Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
RICCI
Iknow they’ve all noticed: my men, the made men, even the low-level guys who usually keep their heads down.
I’m not the same. My focus is fractured, my dedication gone with the wind.
I catch the looks they exchange when I leave meetings early or tell them to handle things without me.
They don’t say it out loud, but I feel it.
They think it’s the smell of new pussy. They don’t know I’m the boss who’s already halfway out the door, and tonight I’m about to pull another one.
The gala.
The biggest event of the season. Politicians, donors, every single person who needs to curry favor and write checks will be there, and I’m supposed to be one of the most important guests in the room.
But as I stand looking at her, I’m completely convinced I don’t give a damn about attending this event.
“Why do you care what they think?” I ask, my voice low.
She meets my eyes in the mirror, hesitating for a long moment. “I don’t. I was protecting you from gossip and speculation.”
“What?”
“Well… Salvatore used to say that this was the most important event in his calendar. You’re the Don. I know you have to go.”
“I don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to go, let’s not.”
The words hang between us. She searches my face, surprise flickering across hers, but I see the relief too, the way her shoulders ease just a fraction.
She just looks at me for another long beat, then reaches up and slowly pulls the clip from her hair.
The golden curls tumble down over her shoulders in a soft, silky fall, framing her face, brushing the bare skin of her collarbones. Something inside me snaps.
I grab her.
My hands slide around her waist, and I pull her back against me, hard.
The second her body meets mine I lose the last thread of control I was pretending to have.
I kiss her like a man who has been wandering lost for days in a desert looking for clean, fresh water.
The thirst is deep and primal. There is no restraint left.
My mouth claims hers completely, my tongue sliding against hers in a long, demanding stroke.
She gasps into me, the sound raw and surprised.
Her fingers curl tight into the lapels of my tux like she needs something to hold onto.
That little sound goes straight to my cock.
I’m already aching for her, but I take my time.
I want to savor every single inch of her tonight. No rushing.
My fingers find the zipper at the back of the dress and slide it down slowly, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room, each tooth giving way like a secret being revealed.
The crimson silk loosens and pools around her feet like spilled wine, leaving her standing there in nothing but the emerald necklace and a tiny scrap of lace that barely covers her freshly shaven pussy.
The sight of her like this, almost bare, makes my chest tighten with something fierce and possessive.
I drop to my knees behind her.
My lips find the backs of her thighs first, kissing the soft skin there, slow, tasting her. I move higher, pressing my mouth to the curve of her ass, then higher still to the dip of her spine, my hands sliding up her legs, gripping her hips to hold her steady as I rise. She trembles under my touch.
A soft, shaky breath escapes her. Then she turns in my arms.
Her hands are trembling as she pushes the jacket off my shoulders, then works the buttons of my shirt open one by one.
Her mouth follows every inch of skin she reveals — warm, wet kisses pressed to my collarbone, my chest, the ridges of my stomach.
When she drops lower, and her fingers reach for my belt, I groan low in my throat, the sound rough and desperate.
She peels the rest of my clothes off with the same slow reverence I showed her, until we’re both naked, the only thing left on her body is the necklace that glitters against her throat like it was made for this moment.
I lift her.
She’s light in my arms, legs wrapping instinctively around my waist as I carry her the few steps to the bed.
I lay her down like she’s something sacred, something I’m almost afraid to break, even though the hunger in me is roaring to claim her completely.
I settle between her thighs, kissing her deep and lazy while I slide inside her, inch by slow, torturous inch, until I’m buried to the hilt.
She arches beneath me with a soft, broken moan, her nails digging into my back, her walls fluttering around me like she’s trying to pull me even deeper.
We make love.
I rock into her in long, sensual strokes, savoring the tight, wet heat of her, the way she clenches around me every time I grind deep.
Her legs wrap tighter around my waist, heels pressing into the small of my back, pulling me closer.
We move like that for a long time — slow and deep, every thrust deliberate, lingering, and wet.
I watch her face the whole time, memorizing every flutter of her lashes, every gasp, every time her lips part with my name like it’s the only word she knows.
Her hands slide up my back, into my hair, holding onto me like she never wants to let go.
When we both come, it’s quiet but intense.
Her walls pulse around me in long, rhythmic waves, pulling me over the edge with her.
I spill inside her with a low groan, forehead pressed to hers, breathing the same air as her body milks every last drop from me.
For a few heartbeats we stay locked together, trembling, the only sound is our ragged breathing.
But I can’t stop.
I kiss every part of her body — the exposed curve of her pale throat, the delectable swell of her breasts, the soft flesh of her stomach…
the silky skin of her inner thighs. She’s trembling and oversensitive.
Little whimpers escape her with every press of my mouth as she slides down the bed and takes me in her hot, wet mouth.
I groan, my fingers threading through her hair as she works me with slow, perfect suction, her tongue swirling around the head until my thighs shake.
When I realize that one more minute of this and I will not be able to control myself anymore and gush into her sweet mouth, I pull her off and return the favor. Spreading her open, I devour her until she’s crying out, hips bucking against my tongue, fingers yanking at my hair.
Then I’m fucking her wildly all over the bed.
I take her on her back, legs over my shoulders.
Then I flip her onto her stomach and drive into her from behind, one hand fisted in her hair.
In a flash, I’ve bent her over the edge of the mattress.
Her hands grasp the sheets helplessly as I pound hard and deep into her.
I can’t get enough. I need her closer, deeper, mine in every possible way.
The pace turns frantic, desperate. Skin slapping skin, her moans turning into broken sobs of pleasure, my name tearing from her lips.
By the time we’re done, the sheets are a wrecked mess, twisted and damp beneath us.
Neither of us can move. My muscles feel like liquid, my heart is still hammering against my ribs.
I drag myself off the bed on shaky legs, grab a clean blanket from the closet, and pull it down onto the floor with us.
We collapse together, tangled in each other’s arms. Her head rests on my chest, her body soft and spent against mine.
I stroke slowly down her back, feeling the way she melts into me completely.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair — sex and jasmine and something that’s just her — and close my eyes.
This is all I want.
Her. Us. Right here.
The rest of the world can burn for all I care.