Page 70 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
Behind me, I hear the rustle of clothing, the clink of a belt buckle. Luca’s hands land on my hips, his touch possessive, sure. He nudges my legs apart with his knee. I let them fall open, my breath coming faster.
The cool air of the room touches my exposed skin, followed by the heat of his body. He’s not wearing anything now. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against me, through the ruined silk of my panties. He tugs the fabric aside, and the feeling of him, bare and insistent against my slick, sensitive flesh, makes me gasp.
“Ready for me?” Luca’s voice is rough in my ear.
I can only nod, my forehead pressing against the table. My eyes drift closed.
“Eyes open, Rosalina.”
Dante’s voice. I force my lids up.
He’s pulled a chair directly in front of the table, directly in my line of sight. He sits, perfectly relaxed, one ankle propped on his other knee. He’s still mostly dressed, just his pants unzipped, his cock hard and proud in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, watching me.
“Look at me while he takes you.”
Luca doesn’t wait. He guides himself to my entrance and pushes in with one smooth, deep stroke.
I cry out, my fingers curling against the wood. He’s so big, the stretch so perfect, somuch. It’s a full, aching pressure that steals my breath. He fills me completely, his hips flush against my ass. He holds there, letting me adjust, letting the sensation wash over both of us.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his hands tightening on my hips. “Still so wet from coming.”
Then he moves.
He sets a relentless, deep rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in, each thrust a jolt of pure, sharp pleasure. The table rocks slightly with the force. My breasts sway with the motion, confined and aching in my dress. The sound of skin meeting skin, of my own ragged breaths, fills the dining room.
My focus blurs. Pleasure builds, a coil tightening low in my belly. I want to close my eyes, to lose myself in the physical sensation, but Dante’s gaze holds me captive.
He’s still stroking himself, his movements lazy compared to Luca’s driving pace. “That’s it,” Dante says, his voice a low purr. “Take him. Let me see how much you love it.”
I do. I love it. The friction, the fullness, the raw, primal claiming. Luca’s grunts are music. My own moans are a desperate counterpoint. I push back against him, meeting his thrusts, wanting him deeper.
Dante watches it all, a king observing his subjects. His eyes are dark, absorbing every twitch of my face, every shudder of my body.
“Come here, Rosalina,” he says after a moment, his voice cutting through the haze.
The command is confusing. Luca is buried inside me, moving hard. How?
But Dante just points to the space on the table directly in front of him.“Now.”
Luca understands. He wraps an arm around my waist, still sheathed inside me, andlifts. I’m hauled up onto the table, my back scraping across the wood, knocking a wine glass over. It rolls and shatters on the floor. I don’t care.
Luca climbs onto the table with me, kneeling between my thighs, never slipping out. The new angle is devastating. Deeper. More direct. He resumes his pace, the hard wood of the table solid beneath my back.
And my head is now right at the edge, right in front of Dante.
He doesn’t have to say a word. I know what he wants.
I tilt my head back, my mouth falling open. He guides himself to my lips, the broad head of his cock dragging across them before he pushes inside.
I take him, the taste of him—salt and skin—filling my mouth. He’s thick, stretching my lips, pressing down on my tongue. I moan around him, the vibration making him curse softly.
Now I’m full in every way. Luca pounding into my core, Dante filling my mouth. I’m pinned between them, a conduit for theirpleasure and my own. The dual sensations are overwhelming. The deep, rhythmic invasion below, the demanding, controlled one above.
Dante sets the pace for my mouth, a slow, shallow thrusting that allows me to breathe through my nose, to suck and lick the length of him when he pulls back. He fists a hand in my hair directing the movement of my head.
“Good girl,”he murmurs, looking down at me.“You take us so well.”
Luca’s thrusts are becoming erratic, his control fraying. “I’m close,” he growls, his voice strained. “So fucking close.”
