Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(165)

Leon kneels between my legs, hooks a finger under my damp panties, and slips them to one side, leaving my slick flower exposed. He pushes my thighs further apart and dives in between them, his mouth devouring my pussy. His tongue drags up and down my wet slit, flicking now and again over my swollen bud.

“Oh my God,” I mumble, clutching at the blankets. What if the couple upstairs overhears us? This is definitely not a position I want Wanda and Gerry to find us in.

But when Leon plunges a finger inside my aching hole I can’t suppress a cry of surprise and pleasure. He curls his finger and strokes expertly at that deep, forbidden sweet spot inside of me while his tongue works my clit. It’s not long before I’m bucking against his face, my hands making frustrated fists in the blankets on either side of me. I’m moaning and clenching, on the verge of an explosion.

When it comes, Leon doesn’t relent, even when I have to clap a hand over my own mouth to stifle a scream as an orgasm shudders through me. It’s been ages — probably months — since I last had an orgasm. And even then, I’ve never had a climax quite like this. My whole body is trembling and weak, but Leon keeps going. He sucks my clit and pushes another finger inside of me, forcing me to keep my legs open even though it almost hurts now.

But pain is the close cousin to pleasure, and a second orgasm comes hurtling toward me, fast. I have to bite my hand to keep from screaming again, and this time Leon withdraws his finger, continuing to gently lap at my juices until I come down. Then he tugs my soaked panties down my legs and throws them before taking off his own underwear. His massive cock springs free, bouncing and erect.

Leon bends down and crouches over me, angling the head of his shaft at my opening and pushing inside with one swift thrust. I arch my back and my head rolls back, my eyes closing. He’s enormous and thick and just what I need.

“Ohh, you feel so good,” he groans. When I reach up to touch his face, he turns and kisses my palm tenderly, closing his eyes. Then he pins down my arms on either side of me so I can’t move them at all. The juxtaposition of such a soft, gentle gesture with this show of dominance is overwhelming, intoxicating. He is both kitten and tiger at once, prince and beast.

He thrusts into me hard, again and again, without mercy. My aching, shuddering cunt envelops him fully, taking him in, right to the hilt. When I feel my third orgasm getting closer, he speeds up the pace, his hips snapping with an arrhythmic frenzy until his mouth falls open and he fixes me with a blazing, green-eyed gaze.

We lock eyes just as he pushes into me and shoots a stream of hot seed deep inside my depths. He groans my name just as I whisper his, my own climax immediately following. He collapses beside me and presses his lips to mine, our arms encircling each other instantly. We press our foreheads together and pant heavily, coming down from the highest of earthly highs.

The two of us fall asleep this way, tangled up together while his hot honey slowly leaks out of me onto the blankets.





32





Cherry





When I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon wafting from upstairs, it’s already ten in the morning. My eyes widen in shock when I see the time on my dying cell phone. I never sleep in this late. Back in New York, I used to always get up early so I could start my commute while some of the city was still asleep. It felt like a normal town with the noise level slightly decreased — well, almost normal. But here in Bayonne, I guess my body just readjusted accordingly with the slower pace of life.

Of course, it’s also been a long time since I last had sex.

And last night was definitely enough to wear me out for awhile.

I close my eyes and wince at the thought. I can’t believe I slept with him. I’ve been back in town for less than seventy-two hours and I’ve already fucked some random guy in the basement of two kindly old strangers’ house. What the hell is wrong with me?

Is there a “slutty” phase to the stages of grief?

But then, I remind myself that Leon isn’t really a random guy. In fact, there’s a stronger connection between the two of us than has ever existed with any of my past boyfriends. We have a history, albeit a vague one. He was the boy who saved me from drowning at the beach when I was a little girl. And he has been investigating my father’s death since before I even got here.

Hell, he was probably one of the last people to see my dad alive.

This thought makes that recurring lump in my throat surface again. I sigh and force myself to get up. I rub my eyes and pull my hair back into a messy ponytail to keep it out of my face, then quickly start pulling on my clothes again. I fell asleep naked in the basement of two innocent elderly folks. This is going to be the most ridiculous walk of shame imaginable.