Page 70 of Mafia Billionaire's Surprise Baby

I try to arch down so he can get a better angle, but that makes him pop free from my lips.

Hell.

“Keep going, Gia. You’re doing such a good job. I’m so close,” Sal murmurs.

The encouragement is exactly what I need. I double down, sucking him down my throat as far as I can. I’m not exactly the type of person without a gag reflex, so I do my best.

And apparently, my best is exactly what Sal wants.

“Gia,” he murmurs from between my legs. “I’m so close. But I need you to come first. Can you do that for me?”

In response, I shift my hips back so I’m smothering him.

He doesn’t say anything, but his tongue says plenty.

Within moments, I feel the orgasm explode over my skin.

I can’t focus on him anymore, not when I feel like my body is shining. Not when my vision goes dark, and when I cry out his name.

He likes that.

He grunts, and I’m moving through the air again. I’m on my back when I open my eyes, and Sal is looming over me.

“Let me show you how much I liked that,” he groans.

With one of his hands palming his thick cock, I watch, mesmerized, as he leans forward. It takes two rough jerks for him to come.

And when his hot liquid sprays over my chest, I arch my back, giving him a better canvas.

“Gia,” Sal groans.

Oh my God. That noise, that sound. It’s hotter than anything we’ve done so far. I totally understand the whole pleasure Dom thing in that moment.

Because knowing that I made Sal feel that much?

It’s like a lightning bolt straight to my veins.

When he’s done, he leans back on his heels. His chest is rising and falling like he ran a marathon, and he’s staring at where he came on my breasts and stomach.

My nipples tighten in response.

“Fuck, Gia,” he breathes.

I smile. “I like to touch you.”

“I fucking like it too.”

His weight shifts off of the bed, and he pads to the bathroom. Minutes later, he’s back, and a warm towel cleans me off. “Meet me downstairs,” he rumbles.

I give him a mock salute.

A few minutes later, I’m dressed in yet another set of Sal’s clothes. I walk quietly down the stairs, marveling at the house in the sunlight.

When I get to the kitchen, Sal is there, coffee in hand. He hands it to me.

I breathe in and shut my eyes. “Italian coffee really is better.”

“Agreed.”