We stumble backward until my hips hit the edge of his desk. Papers scatter to the floor, but neither of us cares.
He lifts me onto the desk, stepping between my thighs, never breaking the kiss. My hands tremble as I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He helps me, unzipping his pants and pushing them down just enough to free his cock.
His hand slides between my legs, fingers gliding through my slick folds. “Fuck,” he growls against my lips. “Always so ready.”
I moan as he plunges a finger inside me, curling them perfectly. But it’s not enough. I need more.
“Please,” I beg, breaking the kiss to look at him.
He doesn’t make me wait. He pushes in slowly, stretching me open inch by inch.
We both groan when he bottoms out, fully seated inside me. He starts moving, slow, deep thrusts that make me feel every inch of him. His forehead rests against mine, eyes locked on me as he fucks me.
One hand grips my hip, the other cups the back of my neck, keeping me close.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my lips, voice rough with need.
“I’m yours,” I gasp, wrapping my legs tighter around him.
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Nico,” I moan louder, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He fucks me harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. His hand slides between us, rubbing my clit in tight circles.
I come hard, soaking his cock, screaming his name like a prayer. Nico follows right after, burying himself deep with a low,guttural groan. I feel him pulse inside me, filling me with his release.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nico
I should be home right now.
I should be home with my girl, her warm, soft body pressed against mine, buried deep inside her while she moans my name like she did last night.
Instead, I’m here, sitting at this damn poker table, forcing myself to focus when all I can think about is her.
The game is at Velvet Eclipse, one of my highest-end clubs. The main floor is busy tonight, patrons moving between the dance floor, the bar, and the private lounges. But we’re in the VIP section, cordoned off on the upper mezzanine with its own bar and security.
The lighting is low, and around the table sit some of the most dangerous men in the city.
Nikolai Volkov, the Pahkan of the Russian Bratva, sits to my left, calm as ever, his face unreadable. Across from me is Declan O’Shea, head of the Irish Mob, nursing a whiskey with that cocky grin he always wears when he thinks he’s winning. Then there’s Viktor Kane from the Albanian syndicate, and a few others who run smaller but important crews.
These are men I’ve done business with for years. Weapons, product routes, territory agreements. Tonight isn’t just poker. It’s a statement. After the war with Massimo and Gallo broke out, I need them to see I’m not hiding. I’m not scared. I’m still in control.
Especially after the fight that broke out between Gallo's men and mine at the Masquerade. Sitting here with these men sends the message that I'm still in charge of my territory and I'm not scared of either Gallo or Caruso.
But I do need to get back to my woman though. I've been away from her for hours and my skin is beginning to itch. Yeah, I'm a fucking addict, and Eleonora is my hit.
That's why I need to beat these motherfuckers and head home to her. I know their tells.
Declan’s left eye twitches when he’s bluffing. Viktor taps his ring finger when he has a strong hand. Nikolai… he’s harder. But even he has his moments, a slight shift in his posture when he’s confident.
I lay down my cards. Full house.
Groans ripple around the table.
“Fucking hell,” Declan mutters, tossing his cards down. “You must be cheating, Lombardi.”
