Page 105 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

I let out a short, breathless sound that might be a laugh.

He huffs something against my neck, somewhere between a curse and amusement, like even he didn’t see that coming.

“Careful,” he murmurs, but there’s no caution in it, his hands are already back on me, already moving.

My skirt rides up in the process, fabric bunching awkwardly at my hips, his hand catching it, pushing it higher without breaking the rhythm of everything else.

“Wait…” I out, but I don’t mean it.

Because I’m the one pulling at his shirt again, dragging it off properly this time, the fabric catches for a second before giving way completely.

We pause for half a breath. Just enough to look at each other. Just enough to feel how ridiculous this probably looks from the outside, both of us half-dressed, tangled, breath trembling, and caught somewhere between control and none at all.

Then it’s gone, replaced by desire. Urgency.

My hands find his shoulders again, pulling him back down to me, my mouth meeting his before he can say anything else, before either of us can think long enough to stop this.

His weight drops over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding along my thigh, slipping between my legs.

“My sweet girl.” His fingers pause just there, circling through the thin fabric of my already damp underwear.

He exhales when he feels it, and my body reacts instantly, my hips lifting, chasing more than just the tease of his touch.

I don’t wait. I don’t think.

My fingers hook into the fabric, dragging it down, pushing it past my thighs, my knees, kicking it away in a rush that feels almost desperate.

“Easy,” he huffs, a breath of amusement breaking through as I nearly catch him in the process.

His hand slides under me, and before I can register the movement properly, he rolls us, the world tilting in one clean motion until I’m the one above him, my hair falling forward, brushing his chest, his face, and his mouth.

I pause, catching my breath.

Looking at him like this, beneath me, with cloudy eyes and his chest rising and falling a little harder now, sends waves of pleasure straight to my core, and it clenches on him.

He helps himself, lifting me with one hand while he uses the other to free his cock.

My body contracts at the sight, my mouth watering and drying up at the same time.

I’m heady with pleasure, right at the brink of combustion as I guide him inside me, sliding gently, then all at once.

We both exhale, a deep sigh of intense relief.

I ride, slowly at first.

Testing the rhythm, the way our bodies fit, relearning something that never really left.

His head falls back slightly, a breath breaking out of him like a restraint slipping, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks I’ll feel later.

My pace picks up, driven by the pull building low and tight, and he meets me halfway.

I move, and he moves with me, two forces colliding, matching, pushing, until the rhythm turns into something faster, rougher, impossible to stop.

My hands lose their careful placement, sliding, gripping, trying to hold onto something solid as the hunger takes over.

He murmurs my name once like it’s pulled out of him, and I feel it everywhere.

His hand slips to where we meet, finding me, deft fingers working with intent. I throw my head back, my vision blurring as ecstasy shoots through me with every pound and grind.