Beauty and the Mafia Beast
Her thighs grip my hips, and I feel myself growing harder under her weight, my dick pressing up against her through the fabric.
“You don’t look sleepy at all,” I whisper, brushing her hair behind her ears, letting my fingers trail against her soft cheek.
“You want me to sleep?” she asks, head tilted, batting her long lashes.
I shake my head, both hands settling hard on her hips. “Not a chance.”
Her nipples are a goddamn distraction. They poke through that pathetic excuse of fabric every time she shifts, brushing my chest, daring me. Did she put it on just for this? To tease me? She’s always been bold, but tonight it’s different. She’s not scared anymore.
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