Page 64 of The Cost of Silence

Something in him breaks loose. His hand comes up to cradle my face, thumb brushing my cheek, and he leans in, chest pressed to mine, moving his hips just enough to make my lungs collapse.

“You look…” His voice is a rough whisper. “You look so goddamn beautiful taking my cock.”

He shifts, pushing deeper, and I feel it, every thick, slow inch, until my fingernails dig crescents into his shoulders.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, eyes dark, locked on mine. “How hard I am for you, only you, Belle?”

A helpless whimper escapes me.

His mouth curves, sinful and knowing. “Yeah, you feel this, too. Your pussy was made for me.”

Before I can gather a thought, he slides out just enough to make me clench on nothing, then thrusts back in with a low, filthy sound that shoots heat straight through me.

“Fuck, my cock is glistening with your come. Look at us, Belle. Look how well we fit.”

I lift my head and see him slide out of me, before punching back in, driving the air from my lungs and making me toss my head back on a scream.

My hands scramble to hold on, finding purchase on his solid biceps; my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing all of him, needingmore,needing everything.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He grips my hips and drags me up as he goes to his knees and sets a rhythm that makes me see stars. Controlled, powerful, each thrust landing with precision that unravels my thoughts.

He palms one of my breasts, dipping his head and working my nipple into his mouth. His teeth scrape lightly before he bites, just enough to send pleasure sparking down my spine. I gasp, arching into him.

He thrusts harder, deeper, his hips rolling each time he bottoms out. It’s overwhelming heat, breath, the obscene sound of us, my body stretching around his thick cock, taking him so deep I feel him in places I didn’t know existed.

“Oh—God,” I choke out, the world blurring around the edges.

“Belle…” he grits out, voice shredded. “Fuck.”

I nod because that’s all I can do.

Then his hand drops between us, fingers finding me, circling, pressing my clit, and my vision whites out.

“Oh, fuck. I’m….” I can’t even finish the sentence.

“It’s okay,” he growls, thrusting harder. “Come for me.”

It happens fast, violent, overwhelming, my body clenching around him, my legs shaking as I hold onto him, like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this place. I tremble, crying out into his shoulder, unable to stop the wave once it takes me.

He wraps strong arms around me, holding me against himself as he drives into me through every pulse of it.

His breath breaks. He stiffens. A quiet, raw sound rips from his throat as he buries his face, and then he’s spilling inside me with a low, guttural groan.

We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing, bodies pressed tight, the world narrowed to heat and heartbeat and the sound of the city far below.

Finally, he pulls back, cupping my cheek gently. His gaze softens in a way that scares me more than anything else tonight. He leans in, kisses me, slow, searching, sweet in a way that aches, and it steals my breath a second time. This feared, possibly reformed Mafia Don, or whatever he calls it, is looking at me with wonder and it terrifies me and excites me in equal measure.

Before I can understand it, he eases out of me, leaving me trembling, boneless, blinking at him like he’s just changed the shape of the sky.

Maybe he has.

I watch as he walks to the bathroom and deals with the condom. I hear the toilet flush, the tap turn on and then he’s back. Walking toward me like a living Adonis.

He dips his knee into the bed before settling between my legs, his body over mine, arms gathering me against him, yet still he takes care to be gentle around my injuries.

The world is soft around the edges.