Page 29 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

MARCO

S ofia thinks I don’t notice the way her fingers trail over my chest, the way she shifts beneath me, pressing against me even as her body still trembles from what I just did to her.

What we’ve just done is enough to exhaust her, and I can tell she’s spent by the way she looks, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, mouth partly open.

But she still wants more.

I can feel it in the way her thighs squeeze around my waist, the way her nails tease over my ribs, her mouth brushing the side of my neck, lips parted, hungry again.

I smirk against her skin, dragging my fingers slowly down her spine. "You’ve had enough"

Her breath catches, just from my voice.

And fuck, it’s a powerful thing.

"Have I?" she murmurs, voice sweet. She shifts again, grinding the softest, laziest roll of her hips against me, making me feel how soaked she still is.

My grip tightens instantly.

Jesus Christ.

She’s already ready for more.

A low chuckle rasps from my throat as my fingers slide along her jaw, firm and possessive. I tilt her chin up, forcing her gaze to meet mine. My thumb presses just below the hollow of her throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who holds the reins.

"You’re playing with fire, Sofia."

Her lips part, a breath caught between defiance and acceptance. Her gaze never wavers, dark lashes framing eyes that give nothing away.

"Maybe I don’t mind the flames."

My blood ignites with how much I ache for her.

"You want to be fucked again, dolcezza? " I murmur, my free hand drifting lower, teasing over her stomach, between her thighs.

She gasps, shuddering against me.

I smile in satisfaction, dragging my fingers slow, feeling how sensitive, how desperate she still is. "You’re dripping all over my fingers, baby," I say, my voice low, almost mocking.

Her thighs twitch, her lips parting, but I don’t let her answer.

Instead, I flip us, pinning her beneath me again, my weight pressing her down, forcing her to stay exactly where I want her.

Her breathing stutters, her pupils blown wide, her body already responding, already arching.

"You want it slow this time?" I murmur, dragging my lips down her throat, my hand tightening just slightly around her wrists, keeping her hands pinned above her head.

She swallows hard, her breath shuddering out.

"You want to be tied up, don’t you, Sofia?"

Her body tenses beneath me, her thighs squeezing around my hips, a soft, needy sound escaping her lips.

"God, yes," she whispers, voice wavering.

My cock twitches at the desperation in her voice, at the way she’s already giving in, already melting beneath me.

Slow. I’ll make this so slow.

I grab one of my ties from the nightstand and wrap it around her wrists, securing her arms above her head.

"Now you take what I give you," I whisper, my teeth dragging over her pulse point, my hand sliding down to her soaked heat again.

And as soon as my fingers stroke her, as soon as she gasps, writhing beneath me, pleading for more?—

I know I’m about to make her fall apart all over again.

I drag my fingers down her stomach, slow, teasing. Her breath catches, her body tensing, already waiting for my next move.

"I could do anything to you right now . " My voice drops—rough, edged with command, laced with possession. "You’re tied up, trembling for me. Dripping for me. What do you think I should do next?"

She lets out a shaky breath, her hips shifting, her fingers twitching against the restraints.

"Touch me," she whispers.

I smile, slow and cruel, dragging my fingers right where she wants them—but just lightly enough to make her whimper.

"Like this?" I tease, barely brushing her slick folds, avoiding where she needs me most.

Her body jerks, her thighs clenching around my hand.

"More," she gasps, her voice breaking.

"More?" I mock, leaning down, pressing my lips to her throat, feeling her pulse hammering beneath my mouth. "You’re in no position to make demands, bella. "

I suck at her skin, my tongue tracing the bruises I left earlier, and her head tips back with a helpless moan.

I love this.

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.

"Please, Marco," she gasps, her legs trembling around my shoulders. "Please, I need you—I need your mouth, your fingers, I need you to make me come?—"

That’s what I wanted.

That’s what I was waiting for.

I groan, deep in my chest, and then I give her everything.

I press my tongue flat against her clit, sucking her deep into my mouth, my fingers thrusting inside her, curling to find that spot that makes her cry out, makes her body arch clean off the bed.

She screams my name.

She fucking writhes for me, shakes for me.

I don’t let up.

I don’t stop.

I hold her down, pinning her hips as I devour her, dragging her higher, higher?—

And then she breaks.

Her body locks up, her thighs squeezing around my head, her breath catching on a silent, wrecked sob as the orgasm slams into her, tearing through her, leaving her trembling, ruined, shattered beneath me.

I lick her through it, lap up every last drop of her, my hands soothing down her legs, grounding her even as she shakes in the aftermath.

She’s gasping, undone.

And I’m still not finished.

I untie her wrists, rubbing the marks left behind, pressing soft kisses to them, then to her collarbones, her throat, her jaw.

And as soon as I do, as soon as she’s free?—

She shoves me onto my back and climbs onto my lap, straddling me, her hands shoving my chest down.

Her eyes burn into mine, wild and dark and filled with hunger.

She leans down, her lips grazing my ear.

"Now," she whispers, her breath hot. "I’m going to ride you until you can’t fucking breathe."

And then she takes me inside her in one perfect, slow, unbearable stroke.

The second I’m inside her, buried to the hilt, my vision blurs, my breath falters, and for the first time tonight—she’s the one in control.

She lets out a low, sinful moan, rolling her hips slowly, taunting, watching me with dark, wicked satisfaction as she grinds down, dragging her nails across my chest.

"You like that?" she murmurs, voice syrupy-sweet, dangerous. "Like me using you?"

I growl, my fingers digging into her hips, ready to flip us, ready to take back control?—

But she slaps my hands away.

Fucking slaps them away.

"You don’t touch unless I say so," she purrs, dragging her tongue over her lower lip, taunting me. "You told me I was in no position to make demands."

She leans down, sucking at my neck, biting, teasing, and I feel her clench around me, tight and hot, soaking me, milking me.

"Now you take what I give you," she whispers, throwing my words right back at me.

I let out a harsh curse, my jaw clenching as she starts to move.

Slowly at first.

Painfully, deliberately slow.

She drags her hips in tight, rolling circles, rocking forward just enough for me to feel every excruciating inch of her heat wrapped around me, every pulse, every squeeze, every slick, devastating stroke.

I can’t fucking breathe.

My hands twitch, my entire body trembling beneath her, every muscle coiled, screaming.

I need to move.

I need to take control.

But I let her have it.

I let her ride me.

Because watching her like this—head thrown back, hands braced against my chest, sweat-slicked and flushed and moaning my name as she fucks me how she wants?

It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

"You look so fucking good like this," I grind out, my voice shaking. "Taking me like you own me."

She moans at that, arching, her nails digging into my shoulders.

Then she picks up the pace.

She slams down harder, her thighs tensing, her body moving like waves, like she was made for this, made for me.