Page 49 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
"We just got scolded by a sales clerk," she says, and she sounds equal parts mortified and amused.
"We did." I lean in close, my mouth hovering just above hers, close enough that she can feel every word against her lips. "And we are going to finish this later."
It is not a suggestion. It is a promise.
"Later," she repeats, her voice breathy, her fingers still twisted in my shirt like she is not quite ready to let go.
"Later," I confirm, pressing one more kiss to her mouth—slower this time, deliberate, a preview of exactly what I plan to do to her when we have privacy and time and no disapproving sales associates interrupting. "When we get home. When I can take my time with you properly."
She shivers against me, and I feel it everywhere we are touching.
"But right now," I continue, forcing myself to step back even though every instinct is screaming at me to stay exactly where I am, "you are going to change back into your clothes. And I am going to buy every single thing in this room. And then we are going to go home."
"And then?" she asks, her eyes dark and knowing.
I lean in one more time, my mouth right against her ear, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "And then, Lina, I am going to make you scream my name so loud the entire house hears it."
Her breath catches audibly, and I feel her whole body respond—tension coiling tight, thighs pressing together, a soft whimper escaping her throat.
I pull back with a grin, forcing myself to put actual distance between us before I say fuck it and finish what we started regardless of store policies.
She nods, still looking slightly dazed, and I slip out of the fitting room before my self-control completely abandons me.
The sales associate is waiting in the hallway, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
"We'll take everything," I tell her, pulling out my wallet.
We barely make it through the doorway before I spin her around, pinning her back against the doorframe that leads into the living room. My mouth crashes down on hers, and she tastes like cherry gloss and the mint from the gum she was chewing in the car and something that is just Rosalina—sweet and addictive and mine.
"Luca," she gasps against my mouth, her hands already fisting in my shirt.
Her back hits the doorjamb with a soft thud, and she gasps—a sound I swallow whole, greedy for every noise she makes.
Her red top is a thin scrap of cotton under my palms. I can feel the frantic beat of her heart through it, feel every ragged breath she takes. The black leather shorts she poured herself into thisafternoon are a fucking masterpiece, hugging every curve, but right now they're just in my way.
My hand slides down, over the swell of her hip, the taut leather giving just enough to let me slip my fingers beneath the waistband. She's hot against my knuckles. Jesus Christ.
"Luca," she breathes, arching into me, her hips seeking pressure, seeking friction, seeking me.
"Shhh," I murmur against her lips, then trail my mouth down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer under my tongue. "Let me feel you, Lina. Let me see how wet you are for me."
My fingers push past the elastic of her panties—black lace, of course, because she's trying to kill me—and find her slick and swollen and so fucking ready. I groan, the sound rough in my throat, vibrating against her skin. She's drenched. My middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, and I press the pad of it against her clit in a slow, circular motion.
She cries out, a sharp, ragged sound that goes straight to my cock, and her head falls back against the wood. "Oh, god."
"You hear that?" I whisper, my lips moving against the delicate skin of her earlobe. I sink one finger into her, and she's so tight—a silken, clutching heat that makes my cock ache in my jeans, straining against the denim. "That slick little sound? That's all for me. You're so fucking tight, baby. Soaking wet and squeezing my finger like you don't want to let go."
I add a second finger, stretching her, and she whimpers—a desperate, needy sound that makes me want to pin her to this doorframe and fuck her until neither of us can remember our own names. I work them in and out, curling them just right to hitthat spot inside her that makes her see stars, watching her face contort in pleasure.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, her lips parted on panting breaths. I kiss her again, swallowing her moans, fucking her with my fingers in a steady, deep rhythm that has her hips rolling against my hand.
"Think you can come just like this?" I taunt, my voice low and rough. "Pinned against the door with my fingers in your cunt? I bet you can. I bet you're close already."
She just moans, her hips meeting every thrust of my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. I can feel her body coiling tighter, the tension building in her thighs where they press against mine, in the way her breathing turns ragged and desperate.
I'm kissing down her neck, towards the neckline of that red top, when a sharp gasp slices through the heavy air.
Not from Rosalina.
