Page 42 of The New Godfather

When he finally pulls back enough to speak against my lips, his voice is a warm growl. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I stay alive long enough to make sure you never have to go back to your father’s house.”

Then he resumes undressing me, sliding my jeans down my legs, peeling my panties off expertly. He spreads my thighs wide on the kitchen counter, the marble chilling my skin and making me shiver. His eyes are locked on mine.

The intensity of his gaze alone makes my breath catch. When his gaze drops down to my sex, I feel exposed most deliciously. I’ve never been so completely opened and exposed to anybody’s gaze before. Heat floods my cheeks, but I can’t look away. Not when he’s watching me like that.

He puts his lips between my legs. He starts slow. So slow it feels like torture.

His hot tongue drags a long, deliberate wet stripe up my center, parting my folds with unhurried precision. The first full contact makes my hips jerk, and a sharp gasp tears from my throat. My eyes flutter shut as pleasure sparks through me like electricity. He doesn’t rush. He savors every bit of my flesh — licking lazily, exploring, learning exactly what makes me tremble.

When his tongue finally circles my clit, the pressure is perfect. Firm enough to make my toes curl, and soft enough to leave me aching for more. I moan his name, the sound broken and needy, as my fingers grip the edge of the counter.

Still, he sees no point in hurrying.

He sucks gently, lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, and his tongue flicking in slow, devastating circles. Then, when I am dying with impatience and begging for release, he relents and sucks harder, the wet heat of his mouth pulling me deeper into the pleasure until my thighs start to shake around his shoulders. I feel his fingers at my entrance. Oh my, two thick fingers slide inside me. He curls them just right, and strokes that sensitive spot inside me, while his tongue continues its relentless worship of my clit.

The pleasure builds fast and deep, coiling tighter and tighter in my belly like a spring being wound too far. My breathing turns ragged, short little gasps that turn into moans I can’t hold back. My hips rock against his mouth, chasing the sensation, but he punishes my eagerness by turning the pace down, controlling and drawing it out until I feel like I’m going to shatter.

“Ricci…” His name slips out again, desperate and pleading.

He gives in and sucks my whole sex into his mouth. My thighs tremble violently around his head, and my muscles tighten as my orgasm rushes toward me.

When it hits, it’s hard and shattering.

My back arches off the counter as waves of blinding pleasure crash through me. My walls clench rhythmically around his fingers, pulsing hard as the orgasm rips through every nerve and cell in my body. I can’t stop the sounds I’m making — raw, helpless moans that echo in the quiet kitchen. The sheer overwhelming intensity of it makes me scream.

Even as I come apart, he keeps licking me through every pulse, every aftershock. His tongue softens but never leaves me, gentle laps and slow circles that prolong the pleasure until I’m boneless and gasping, my body twitching with little shocks. My fingers are still tangled in his hair, holding him between my thighs even as my strength drains away.

When the last tremor fades, I’m left raw. Exposed. Completely undone.

He rises from between my thighs, lips glistening with my arousal, eyes dark with hunger and something else. Something that looks a lot like obsession.

Our gazes lock. Mine, shocked. His, triumphant.

And I realize, with a quiet thrill that scares me, that I don’t want him to ever stop. Whatever he has in mind to do to me, I want it.

I want more.

I want all of him.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

RICCI

Istraighten, and I can’t help it. My eyes go once again to the bruise — that ugly, dark mark on her upper arm. New fury surges through me. I hate him. I can feel the acid of my hate in my bones. Mario.

That worthless piece of shit dared to put his hands on her. On what’s mine. The thought makes my jaw lock tight, my hands tremble with the need to wrap them around his throat and squeeze until there’s nothing left in his useless eyes. The rage coils tighter, but I force it down, lock it away. I refuse to hurt her. She has suffered enough in Salvatore’s undeserving hands.

I don’t show her the hate I feel.

Right now she’s looking at me with those wide green eyes, still flushed and trembling from her orgasm. And she’s hungry for more.

And seeing her like this — completely open, completely vulnerable, every inch of her beautiful body spread out on my kitchen counter — makes my desire for her twist into something even more primal.

She belongs to me now.

Every bit of her. The soft curve of her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, the delicate skin that still carries the faint red marks from my mouth. She’s mine. And Mario crossed a line so big it feels like he reached into my chest and tried to rip out the only thing that has ever mattered.

I make myself gentle, gentler than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life.