Page 7 of The Underboss’s Secret Twins (Underworld Heirs #2)

SOFIA

Five Years Ago

H is grip tightens in my hair, and in the next breath, he takes control.

A sharp tug tilts my head back, forcing my gaze up to meet his. His eyes are dark, burning savagely, dare I say possessively. My pulse pounds in my throat as he thrusts into my mouth, slow at first, teasing me with his control, then deeper, rougher.

I moan around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

"That’s it, baby," he growls, his voice wrecked. "You take me so fucking well."

I dig my nails into his thighs, urging him on, reveling in the way his muscles flex beneath my fingertips.

His movements grow more desperate, more punishing, his grip on my hair relentless as he fucks my mouth, chasing that high.

I can feel how close he is—his breathing uneven, his cock pulsing against my tongue.

And then he pulls out.

A sharp gasp rips from my lips as he jerks me to my feet, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of my neck as he slants his mouth over mine. The kiss is brutal, all tongue and teeth, as if he’s reclaiming me after nearly losing himself.

"You think I’d let you have all the control?" he murmurs against my lips, voice like gravel. "Not a chance."

Before I can catch my breath, he’s lifting me off my feet, one arm under my thighs, the other gripping the curve of my ass as he carries me across the room.

The long wooden table looms behind me, and then I’m on it, my back hitting the cool surface as he spreads my legs wide.

A dark, wicked smirk tugs at his lips.

I know that look.

"Don’t you dare?—"

I don’t get to finish.

His teeth sink into the waistband of my panties, and with a sharp tug, the fabric gives way, tearing right off me.

A shocked gasp leaves me, heat surging through my body, a mix of anticipation and absolute desperation.

"Marco!" I gasp, but he just chuckles, lips dragging down the inside of my thigh, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin.

"Patience, sweetheart."

His hands grip my thighs, keeping me spread wide as he kisses his way up—teasing, tormenting, making me tremble beneath him. And then his mouth finds me.

A sharp, helpless cry leaves me as his tongue slides through my slick folds, slow and torturous before he sucks my clit into his mouth, pulling hard.

"Fuck!" My back arches, my hands flying to his hair, but he doesn’t let up.

His tongue works me relentlessly, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, his fingers digging into my thighs to keep me exactly where he wants me.

"You taste so fucking sweet," he groans, his voice sending vibrations straight through me. "Been wanting to do this since the first damn time you looked at me like you wanted to be fucked senseless."

A whimper escapes me, my hips bucking against his mouth, but he tightens his grip, pinning me to the table.

"Oh, no," he rasps, breath hot against my soaked skin. "You don’t get to run from this."

Then he devours me.

His tongue is ruthless, his lips sealing around my clit as he sucks it deep into his mouth, his stubble burning deliciously against my thighs. Pressure coils tight in my belly, unbearable, consuming.

I’m going to come.

I can feel it building, rising fast, and then?—

He stops.

I sob at the loss, my body trembling, teetering on the edge.

Marco lifts his head, his lips slick with me, eyes dark and knowing.

"You want to come?" he murmurs, voice thick with amusement.

I nod frantically, my hands fisting the fabric of his shirt. "Yes. Please, Marco?—"

His smirk turns lethal as he rises over me, pressing his body flush against mine, his cock heavy and hard between my thighs.

"Then you’re going to beg for it."

I’m completely at his mercy.

My body is trembling, slick with sweat and desperation as Marco looms over me, his weight pressing me into the table, the hard length of him heavy against my soaked, aching core.

I shift my hips, trying to grind against him, needing friction, relief—anything—but he’s faster, his hands locking around my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"Uh-uh," he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot, teasing. "You don’t get to take what you want, sweetheart. You take what I give you."

I whimper, back arching, trying to force any kind of contact, but he just chuckles, that dark, knowing sound that tells me I’m in for it.

His mouth brushes my throat, his teeth grazing, biting just enough to make me gasp, before he soothes the sting with his tongue.

He moves lower, kissing, nipping, dragging his lips over my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts.

I expect him to go for my nipples next—aching, tight, desperate for his mouth—but instead, he moves lower, trailing wet kisses down my stomach.

A plea is already forming on my lips, but I swallow it down. He wants me to beg.

And I’m doing my best not to.

But then he’s between my thighs again, spreading me open with hands that feel too big, too strong, like they were made to hold me in place while he devastates me.

