Page 90 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

I love watching her fall apart.

Love the way her body arches, offers, begs.

I circle my thumb over her clit, slow at first, taunting, before I finally slide two fingers inside her, deep, stretching her, feeling how tight, how soaked she still is for me.

Her body seizes, her mouth parting on a silent gasp, her bound wrists tugging against the tie.

"Marco—"

"Shh." I curl my fingers, stroking exactly where she needs me, swallowing the little noises she makes. "Take it, baby. Be good for me."

Her thighs tremble, her breathing turns ragged, her lips parting as I work her slow and deep, coaxing her to the edge, keeping her dangling right there.

"You're close, aren't you?" I whisper, pressing kisses along her jaw, tasting her desperation.

She nods frantically, her body tightening around my fingers.

I smirk.

And then I pull away.

She releases a choked cry of pure frustration.

Her eyes fly open, dark and wild, her bound hands pulling at the tie as she glares at me.

"You—" She gasps, her voice shaking. "Why?"

I drag my lips along her inner thigh, biting down just hard enough to make her jolt.

"Because I’m not done playing with you yet,dolcezza."

And then I spread her legs even wider—and go back to work.

I can see her frenzy—feel it—every time she writhes, every time her bound hands tug at the silk, every time her breath catches on the edge of a moan, her body desperate for relief I won’t give her just yet.

Because she looks too perfect like this— stretched out beneath me, skin flushed, lips parted, dripping for me.

"You want to come, don’t you?" I murmur, my lips trailing over her stomach, down the curve of her hip, teeth scraping, teasing, never quite giving her what she needs.

"Yes," she gasps, arching up, trying to chase my mouth, my hands—anything.

I chuckle, dark and low, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, right where she’s aching.

"Then beg me properly."

Her frustration is delicious.

Her hips roll, slick against my fingers, her bound hands clenching the tie so tight her knuckles turn white.

"Marco—" she breathes, helpless. "Please."

I smirk. "Not good enough."

I drag my tongue along her slit, slow, lazy, watching as her body shudders, her thighs twitching.

She’s so sensitive.

She tries again, her voice higher, desperate, pleading.