Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(165)

“Give it to me!” I heard myself groan, and immediately he began to thrust, gently at first, then faster and faster, with long, deepening strokes. The sound of our skin slapping together filled the bright knot of desire in my belly like a wine skin, fuller and tauter than I could have thought possible.

He thrust in and out faster and faster as I ground my pussy against his fingers. I wanted to come so badly, I could almost see the fireworks in my mind. Suddenly he pulled out with a yell. I almost turned back but then he jerked my hips up. I heard the condom hit the floor and he plunged his bare, rock hard cock into my pussy all at once, burying himself to the hilt.

I yelped and dug against him, submitting to every command my body gave me. As our bodies pounded together everything became bright, lit from within, then on fire, then bursting apart. He roared against me as I cried out, our twinned orgasms cresting in one magnificent, cosmic explosion.

Rocking, arching together, we rode the waves until they subsided. Crashing spasms flexed every muscle in my body over and over, draining him, drawing life back into myself through his seed, his love, his warmth. He held me immobile against him, my body totally conformed to his every curve. I belonged to him. And I felt better for it. Whole.

Eventually we caught our breath, and eventually we slept, still joined together, finally complete.





CHAPTER 7 : EPILOGUE


I WATCHED DECLAN FROM across the garden, squinting under my upheld hand. He pushed his hair back with one self-conscious gesture, his fawning smile sending a shower of charm onto his unsuspecting companion.

“I feel like I should warn her,” I mused.

“You should probably warn him,” Bridget drawled. “Declan is not half man enough for Olivia. She is going to eat him alive.”

“Oh. Well let’s hope there’s video.”

I set my soda water down in the shade and surveyed the garden, cautiously pleased. It was a surprisingly large group of people, all friends of friends, all eager and polite. Everyone I met treated me as though I was instantly accepted and I was still working out a gracious way to act. Bridget referred to me as a “reformed lone wolf.” Secretly, I was still trying to acclimate to the idea, but if she thought I was reformed, at least I was half-convincing.

Edna stepped into the sun and then looked around. Catching my eye, she raised a hand to me.

“Our hostess would like a word,” I murmured.

“Then you should go to her,” Bridget nodded, her attention distracted by the catering staff beefcake.

“OK.”

“Just don’t cut me out of any more deals.”

I sigh-coughed. “Come on, Bridge.”

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” she advised me with as much of an eyebrow quirk as physics would allow her.

“I know… I know. Me either,” I agreed. “How about if I introduce you to Peter…. Baron Peter Baarst?”

“What? Really?”

She followed the discreet gesture of my arm to the other corner of the garden where he was chatting animatedly with Jackson in the shade.

“Why is he wearing a scarf?” she muttered rapidly between her clenched teeth.

“Well… gee I don’t know? Because it looks good? Because it’s January?”

“Is there something wrong with his neck? Because he’s so pale? Like psoriasis or something?”

I rocked back on my heels. “OK. That is a weirdly racist thing to say.”

“Psoriasis affects all races!” she hissed back emphatically.

I held my hands, palm up. “Yeah, yeah,” I agreed cautiously. “Whatever you say. I think… Well, I think the scarf looks good.”

“It does look good,” she breathed huskily.

“You’re freaking me out, Bridget.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m freaking myself out too.”

“One sec… Peter?” I called out.

Peter turned and began to walk toward us, his hair a blazing halo of light in the sun. For a second, I nearly forgot to breathe.

“Peter, have you met Bridget Devareax? She is my gallerist.”

Bridget extended her teal-lacquered fingers to Peter, who drew them instantly to his mouth. His gesture pulled her slightly forward on her 7-inch stilettos and she tipped quite thoroughly into his personal space.

“Delighted,” she purred.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said in a low growl.

Oh geez.

I tiptoed away and met Edna at the arched back doors.

“Darling, hello,” she said, her face wrinkling earnestly. Once again I was struck by her quick, bird-like motions.

“Edna, I can’t thank you enough,” I began.

“Oh, pish tosh,” she retorted, waving her hand in the air. “It is I who should be thanking you. You’ve made such a change, such a marvelous change…”