Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“I can’t share you. I want to walk down there, lock the doors, and burn the fucking place to ashes with everyone inside who just got to see that.” I stalk to her, and she stays pressed to the glass, worry in her eyes. “But that’s not before I personally remove every single man’s eyes who watched you take pleasure.”
She gulps and nods, her eyes slowly softening.“I don’t want others to have me. I don’t want anyone to touch me like you do,” Emelia whispers, and I place both hands on the glass beside her head and drop my forehead to hers.
What the hell has she done to me?
“You make me insane,” I tell her, closing my eyes. Suddenly, the most delicate, softest hands cradle my face, and I groan.
“You make me furious,” she replies.
“And what are we going to do about that?” I ask her, so fucking lost in what I’m feeling and equally as pissed that I’m letting walls down and showing some semblance of vulnerability to the woman I have fought so hard to remain untouchable to.
But I just. Fucking. Can’t.
I want her to take whatever good that is left in me and claim it. Secretly keep it as her own and nurture it when I come home to her every night. I want a fucking wife. I want a friend. I want her to take the roughness from my days and toss it out nightly so I can breathe again. It's then that I realize I haven’t really released a full breath since losing my parents. No, not until Emelia, and this is just the beginning.
“You can start by letting me in there. We just have to try. You don’t have to be a mafia boss when it's us, Nico. We can just be us. That’s what a wife and husband do.” She leans in and kisses me, wrapping her hands at the nape of my neck.
I try to mentally resist it one more time, my face twisted in pain. But when that sweet tongue of hers touches mine, I am rendered defenseless. My hands leave the glass and tangle in her hair, gaining my ability to deepen the kiss. We fight each other, kissing more and more roughly.
I move us toward the couch in my office, but I don’t break contact. Bending, I wrap my arms around her waist and keep our lips sealed. The second we get to the couch, I reluctantly have to pull away as I step back and unbuckle my belt, and Emelia’s greedy hands make work of undoing my pants and pulling the zipper down. Once that’s done, her hand reaches into my briefs, and she wraps her warm palm around my hard cock, somehow making it stiffen more.
“Let me taste you,” she whispers against my neck.
“Just for a minute. I want to be inside you, Emelia. I need it.”
She nods eagerly and drops to her knees fast. Pulling me out, she immediately wraps her plump lips around my cock, staining it with what's left of the red lipstick she wore.
“Fuck, you are so damn good at sucking cock, baby.” I watch her, moving her hair to the side so I can see my girth stretch her mouth so fucking wide. Her eyes water as she looks up at me when I start to fuck her mouth, and we don’t break eye contact while I do it. Me still in a suit and my queen on her knees for her king. The only time she will ever bow before anyone is to me. On her knees before I repay the favor.
“I won’t come until it’s your cunt, pretty baby,” I warn her as she tries to suck my fucking soul out of my body. I see what she wants, but I want it deeper. There isn’t a chance in hell I'm wasting a drop of me for anything but her warm pussy.
“Mmm,” she whines in disappointment, and I laugh, tugging at her hair a bit. But this has her moaning instead, and I tug it again, this time hard, and she groans louder against my cock.
My pretty wife wants it rough.
Anything for the queen of the Seattle mafia.
Yanking her hair harder, my cock pops out of her mouth, and she screams in pleasure.“Oh God!”
I see it then. Her hand is between her legs, and those delicate fingers are touching my property.
Get a fucking grip, I inwardly scold myself. I can’t possibly be jealous of her fingers.
But I am. Goddammit, I’m jealous of anything that occupies her intimate parts that isn’t me. If I ever found her masturbating with her hands or toys without me… I just might snap.
“Do not come until it’s on my cock, wife.” I pull her up by her hair, and she makes a sound I've never heard before, but it’s pure pleasure. It’s as if she invented it, and I would like that to play at my goddamn funeral.