The Mafia’s Feisty Captive
God, those eyes, burned straight through me.
I didn’t answer with words.
Instead, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his softly, like I was dipping my toes into something dangerous and beautiful.
That was all the permission he needed.
Vincent let out a quiet hum against my lips, his hands slipping to the back of my neck as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. His lips moved against mine in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring every second. When his tongue met mine, it wasn’t rushed or messy, it was a slow dance, passionate and full of something that felt almost reverent.
Bab Populer