Page 105 of Don’t Say Mafia

“Oh my gosh,” I murmured as I savored another bite, this time with zero shame since he wasn’t in the room.

Mrs. Nesbitt was my new favorite person.

***

Jagger

She was going to kill me.

Not with a knife or a gun. With fucking chewing. With that soft, distracted hum she made just because something tasted good.

I barely made it to the bathroom.

Locking the door, I braced my hands on the sink and stared at my reflection, hoping it might talk me out of this. It did not. Nothing in my life had prepared me for the fact that a woman eating chicken, potatoes, and carrots could undo me faster than bare skin ever had.

I shoved my hand down my pants, wrapped my fist around my shaft, and stroked myself roughly. The piercing caught on my palm, sending a spike of pleasure straight through me. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep quiet, my eyes squeezed shut as I pictured her mouth instead of my hand. Those full lips stretched around me, her tongue swirling over the head, taking me deep until her throat strained and her eyes watered.

I was pulling so hard on my dick that it was a testament to the human body that I didn’t rip it right off. The wet sound of my own precum slicking the way filled the bathroom. My balls drew up tight, the pressure building so fast I couldn’t slow down even if I wanted to.

I came in under a minute, pulses of cum spilling over my knuckles, dripping down my fingers, and soaking the counter in front of me. My hips jerked forward into my fist, a choked groan slipping out before I could stop it.

When it was over, all I could do was shake my head and laugh.

Get it together, asshole.

I washed my hands, took one last steadying breath that did absolutely nothing, and went back to the kitchen. Which turned out to be a mistake because she’d moved on to dessert.

Mrs. Nesbitt’s cheesecake sat in front of her, already half demolished. It was one of the best desserts that she made, and I stared in pained agony as Eden took a bite, her eyes fluttering shut for half a second.

Fucking hell . . . I was hard again. Instantly. As if my body had learned nothing from the last time.

She glanced up at me with wide, innocent eyes and smiled like this was a normal evening. Like she wasn’t actively wrecking me with dairy and audacity.

“You’re back,” she said sweetly.

I leaned a hip against the counter and nodded, folding my arms across my chest in an attempt to shield myself from the little sounds she was making. The way her lips closed around the fork. The tiny moan of pleasure when the cheesecake hit her tongue. The slow slide of her throat as she swallowed.

I told myself to stay where I was.

I’d just set her apartment on fire. She was vulnerable. We had the rest of our lives to sate my hunger.

Unfortunately for her, I was unable to listen to myself.

Eden took another bite, and a smear of cheesecake caught at the corner of her mouth . . . once again that was it.

I pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen in two strides, the decision already made somewhere below my brain. She barely had time to look up before I was there, one hand braced on the back of her chair, the other gripping the edge of the table.

Her eyes widened. “What are you⁠—”

I didn’t answer with words.

I reached down, fisted the waistband of her leggings, and ripped them apart in one tug. The fabric tore along the seams with a loud, satisfying sound, splitting open from hip to hip. She gasped, her thighs parting instinctively as cool air hit her bare skin.

I didn’t give her time to react.

I grabbed the half-eaten slice of cheesecake from her plate and smashed it between her legs.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her hips jerking at the contact. The cold cream smeared across her folds, coating her clit, and dripping down her inner thighs. I rubbed it in slow circles, watching her face—watching her eyes flutter shut, her mouth fall open, her chest rise and fall in quick, uneven bursts.