Page 75 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

No mercy until she breaks.

Her pussy clamps down, the reaction hitting her all at once, overwhelming, and I hold her through it, keep moving, don’t let her slip out of it too quickly.

I take every second of it. And that's what takes me too.

A few more gauged drives, sloppy now, and I let go, the release hitting hard, pulling through me with a force I don’t bother containing.

My head dips, my breath breaking against her skin.

And for a moment, I stay there, holding her in place.

When we can breathe better, I pull out slowly.

She shifts immediately, adjusting. Putting herself back together like she needs the movement, like stillness might betray something she’s not ready to show.

I watch her as she shuffles her dress back into place in soft lines, but nothing about her feels composed. Her breathing is erratic, her chest rising and falling faster than it should, her lips slightly parted like she hasn’t caught up to herself yet.

Her hair isn’t the same. It's pulled. Touched.

And her eyes are the worst of it. There’s fire there. Burning like she’s holding something back with everything she has, like if she lets it out it won’t stop at words.

Good.

I prefer her like this.

Alive.

I crouch, reaching for the scrap of fabric on the ground, the one thing left behind in the middle of everything we just did.

Her thong.

I pick it up without looking away from her, my gaze locked on hers as I slide it into my pocket.

“You haven't changed.” She teases.

“A little too old for that now.” I straighten slowly.

My attention sweeps outward for a moment, scanning without making it obvious. The perimeter is still intact. My men are where they’re supposed to be, positioned just beyond the immediate line of sight, blending into the night, into the movement of the area.

Watching and making sure nothing interrupts what belongs to me.

“You clean up nicely for an old man.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, like she’s tossing it over her shoulder, like it’s nothing.

I almost smile.

“I was trying to impress you.” My hand comes up before she can move, settling at her waist, pulling her into me in one smooth motion, not giving her the chance to step away, to rebuild that careful distance she keeps reaching for.

She stiffens for a second. Then she tilts her head slightly, finally looking at me, her eyes still holding that same fire, just banked now.

“You should try harder,” she pokes, her tone light, but her gaze isn’t.

I lean in just enough, close enough that my voice doesn’t carry beyond her ear.

“I don’t need to,” I murmur. “You’re already paying attention.”

Her lips press together, fighting it.

The pull is still there.