Page 69 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
"Please what?" Dante leans back in his chair, watching me with dark, hungry eyes. "Please stop? Please continue? You are going to have to be more specific, Flower."
Luca's fingers press harder, move faster, and my hips lift involuntarily off the chair, chasing the sensation.
"Stay still," Dante commands. "If you move again, I will tell him to stop."
I force myself to go rigid, every muscle in my body fighting against the instinct to move, to rock against Luca's hand, to get more friction, more pressure, more everything.
"Better," Dante says. "Luca. Slower."
Luca's movements slow to an agonizing pace, and I make a sound that is embarrassingly close to a whimper.
"You thought you were in control tonight," Dante continues conversationally, like he is discussing the weather instead of orchestrating my unraveling at the dinner table. "You thought you could provoke me, push my buttons, test my limits. But you forgot something very important, Rosalina."
His eyes bore into mine, dark and intense and absolutely uncompromising.
"I am always in control. Of this house. Of this family. Of you." His voice drops lower. "Especially of you."
Luca's fingers press exactly right, and I arch forward, a moan escaping before I can stop it.
"That is it," Dante murmurs. "Let me hear you. Let me see what he is doing to you."
"Dante—" My voice breaks on his name. "I can't—I need?—"
"I know what you need." He tilts his head slightly. "But you do not get to take it. You get what I give you, when I give it to you, exactly how I decide to give it."
Gabriel has returned to his seat, and I can feel him watching, can feel all three of them focused on me with an intensity that should be mortifying but instead makes everything more intense.
"Luca," Dante says. "Make her come."
Luca's fingers move with sudden purpose, and the change in pressure and speed makes my entire body tense. I can feel the orgasm building, can feel myself getting closer, my breathing coming faster, my hands gripping the table edge until my fingers ache.
"Eyes on me," Dante reminds me, and I force myself to keep looking at him, to hold his gaze as Luca's hand works between my legs, while I fall apart in front of all three of them.
"That is it," Dante says softly. "Let go. Show me who controls your pleasure."
Luca presses harder, moves faster, and I shatter, the orgasm ripping through me with an intensity that makes me cry out, my body going rigid, my eyes locked on Dante's face while I come apart under Luca's touch.
When I finally come back to myself, gasping for air, my whole body trembling, Dante is smiling—a slow, satisfied smile that makes it very clear he has proven his point.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now you understand."
Luca withdraws his hand slowly, and I slump in my chair, boneless and dazed.
Dante stands, moving around the table with deliberate, unhurried movements. When he reaches me, he cups my face in his hands, tilting my head back so I have to look up at him.
"Do you want more?" he asks softly.
"Yes," I whisper, because lying seems pointless when I just came at the dinner table under his direction.
His thumb strokes my cheek, a reward. “Then stand up.”
My legs feel like water, my dress a damp, tangled mess around my hips. Luca is already on his feet, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape against the floor. He looks at me, his dark eyes full of heat, and gives me a slow, predatory grin that makes my pulse jump all over again.
Dante’s hands slide from my face to my shoulders, helping me up. My knees wobble. He steadies me, his grip firm. “The table.”
Two words. A command. My heart hammers against my ribs.
I turn, my hands gripping the cool, polished wood of the table’s edge. The plates have been pushed aside, the wine glasses standing like sentinels near the centerpiece. I lean forward, bracing myself, the anticipation a low, heavy thrum in my veins.
