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His hands slid up the inside of my ankles, calves, then stopped at my knees, pressing them wide to the bed before coming over me once again.
“Emilio, please,” I whimpered again, shameless in my need, as his weight pressed me into the mattress, with his hardness against me, promising fulfillment for the ache deep inside.
He lifted up slightly as he surged inside me, making an almost pained moan escape me at the sensation.
Emilio’s body tensed, his breathing coming out slow and deep, like he was trying to hold himself together.
But then I was wrapping him up in arms and legs, using the leverage to rock against him, to get some relief from the aching desire.
That seemed to erase any attempt on his part to take it slow, to explore.
His lips bruised into mine as he started to fuck me.
Hard.
Fast.
The sound of the headboard knocking into the wall drowned out only by my moans as he drove me up again.
“Fuck, I need to see you ride me,” he rumbled, throwing his weight so he slid under me, and I was on top.
Taking his lead, I sat up, looking down at him as I started to ride.
His hands slid up my thighs, then settled on my hips, fingers digging in as I found the rhythm my body was craving.
“Fuck, just like that,” he groaned as my walls tightened, as I got close.
One of his hands shifted inward, his thumb teasing my clit, driving me right to that edge.
One more movement and I was crashing down into the orgasm, my moan filling the room as the pleasure coursed through me.
“Another one,” Emilio demanded, shifting positions again, dropping me onto my back as he kneeled at the edge of the bed, his hands moving up my body, teasing over my breasts, giving me a second to come back down.
Then he was pushing me onto my side, bringing my knees up to my chest, and fucking me again.
The position amped up the intensity, making the sated desire start to ignite once again.
His one hand slapped down on my ass, staying planted there as he fucked me, as the need had my fingers digging into the sheets, had my thighs pressing hard together.
On an impatient growl, his hands were grabbing my hips, flipping me onto my belly, then pulling me back until my ass was up toward him.
His one hand stayed at my hip while the other tracked up my spine, pressing against the center of my shoulder blades, keeping my top half pinned to the bed as he fucked me harder, deeper, my moans getting muffled by the bedding.
“I want to hear you,” he hissed, his hand going up to the hair at the nape of my neck, grabbing, turning, tugging until my face was off the mattress.
The pain mingled with the pleasure, making me cry out louder as he got me closer.
“Fuck, yeah, baby, squeeze my cock,” he growled just as the orgasm started to crest.
The climax was a white-hot sort of pleasure that pinged off of every nerve ending as I cried out, as he fucked me through it, then found his own release at the end of mine.
The room was silent then, save for our labored breathing as we both tried to come back down. It was something we seemed to do slowly, then all at once.
My eyes shot open even as Emilio stiffened behind me.
Both of us realizing what we’d just done.
The lines we’d crossed.
Me, more than him.
But he didn’t know that.
He could never know that.
“Avery…” he said as I was suddenly scrambling off of the bed, gathering my clothes, and not even bothering to slip them on, just cradling them to my chest as I backed toward the door to the hallway.
“I, ah, I have to feed the kittens,” I said, throwing open the door, and rushing into my own room.
I locked the door before dropping down on the edge of my bed, pressing my face into my hands as I arched forward over myself.
Oh, God.
What the hell did I just let happen?
It wasn’t bad enough that I was in his home under false pretenses, that I’d snuck in kittens, that I’d masturbated in his tub while he watched.
Nope.
I had to go and sleep with the boss.
Great.
That was just… great.
Now, when the truth came out—and it would, it had to—he would feel even more betrayed than he was already going to.
“Damnit damnit damnit,” I hissed, surprised at the sting of tears in my eyes, at the wetness on my palms as they spilled out.
Not regret.
Not exactly.
Not for the act, anyway.
But, perhaps, for the loss of something I hadn’t realized I had started to crave.
Him, yes.
But what we’d been building here as well.
A house to a home.
A sense of routine and rightness and familiarity.
I liked Emilio.
Especially as the days stretched on and he loosened up more and more. There was a sweetness to him underneath all that hard, cold, mafia exterior he wore.
