The Woman in the Warehouse (Costa Family #9) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Costa Family Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
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“I’ll just fuck you on the floor then,” he said, teeth nipping my ear gently.

I probably should have come up with something witty to say to that. But his body had shifted over mine, his hips positioning between my legs, his hard cock pressing against me again, making the desire grow quickly as his lips claimed mine.

There was nothing hurried about Anthony then, though. He kissed me long and deep, until my lips felt swollen and fuzzy, until an unexpected warmth that had nothing to do with desire spread across my chest, and sank into my heart, chasing away a chill that had been there for years.

He moved down my body, pushing up my shirt to expose me, so he could lazily explore with his tongue and lips until I was writhing and whimpering for more.

But he didn’t give it to me right away.

He lavished attention over my breasts, down my belly, over my ribs, my hips, down my thighs, then up the insides.

My fingers fisted in his hair, torn between wanting an end to the torment and wanting more of his sweet attention.

He sat back on his knees, reaching down to press my knees into my chest, then reaching to slide my panties off of my legs.

Gaze on me, he reached for my knees, slowly spreading them wide on the bed. His eyes traveled slowly over me, settling between my thighs. That sexy little rumble moved through him just a moment before he was flat on his stomach, his face between my legs, tongue tracing up my slick cleft to run slow circles over my aching clit.

It was a slow climb toward the edge of the cliff, Anthony’s tongue teasing softly, in no hurry. But the more time passed, the more overwhelmed with sensations my body felt. Every inch of me felt poised and shaky by the time I was starting to crash.

The orgasm was a white-hot pleasure from the core of me and working outward, overtaking me completely, making me shudder, making a long, almost pained moan escape me as I held him against me as he worked me through it, dragging it out until I was spent.

Sensing I couldn’t take more, his lips moved away, kissing down to my ankles, then back up again. Over my hips, up my belly, over my breasts, then up to my neck, before finally claiming my lips again.

His weight crushed into me again as my arms and legs wrapped around him, holding onto him tightly, like some part of me was terrified of losing this moment, of these sensations I was feeling for the first time in my life suddenly slipping away.

“Anthony, please,” I begged against his lips as my hips started to rock against his hard length, the ache inside becoming impossible to ignore for any longer. “Please,” I whimpered again.

His lips went to my neck for a moment as he reached toward the makeshift nightstand he’d made out of empty shipping boxes he’d found in the lobby, grabbing a condom, then moving away only long enough to slide it on before coming over me again, claiming my lips until the need was overwhelming once more.

Only then did he shift, the head of him pressing against me, then sliding in inch by inch, making me hyperaware of the feel of him, the fullness of him inside me, until he was buried deep. And I swear I didn’t just feel him in my body. I felt him in my soul.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to my lips as he stayed buried inside me until I started to writhe against him again.

But he refused to rush through it.

His thrusts were slow and gentle.

And as I climbed toward the edge, I felt the same shakiness in my muscles, the warmth across my chest.

Then, as the orgasm started—a slow, deep pulsating—I felt a wetness flood my eyes.

Shocked and a little horrified at my emotional reaction, I buried my face in Anthony’s neck as he buried deep inside of me and came, his full weight pressing into me for a few moments, and I welcomed the pressure as I tried to pull myself together.

I thought I’d done a decent job.

Until Anthony pushed up, then sat back on his heels.

Reaching outward, his thumbs traced under my eyes, catching the wetness still clinging to my lower lashes.

He gave me a soft smile as he climbed off the bed, then leaned over to press a kiss to each of my eyelids before walking toward the bathroom.

Alone, I pressed a hand to my chest, that warmth seeming to expand and intensify.

I had the sneaking suspicion that it meant I was starting to do something more than just like Anthony Costa.

And that was scarier than the idea of charging across the street and demanding to have all my guns back.


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