Page 59 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

His name comes out shaky. I'm trembling and he hasn't even touched me yet. My fingers grip the edge of the counter and the cold marble bites into my palms.

He looks up at me from his knees. This man runs an empire, holds the lives of countless people in his hands and he’s on his knees looking up at me like I'm the one with power here.

"Watch me," he says.

And I do.

His mouth finds the inside of my thigh first. Soft kisses that make my muscles jump beneath his lips. His beard scrapes against the sensitive skin and the contrast between the roughness and the softness of his mouth sends a shiver rolling through me.

His hands grip my hips and pull me forward to the edge of the counter, spreading my legs wider, opening me to him. His breath is hot against my skin and the anticipation alone has my fingers white-knuckling the marble. The first stroke of his tongue drags a moan from low in my belly that echoes off the stone walls and comes back to me like a stranger's voice.

"Oh my god." My head rolls side to side. The heat of his tongue tracing the inside of my pussy lips nearly sends me over the edge instantly. If that makes me weak, who the hell cares? Not me!

“Rowan, what are you doing to me?” I know what he is doing, but for real. What is this man doing to me that I can’t seem to think of anything else but climaxing all over his face, his dick and anywhere else he wants me.

His response is a low, warm chuckle and then he does it again. And again.

His mouth is hot and wet, his tongue moving with a patience that borders on cruelty. He slowly strokes his tongue through my slick fold. Pressure builds, but the man is intent on not giving me any relief. My fingers find his hair and grip hard.

"Rowan. Please."

He pulls back just enough to speak against me, his breath warm on sensitive skin. "Please what?"

"More. I need more."

He gives me more. His tongue finds the spot that makes my vision blur and he focuses there, relentlessly. His hands hold my hips in place when my body tries to arch off the counter. The pressure builds in tightening waves, my thighs shaking against his shoulders. My fingers tighten around locks of his hair. Sounds tear from my mouth that I've never made before and can't stop making. The marble is cold under my ass and his mouth is hot against me. The contrast drives me higher until I can't tell where the cold ends and the heat begins.

"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Let go, malyshka. I've got you."

The orgasm crashes through me hard enough to steal my breath. My whole body seizes, my thighs clamping around his head, and I'm coming against his mouth while he works me through it. His tongue gentles but doesn't stop, drawing out every last wave until I'm boneless on his kitchen counter with my pulse hammering in my ears and the ceiling spinning above me in slow blue circles from the pool light.

He presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh. Then another. Then he rises from his knees, cups my face in both hands, and kisses my mouth.

I taste myself on his lips. The intimacy of it should shock me. Instead it sends a fresh wave of heat through my body. He tasted me on his finger on the terrace, licked it clean.

But this is different.

"Good girl," he says against my mouth, in a low growly purr.

Those two words wrap around my soul and settle in my heart. My whole body flushes with warmth that has nothing to do with the orgasm and everything to do with that voice saying those words while his hands hold my face. He makes me feel like I'm the most precious thing he's ever touched.

Slowly, he pulls away, his lips trailing down my jawline to my neck, making me cry out as his teeth rake the sensitive skin there. He studies my face. Whatever he finds makes his expression soften in a way I haven't seen before, not even last night when he told me he loved me. This is quieter than that. Deeper.

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb grazing the shell of it.

"Let that hold us both off.”

“For how long?” My whole body trembles with the need to have more. He’s achingly hard and in need too. I reach for the button of his slacks to pull him closer, but he gently takes my hands in his.

“You should rest." He helps me off the counter.

Weary blue eyes find mine. Pain glitters in those bottomless depths and I am not so sure it is all due to me or some past mistake he made.

He disappears down the hallway.

My body is still humming, still warm, still carrying the echo of his mouth and his hands and those two words.

Good girl.