Page 176 of The Mafia King's Reign
"If you're good."
I set down my fork. "And what if I'm not good?"
"You'll find out."
By the time the sun starts to sink, I'm wound so tight I can barely sit still.
He's been touching me all afternoon. Casual, deliberate touches that feel like promises. His hand at the small of my back when we walked through the house. His fingers trailing up my thigh when we sat on the couch. His mouth at my neck when I stood at the kitchen counter.
Never enough. Always just enough to make me want more.
"Salvatore—"
"Patience."
"I'm out of patience."
"Good." He stands, offering his hand. "Then you're ready."
He leads me down to the beach.
There's a blanket already laid out on the sand—he planned this, of course he did—and the sun is starting to turn the sky pink and orange at the horizon.
"Lie down," he says.
I lie down.
He stands over me for a moment, just looking, and the weight of his attention makes my skin flush.
"Do you know what I thought about," he says quietly, "every night since the wedding?"
"What?"
"This." He drops to his knees beside me. "You. Here. Mine."
His hands go to the tie of my bikini top.
"I thought about unwrapping you like a gift." The knot comes undone. "Taking my time." The fabric falls away. "Making you wait."
His mouth closes over my nipple and I arch off the blanket with a gasp.
"But I'm done waiting," he says against my skin.
His hand slides down my stomach, under the waistband of my bikini bottoms, and when his fingers find me I'm already wet.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're soaked."
"I told you—"
"I know what you told me." He pushes two fingers inside me without warning and I cry out. "But I wanted to feel it for myself."
He works me with his hand, slow and relentless, his thumb circling my clit in a rhythm that has me shaking in seconds.
"Salvatore—please—"
"Please what?"
"I need—"
