratic as my inner muscles milk him, and with a final deep thrust, he finds his own release, his cock tightening before he fills me with his release while whispering my name.
In the aftermath, we hold each other close, both breathing hard and overwhelmed by what just passed between us. The intimacy we shared went beyond physical pleasure into something neither of us has yet named. “I think I might love you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He goes very still against me. “Might?”
“I do love you.” The admission terrifies and liberates me in equal measure. “I love you, and that scares me more than anything else.”
He pulls back to look at me, his expression unreadable. “Why does it scare you?”
“Because loving you makes this…us real. It makes the future we’re building together something I can’t walk away from.”
He goes still. “Would you want to walk away?”
I search his face for any sign of his feelings, but he’s mastered the art of hiding behind careful neutrality. “Would it matter if I did?”
“It would destroy me.” The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. “You and these babies have become my whole world, Willa. I can’t imagine existing without you.”
The confession is as close to a declaration of love as I’m likely to get from a man who’s spent his life guarding his emotions. The acknowledgment that what we feel runs deeper than passion or convenience is enough for now.
“I don’t ever want to have to leave.” That’s the closest I can get to promising not to go right now. As much as I love him, if his world proves too dangerous for our children, how can I justify staying.
I push aside the thought and curl against his side, feeling safer than I have in days. “The pregnancy, the delivery, the babies… All of it feels more possible when I’m with you.”
“Stay with me.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I won’t let anything happen to you or them.”
We drift toward sleep wrapped in each other’s arms, and for the first time since the panic attacks started, I feel like maybe everything will be all right. Love doesn’t solve our problems, but it gives us a foundation on which to build.
The thought carries me into sleep, where I dream not of Henri’s warnings or Mikhail’s threats, but of seven children with Iskander’s gray eyes and my stubborn determination. In mydreams, we’re a complete family, protected and filled with the kind of love I never dared imagine for myself.
When I wake hours later, Iskander is still holding me close, his breathing deep and even. The stress lines around his eyes have softened in sleep, making him look younger and less guarded. This is the man I’ve fallen in love with—not just the dangerous crime boss or the careful businessman, but the person who holds me like I’m precious beyond measure.
I trace patterns on his chest, stroking the lines of his tattoos with gentle fingers while marveling at how right this feels despite everything that should make it wrong. We’ve built something real from the ashes of Henri’s death and the threat of Mikhail’s revenge. Something worth protecting, but can we keep it all safe? The thought worries me, but I try not to focus on that.
Outside his bedroom, the world continues its dangerous dance of power and violence. Inside these walls, wrapped in Iskander’s arms, I finally understand what home feels like. It’s not a place, but a person. It isn’t just safety from the world, but the courage to face it with someone who loves you. It’s fragile under Mikhail’s onslaught, but I want us to find a way through the danger to be the family it feels like we’re meant to be.