Cosa Nostra: A Steamy Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 3), Nicci Harris [read a book txt] 📗

I just pray - even though I'm not religious. . . I've never understood people who pray. I suppose, I have never felt so powerless that I needed a miracle. So unable to dig deep and fight my own way out of a situation.

Absolute helplessness.

So I pray. I pray that when he is released, he can find that gentleness again, dig it out from wherever he had to hide it, and shine a light on it. . . for me.

Max is downstairs right now with his brothers, sharing final moments of laughter and messages of wisdom that I am sure would break my heart to hear. They will be accompanying him tomorrow morning to court. Butch. Clay. Bronson. Xander.

Flick and Stacey will be here at nine to hold all the pieces of me together until the boys come home. . . come home. . . with one less person. I jump up from the bed and rush to the bathroom, wiping at my eyes as the tears fall.

Quickly, I wash the sorrow away.

We are not saying goodbye.

Standing in front of the mirror now, I turn side on and trail my hand over the taut skin covering our blob. I hear the bedroom door open, so I walk slowly out to find Max sitting in the spot I was previously, looking at the house plans.

"Come here, little one," he orders, placing the pieces of paper onto the floor.

I make my way towards him, crawling along the mattress until I am in his lap. He pulls me in closer, cradling me against him. I bury my face against his chest. As aligned with his heart as I can be, I listen to its beautiful beating cadence.

This is my other half.

The person I will grow old with. This is the sound of his life source.

I nuzzle in deep, the scent of his soap, sweat, and him, the ultimate aphrodisiac. Needing to be closer, as close as two individual people can be, I lift my head, cup his cheeks, and plant a devouring kiss on his lips. The heat between us ignites.

Max moves me around the mattress, flattening my back and mounting me. As his tongue strokes inside my mouth, I fumble with his jeans, the button, the zipper. . . Get them off. He kicks them from his ankles. His shirt comes off and flies across the room. Floors always look better with Max Butcher's clothes all over them. I trail my fingers down taut muscles covered in hot smooth skin, his washboard ridges contracting as I awaken them with my touch. My hands meet the seam of his white boxers, then one dips beneath them in an attempt to band the large breadth of his penis. I fail to circle it all. Its form lengthens. Thickens. Pulses.

He growls, thrusting his hips into my palm. "Fuck, Cassidy. My Cassidy."

Our mouths dance together. We share breath, unwilling to break away. We would rather suffocate. I stroke him and we kiss passionately. I stick my tongue in his mouth and he sucks on it the way I know he likes. As I drag my hand up and down his expansive shaft, the tension and strength in it beats against my palm's rhythm.

"Make me come, little one. Good girl." He growls when I speed up. Feeding his hand up the inside of my leg, he touches my knickers, then works them aside to stroke the lips between my thighs. A single finger trails the length of the valley between my folds, getting wetter and wetter, before pushing between them.

"Oh, fuck. I crave your little pussy, Cassidy. The way I have to convince you to let me in. The way you grip me like you never want me to leave." I arch my back on a tremor when his knuckles meet my entrance, feeling him beautifully deep. My mind wrestles between the sensation wanting to consume me and the gruff demand to make my husband come.

He drives his hips into my fist, doing all the work himself so that I can shamelessly chase my own high. Another finger pushes inside me, applying pressure to that perfect spot, too much pressure. I mewl against the onslaught. Heat rolls through my muscles, reaching a boiling point before crashing together at the tips of his skilled fingers. I moan and he eats my sounds of delight.

I release my grip on him, the rolling delight of my orgasm loosening me, making me feel as though the very connective tissue holding my muscles together has fallen apart. Melting into the mattress, I barely notice when he removes my knickers and camisole, leaving me bared to him. He stands up and gazes down at my naked body, emotion shadowing his grey-blue eyes, revealing a crack in his resolve.

It's gone almost as soon as I see it.

We are not saying goodbye.

He disappears into the bathroom but quickly returns, rubbing his erection, the smooth skin glistening with a kind of lotion or oil. Swallowing hard, I scoot backwards slightly as he stalks towards me. He is on me before I can think. His lips find mine, our breaths collide, but he doesn't kiss me. Grey-blue eyes gaze into my being. I hook my legs around his back, and he threads his arm between our sweat slick bodies until he gets to a place that makes me suck in a sharp breath. Stroking my puckering hole, he uses the wetness all over my lips to ease passage inside me. I open my mouth. My eyes widen.

He doesn't kiss me.

He stares into me unapologetically because it is his right. I am his. "I want to watch you take me, little one." He begins to move his finger inside and my eyes roll into the back of my head, forcing them