Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 96

Aria's POV

Oh God.

The shock of his thumb sliding between my parted lips made me freeze completely, my eyes going wide as I stared up at him. The intimate invasion was so unexpected, so boldly possessive, that my entire body went rigid beneath him.

His thumb pressed down firmly against my tongue, the salt of his skin flooding my senses. The gesture was pure dominance, a silent command that made every nerve ending in my body come alive with unwanted awareness.

"Forgot how to do this?" he asked, his voice a low growl that sent heat spiraling through my core.

Damn it all to hell—my tongue moved of its own accord, curling around his thumb in a way that made his pupils dilate with hunger.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, his free hand tangling in my hair to hold me in place. "Your mouth says no, but your body always tells me the truth."

I wanted to bite him. I wanted to push him away and restore some semblance of dignity. Instead, I found myself sucking gently on his thumb, my cheeks burning with shame even as my body betrayed me completely.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful when you stop fighting what you want."

He withdrew his thumb slowly, deliberately, leaving my lips wet and swollen. Before I could protest or gather my scattered thoughts, his mouth crashed down on mine with a hunger that stole my breath.

The kiss was nothing like the gentle exploration from before. His tongue swept into my mouth with the same authority his thumb had claimed, and I heard myself whimper against his lips.

"That's it," he breathed against my mouth. "Stop thinking, Aria. Just feel."

His hands were everywhere—tangling in my hair, tracing the curve of my throat, skimming down my sides through the thin silk of my nightgown. Every touch left trails of fire in its wake, systematically dismantling my ability to form coherent thoughts.

"Damian," I gasped when he finally broke the kiss, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.

"What do you need, piccola?" His voice was dark silk, dangerous and seductive. "Tell me what you want."

"I—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't admit how desperately I wanted him to continue, how every rational protest was crumbling under the weight of pure physical need.

"Use your words," he commanded, his thumb tracing my lower lip with maddening gentleness. "Tell me."

"I want..." The confession stuck in my throat, too dangerous to voice.

"You want what?" His hand slipped beneath the silk of my nightgown, fingers splaying across the heated skin of my stomach. "Say it."

"You," I whispered finally, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "I want you."

His control snapped.

"Cristo," he growled, his hand tangling in my hair as he surged forward, filling me completely in one smooth thrust that made us both cry out.

The angle was perfect, devastating, reaching places inside me that made coherent thought impossible. I could only feel—the delicious stretch of being claimed, the heat of his body surrounding me, the possessive grip of his hands holding me exactly where he wanted me.

"Mine," he breathed against my throat, his voice rough with satisfaction and something deeper. "Say it."

"Yours," I gasped, the word torn from me as he began to move with slow, deliberate strokes that had me trembling within moments.

"All of you," he demanded, his pace increasing. "Your body, your pleasure, your pretty little gasps when I touch you like this—" His fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs, circling with expert precision. "All mine."

"Yes," I cried out, past caring about dignity or pride or anything beyond the building pressure that threatened to shatter me completely. "All yours, Damian, please—"

"Please what, piccola?" His voice was strained with his own approaching release, but he didn't relent in his torment. "What do you need?"

"More," I begged, beyond shame now. "Please, I need—"

"I know what you need," he said roughly, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. "I know exactly what you need."

He was right. His body knew mine with an intimacy that should have been impossible after so short a time together.

When it was over, when the last tremor of sensation had faded and reality began to creep back in, he gathered me against his chest with a gentleness that made my throat tight with emotion.

"Sleep, piccola," he whispered against my hair.

I woke to the sensation of strong arms wrapped around me and the unmistakable evidence of Damian's arousal pressing insistently against my back.

His hand was already moving, fingers tracing lazy patterns across my stomach through the thin silk of a nightgown someone. The touch was casual, proprietary, as if he had every right to touch me however he pleased.

"Awake?" His voice was rough with sleep and want, his breath warm against my ear.

I should have pretended otherwise. Should have feigned sleep until I could process what had happened between us last night and what it meant going forward. Instead, I found myself arching slightly into his touch, my body responding before my mind could engage.

"Yes," I breathed, the admission barely audible.

His hand stilled for a moment, then slid deliberately higher, fingers finding the soft weight of my breast through the silk. I couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped me, or the way my back arched to press more firmly against him.

"Good morning to you too," he murmured, amusement coloring his voice as his thumb brushed across my nipple with devastating precision.

"Damian," I started, then lost my train of thought entirely as his lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear. "We should—"

"Should what?" His free hand slipped lower, fingers tracing the curve of my hip with maddening slowness. "Pretend last night didn't happen? Go back to our careful professional distance?"

The idea should have appealed to me. Should have felt safer than whatever this was becoming between us. Instead, it made something in my chest clench with unexpected loss.

"I mean we should consider the practical aspects," I managed, even as my body trembled under his touch. "The timing, whether morning activities are optimal for conception. If it's not beneficial for pregnancy, then we don't really need to—"

My words cut off in a sharp inhale as I felt him shift behind me, the hard length of his arousal finding its way between my thighs with deliberate intent.

"Is that really what you're worried about?" he asked, his voice dark with amusement and desire. "Fertility schedules?"

"It's practical," I insisted, though my voice came out breathless and unconvincing. "We should be strategic about—"

"Aria." His voice carried a warning that made every nerve in my body come alive. "Stop thinking."

Before I could protest, he pulled my panties aside and positioned his large penis head against my entrance, causing a slight pain.

My pussy was already completely wet, and his glans was covered with my honey. Before I could fully react, he inserted himself into me.