Bound By Mafia Blood
Her fingers braced against his chest, nails leaving welts, her body bucking wildly, like she didn’t care if the world burned as long as he stayed inside her.
“I hate how much I need this,” she rasped.
“You hate how much you love me,” he corrected, grabbing her by the throat as she came undone.
Before the aftershocks even faded, he twisted her into a tight lotus position, his legs folded, hers wrapped around his waist, their foreheads touching as they rocked in slow, shuddering rhythm. This one was different. This one ached. It was quiet. Dangerous. Reverent. Like prayer turned into sex.
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