Page 21 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“Name,” he breathes into my mouth.

“I can still remember it,” I counter, sucking his bottom lip.

“Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.”

He pulls out of me and the loss of his cock inside me is like having a limb chopped off. In one easy movement, he flips me over onto my knees and drags my ass towards him. Then he presses my shoulders down with one hand until my face is squashed against the thick-pile carpet, spreads my pussy wide with the other, and rams into me from behind.

I cry out. That’s the stretch I was waiting for. There is nowhere left for him to go, but he slides his shaft all the way out, rubs the head around my entrance, and drives it all the way home again.

“More!” I demand.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me, baby.”

“I won’t. You promised.”

“Aye, that I did, sweetheart.”

He leans over me and I twist my face around to meet his kisses while he works my clit with his fingers. My orgasm flares to the surface, and my knees go weak as it explodes, everything else disappearing but the pleasure between my legs.

“I’m going to come, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Ready for me?”

“Yes.” It’s all I can manage moments before I feel his cum filling me up and trickling down my legs.

His body twitches and shudders before we collapse together on the floor of his living room, arms and legs entwined, our hearts thudding in sync.

6

FINN

I don’t move, afraid to burst this cocoon we’ve woven around us.

That’s absolute bull-shite.

I’m afraid that if I move, she’ll remember where she is, and what we just did, and she’ll flee like her life depends on it, and I’ll never see her again.

Instead, I regulate my breathing and imprint the feel of her body tucked against mine on my psyche, a reminder of this perfect moment. We fit together like two halves of one whole. Like she was made for me. Perhaps it shouldn’t work, but it does, and I’m not questioning the universe on the matter.

She gave herself to me. She had the choice, and she gave herself to me anyway, and fuck, I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. She’s a paradox. One of life’s little miracles. Vulnerable but strong. Innocent but sexy as fuck. Open and shut, all at the same time.

I replay in my head the moment she put her foot on my shoulder and opened herself up for me, and my erection springs back to life.

Ready for round two.

She’ll kill me, but oh boy will I die a happy man.

She stirs, every muscle in her body suddenly coiled tightly enough to spring from the walls, and I wonder if relaxation has ever been in her vocabulary. She raises her head, locates her clothes with her eyes, and extricates herself from my embrace.

I don’t stop her. I watch her stand up, naked, and stretch her limbs like a cat waking from a nap, and my cock gives me a wake-up call by knocking against my abdomen.

“Don’t leave on my account.” My voice is raspy.

Her gaze barely skims me as she drags her panties and skirt over her hips, then tugs her T-shirt over her head, covering her beautiful sexy body with what I’m starting to think must be her signature black. She’s still wearing her boots. Her pussy is still dripping my cum, the tops of her thighs slick.

“I’m not,” she says.

That told me.

I stand and pull on my pants to cover my erection. It doesn’t work. I think it’s fair to say that she has ruined me for anyone else for the entire rest of my life, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.