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Locked beneath him like this, all I can do is obey. I circle my fingers on my clit as I gag on his thick length. My eyes are squeezed tight, but I can sense him place his hands on the wall above me, bracing himself as he shoves hard into my mouth. He pistons against my tongue as forcefully as I imagined all those years ago, and as the pressure builds in my lower belly, I start to whimper.
“Not yet,” he growls.
He pumps himself in my mouth as tears stream down the sides of my face. I’m so close to cresting that I pull my fingers away, not wanting to come without permission. With a savage thrust, Liam shoves deep into my throat, and I choke on him as I writhe beneath the weight of his body.
“Mine,” he says, his voice rough.
Then he’s fully on top of me, his chest pressed to mine before I can take a breath. He’s kissing me, smothering me, and I feel him pushing into my entrance. My pussy. I love the thrill of the filthy word, and I moan against his tongue.
When Liam shoves into me, I have to break away from his mouth to gasp in a lungful of air. He feels so good, his thickness filling my pussy, stretching me wider than I thought possible as he thrusts deep. When he tilts his hips, I see stars like they’re back on my ceiling, and his cock rubs along my inner spot as he grinds against my clit.
I wrap my legs around his body, hook my ankles behind him as he thrusts. The motion changes his angle inside me, and we both cry out in ecstasy.
“Liam—”
“Come with me, Brioni.”
He plunges his tongue into my mouth as we both spasm. I cling to him like I’m drowning, like he’s the only piece of driftwood that will save me from these crashing waves. I think I shout his name, but I’m not sure anymore, everything is a dreamy blur as we crest together, swept out by this surge of pleasure, so overwhelming I’m lost to the world.
All I can remember is the fantasy of Liam climbing into my bed, pressing his muscular body down on mine, spreading my legs to push inside me, showing me everything that making love could possibly be.
The reality is better than I could have ever imagined.
Chapter 38
Liam
So it wasn’t just the one time I caught her. She used to touch herself while thinking about me all those years ago. My sweet, innocent Brioni, a naughty girl all along. I rake my teeth over my bottom lip at the thought. It explains the excitement she gets from danger, if she’s been hiding filthy secrets this whole time.
I wonder what else there is to discover about her naughtiness.
After our pancake breakfast, I head to the sink to wash up. But Brioni stops me.
“You’re a mafia boss,” she says. “You shouldn’t be doing dishes.” She purses her lips at me. Lips that were so recently wrapped around my cock. I lift an eyebrow at her.
“If I’m the boss, then no one can tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.” I grab her jaw and kiss her hard. “Not even you.”
She gives me that hot little gasp of hers.
“You,” I say, gripping her ass and pulling her to me, “should be doing whatever it is you were doing before I got here.” I dig my fingers into her pert cheek before letting go.
She makes a tiny squeal in the back of her throat. She likes it when I fuck her mouth, and she likes it when I squeeze her ass. Noted.
Turning to the small plastic box on the counter, Brioni cracks her neck to the right before snapping open the lid. She takes a deep breath as she flicks through the notecards of her mam’s recipes, and I turn off the faucet to watch her. When she pulls out a card to read, she visibly swallows. Hands it to me. I dry my hands carefully before taking it.
It’s her mam’s sweet potato pie recipe.
Whenever our families would gather together for dinner, Brioni’s mam would supply the dessert. The woman’s go-to was sweet potato pie, which I never really liked. Too soggy. After that coldhearted woman left, Brioni started baking apple pie instead. Overloaded with large-grain sugar on top. My favorite.
I scan the sweet potato pie recipe before handing it back.
“Don’t boil the potatoes,” I tell her. “Roast them.”
Brioni furrows her eyebrows at me. They’re two shades darker blonde than the hair on her head, a strong reminder of the trimmed hair beneath her hand when she touched herself for me. I clear my throat.
“Boiling sweet potatoes is healthier,” I say. “Therefore, not as good for dessert.”
Brioni licks her lips. Then surprises me by reaching out to touch my stomach. Through my shirt, she strokes her fingers down my abs. When she makes an appreciative noise in her throat, I feel my cock stir, ready for another round. God, what her touch does to me—even through a layer of fabric. She glides her fingers up to my firm chest. I flex my pecs for her, and she gives me a grin that’s anything but angelic.
