Page 93 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

Her moan is a plea, her body arching, offering, begging.

I don’t make her wait.

I slam into her, hard, relentless, brutal.

Her head tips back, a scream ripping from her throat, her body taking everything I give her.

I fuck her like I’m possessed. I grip her thighs, spreading them wider, making her take me deeper, harder, faster, each thrust hitting home, claiming, consuming.

Her moans turn desperate, her nails dragging down my back, her body shuddering, tightening, wrecking itself for me.

"You’re gonna come for me again," I demand, my voice pure gravel, pure need. "And you’re gonna do it while looking me in the fucking eyes."

She tries. But when I reach between us, my fingers circling her swollen, slick clit, she breaks completely.

Her body locks up, her legs shaking, trembling, pulling me deeper as she falls apart beneath me, coming hard, screaming my name like a prayer.

The sound of it, the feel of it, the way she pulses and tightens around me, pulling me with her?—

It destroys me.

With a snarl, I drive into her one last time, my body tensing, my breath snapping, and then I’m coming deep inside her, holding her down, grinding against her as I spill into her, as I let myself fucking go.

Our bodies are slick, chests rising and falling in sync, the only sound in the room our labored, uneven breaths.

My forehead presses against hers, my lips dragging over her jaw, her cheek, her mouth, soft now, slow.

And when I finally pull back—when I see the way she’s looking at me, the raw, unspoken truth burning in her gaze?—

I know we’re in way too deep.

"What are you thinking?" she asks sleepily.

I chuckle. "I’m thinking you should sleep."

She mumbles a protest, but moments later, slumber pulls her in deep. Sofia sleeps like she does everything else—stubbornly.

Even now, tangled in my sheets, bare beneath them, her brow furrows like she’s fighting something in her dreams. I trail my fingers down her spine, slow and deliberate, watching as she shivers, softening under my touch even in sleep.

As I watch her chest rise and fall, something in my gut tightens.

I should be satisfied. I should close my eyes and let myself sink into the peace of having her here, warm against me, her scent all over me.

But I can’t.

Because something isn’t right.

Because Sofia is hiding something.

I knew it the moment she came back from the city today—her shoulders too stiff, her smile too forced. I knew it when she refused to meet my eyes for longer than a second, when her hands trembled slightly as she set her purse down.

And I knew it when I kissed her, when I pressed my body against hers and felt the way she responded—like she needed to drown something out.

Like she needed me to distract her.

I press a slow kiss to her temple before carefully sliding out of bed, my movements silent, practiced. She doesn’t stir, lost in whatever dreams she’s fighting.

My eyes flick to her phone on the nightstand.