Page 24 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

She moves again, and this time there’s no hesitation in it.

The rhythm blends into her body like she’s found it, like she’s no longer testing the feeling but chasing it, her hips lifting slightly, meeting her own hand, giving in to it in a way that pulls something blinding in me.

I stop.

Mid-step. Mid-breath.

Everything in me stills at once, like something unseen just snapped into place.

My eyes lock on the monitor, drawn in closer without me moving yet, every shift of her, every subtle arch, every small, broken sound tugging around my focus until there’s nothing else left in the room but her.

I take a step closer.

Then another as if I’m being pulled instead of choosing to move.

By the time I stop, I’m close enough that the screen fills everything, close enough that I can see the way the intense pleasure takes her, the way her body finally gives in.

And then… “Robert”

My name slips past her lips, sinking into me in a way that feels earned, not given.

A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, reflecting the satisfaction threading through me.

My work here is eighty percent done.

Much to my surprise, I have her where I need her to be.

It was the innocence in those gray eyes that pulled me in. The way she looked at me without hesitation, without the instinct to step back. How daring she was to speak to a man like me.

Most people feel it.

They sense what I am from a distance and avoid me like a plague, like something that shouldn’t be touched.

But not her.

My darkness didn’t push her away. It called to something in her. Something buried.

The part of her she tries to hide behind that blinding ray of light.

And I want it out.

I want to see how far it goes. How deep it runs. How dark it really is in her head when she stops pretending.

Because it’s there.

I’ve seen enough to know.

And for one night, I want to step into it with her.

I straighten slightly, adjusting myself before stepping back, my attention still lingering on the screen for a fraction longer than necessary, as if sealing the moment in place.

Then I turn, my fingers brushing my cuff, straightening it out of habit more than necessity.

There’s something deeply satisfying about walking into a moment that’s already been set.

And I intend to step straight into it.

The hallway outside is quiet, but not empty. My men fall in step the second I step out, like they’ve been waiting for the signal they don’t need spoken.