Isadora, The Mafia Queen
“Bend over.”
“What?” I glanced over my shoulder, my pulse racing.
“You heard me.” His voice was low, commanding, and it sent a thrill through me. “Hands on the bench.”
I hesitated, but the hungry look in his eyes made me comply. I bent over, the water streaming down my back. He positioned himself behind me, his hands gripping my hips.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I want it,” I whispered.
“Good.” He pushed into me slowly, letting me feel every inch, and I moaned as he started to move.
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