Page 14 of Betrayal of the Mafia Rebel
"Yours," I gasp, my fingers tangling in his short-cropped hair. "I'm yours, Fabio."
He groans against my mouth, the sound of a man who just won something. He marches away from the door, carrying me effortlessly across the small room. He drops me down onto the narrow cot in the corner. The rough military blanket scratches against my jeans. Before I can sit up, he's crowding over me, ripping his shirt off and dropping it on the stone.
The dim light catches the roaring lion inked on his left bicep as he reaches for the hem of my shirt.
"Hands up," he commands.
I obey, raising my arms. He pulls my shirt off in one smooth motion, throwing it aside. My bra follows a second later. The cold air of the tunnel hits my bare skin, making my nipples pebble into tight, aching points.
Fabio's eyes track the movement. He stops. He stares at my chest, then down to my stomach, then to the flare of my hips hidden beneath my denim. Feral worship floods his face. He looks at my curves like a starving man staring at a feast he was told he was never allowed to touch.
"You're perfect," he growls, dropping to his knees on the stone floor between my spread thighs. "Every inch of you is a miracle."
"I'm a Bellanti," I remind him softly, my defensive humor surfacing for a brief, fleeting second. "We're supposed to be monsters."
"Fuck the Bellantis," he snarls, his hands dropping to the button of my jeans. "You're a Costa now. You wear my mark."
He pops the button and jerks the zipper down. His calloused hands grip the denim and pull, dragging my jeans and sticky underwear down my legs in one aggressive yank. He tosses them over his shoulder.
I lie back against the rough blanket, exposed to the harsh, damp air and the burning intensity of his gaze. For as long as I can remember, I hid my body, hid my thoughts, hid my existence inside oversized sweaters and quiet obedience. Now, I'm bare, spread open on a cot in a forgotten Prohibition tunnel, offering myself to the man my family calls the devil. I've never felt more powerful.
Fabio slides his large hands up my bare calves, over my knees, and stops to grip my thighs. His thumbs press into the soft, yielding flesh. He drags his hands over the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, slow and possessive. He's memorizing me.
"Spread for me," he murmurs, his voice rough with raw lust.
I open my thighs wider, offering him unrestricted access. A wet, shameless slick coats my pussy, dripping down into the crease of my thighs. The grinding from earlier left me sensitized,aching, and desperately empty. I need him. I need his weight on me, the steadiness of him.
Fabio leans forward, dipping his head between my knees. His hot breath fans over my soaking wetness. I arch my back, my fingers gripping the coarse fabric of the blanket.
"Fabio," I gasp, my hips bucking off the mattress.
"I'm going to taste every secret you have," he vows darkly.
His mouth opens over me. His tongue lashes out, broad and hot, swiping a long, slick path right up the center of my pussy. The jolt of white electricity arcs straight up my spine. My jaw drops. A loud, un-Bellanti moan rips out of my throat, bouncing off the stone walls.
He grips my hips, holding me firmly in place as his tongue goes to work. He's relentless. He finds my swollen clit and sucks it directly into his mouth, applying a brutal, unrelenting suction that makes my vision swim with white-hot sparks.
"Fuck," I sob, my head tossing side to side on the cot. "Please."
He answers by driving two fingers deep inside my slick opening. The stretch is sudden and intense. My body clenches hard around him, gripping the thick intrusion of his fingers. He works his fingers in and out, the wet sound of it louder than the space heater's hum.
His mouth pulls back just enough for his thumb to take over, circling my clit while his fingers pump inside me. The combination of suction, stretching, and friction obliterates rational thought. I'm melting. The cold tunnel vanishes. The looming threat of the mafia war disappears. There is only the scorching heat of his mouth, the bruising grip of his hands on my hips, and the rapid, spiraling ascent of my climax.
"Come for me, Catalina," he growls against my wetness, his voice vibrating directly against my clit. "Give it to me."
My body obeys him without question. A shuddering climax rips through my core. My hips snap upward. My body spasms around his fingers, slick heat flooding over his knuckles. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders.
Fabio drinks my climax like it is the only thing keeping him alive. He swallows my soft moans, his tongue smoothing over my sensitive flesh until the last violent tremor fades.
He pulls back, his mouth wet and shining in the dim light. His chest heaves. The hunger coming off him is its own pressure. He stands up, shedding his tactical pants.
My breath vanishes.
He's heavy in his own hand. His thick cock stands aggressively at attention, jutting out from a dense patch of dark hair. A single drop of clear precum weeps from the blunt head. He's built for taking what he wants. He grips his length, stroking his hand up and down once. The veins pulse under his grip.
"You're going to take every inch," he states, a low promise that makes a fresh wave of slick heat pool between my thighs.
"Yes." I reach for him, arms open in total surrender. "Give it to me. Fill me."