"You’re soaked," he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers sliding through my slick folds, teasing the entrance he refuses to fill. "So fucking needy."

I bite my lip hard, trying not to whimper.

His thumb brushes my clit, feather-light, circling so slowly I could scream.

"Marco." His name leaves me as a warning, as a plea.

He smirks, pressing a single finger inside me—barely, just the tip—before pulling away entirely.

My hips jerk involuntarily, chasing the friction, but he denies me, sitting back, watching me with dark, hungry eyes.

"Not enough?" he taunts, tilting his head. "You’re going to have to do better than that, sweetheart."

I glare at him, but the moment his mouth returns to my pussy, all my fight evaporates.

His tongue moves with excruciating precision, mapping every sensitive inch, teasing, skimming—circling everywhere but where I need him most, just to watch me unravel.

I’m panting now, squirming, but he keeps me pinned, his mouth devouring me with measured control.

And just when I think he’s going to let me have it—when the tension inside me tightens to the point of snapping—he stops.

Again.

"Marco!" I cry, nearly sobbing, my head thrashing against the table.

He grins against my thigh, his fingers squeezing just hard enough to leave marks. "What’s wrong, baby?" he murmurs, all mock innocence. "You were close, weren’t you?"

Bastard.

I want to slap him. I want to scream.

I want him to fuck me.

But he’s waiting, watching, waiting for me to say the words.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pride warring with need, but when he leans down again, breathing against my clit without touching me, I break.

"Please," I gasp, shaking. "Please, Marco, I need you to fuck me."

His growl is pure, satisfied male. "That’s my girl."

"Please. Now."

The moment the words leave my lips, Marco moves with a kind of raw, masculine force that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs and yanks me forward, dragging me to the very edge of the table.

I barely have a second to react before his mouth is on mine, claiming, devouring, his tongue sliding deep as his hands roam my body with reckless abandon.

My fingers claw at his back, nails digging into muscle as he grinds against me, his cock heavy and hard against my soaked, aching core. Every nerve in my body is on fire, my skin flushed with heat, my entire being desperate for him to take me.

And then he does.

He flips me over in one swift motion, my chest pressing flat against the cool wood, my ass in the air, completely exposed to him. A sharp gasp escapes me, but before I can gather my thoughts, his hand is on the back of my neck, pressing me down, holding me in place.

"Stay still," he growls, his voice rough, dangerous. "You wanted this, baby. You begged for it."

I shiver, my thighs clenching together instinctively, but he parts them with his knee, making room for himself.

The sound of fabric ripping fills the air. His shirt. He’s tearing it off, the buttons scattering to the floor.

I twist my head to the side, desperate to see him—this man who has owned every filthy thought in my mind for far too long—but before I can, his hand slides down my back, grips my hip, and then?—

He slams into me.

A cry rips from my throat as he fills me in one thrust, stretching me wide, forcing me to take all of him.

"Fuck, Sofia," Marco groans, his fingers digging into my waist as he holds me still, buried to the hilt. "You feel so goddamn good."

I can’t speak. Can’t think. All I can do is feel.

He doesn’t wait.

He fucks me.

Hard.

Each thrust is punishing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure-pain through my core, knocking the breath from my lungs as he takes me exactly the way I need him to—without restraint, without hesitation.

The table creaks beneath us, my body jerking forward with every stroke, but he doesn’t let me go, doesn’t give me an inch to escape.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, his hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back so his lips can graze my ear. "Is this what you fantasized about when you looked at me?"

"Yes," I gasp, nails clawing at the wood, my body tightening around him, pulsing. "God, yes."

A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. "You love this, don’t you? Being fucked like you’re mine."

I don’t answer. Can’t.

I’m too close. Too overwhelmed.

Marco must sense it, because he slows—just for a second—before slamming into me again, grinding deep, his fingers finding my clit and circling with body-wrecking precision.

I scream, my entire body seizing as the orgasm slams into me, wrecking me from the inside out.

There’s barely time to breathe before Marco moves again, his strength overwhelming, his hunger unrelenting.

His hands grip my hips as he pulls out, his body still flush against mine, his breath hot against my lips.

My thighs are trembling, my entire body still pulsing from the orgasm he just tore from me—but he isn’t done.

Not even close.

"Turn around," he orders, his voice rough, wrecked.