Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 186

GIANNA'S POV

I stepped away from him, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. This wasn't like the first night, when I'd stripped for him in terror, my hands shaking, tears streaming down my face as I stood before his room. When I'd been nothing but a possession he'd bought.

Now, I wanted this. I wanted him watching me as I drove him just as crazy as he drove me.

Every nerve ending was alive. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my skin like a physical touch, and it made me ache in every sensitive place.

I turned to face the mirror, meeting his eyes in the reflection. He'd moved back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me with that intensity that made my knees weak and my core clench with need.

My hands trembled slightly as I let the dress slip from my shoulders. The silk stopped at my hips. I pushed it lower, letting it pool at my feet, leaving me standing in nothing but the black lace underwear I'd worn beneath.

My skin flushed under his gaze. My nipples hardened into tight peaks, visible through the thin lace.

I watched them tighten in the mirror. I watched the way my chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

But I didn't cover myself or look away.

In the mirror, I saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. I saw the hunger in his eyes turn absolutely feral.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, and the sound went straight between my legs.

I felt myself grow wet, my body preparing itself for him without my permission.

I wanted him so badly I could barely think.

My thighs pressed together, seeking friction, seeking relief from the throbbing need building inside me.

Then he was moving, closing the distance between us in two powerful strides.

His hands gripped my waist, possessive, and he lifted me effortlessly.

"Oh!" The sound escaped me before I could stop it, breathy and surprised and desperately aroused.

He set me on the dresser, the wood cool against my overheated thighs.

The contrast made me gasp. I was burning up, my skin feverish with want.

He stepped between my legs, spreading them wider to accommodate his hips, and crowded into my space until there was nothing but him.

The hard length of him pressed against my inner thigh through his pants, and I nearly whimpered.

Oh. He was so hard. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice wrecked.

His hands slid up my sides, rough palms against sensitive skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

When he reached my ribcage, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against him.

My breasts crushed against his chest, my nipples so hard they ached where they pressed into the fabric of his shirt.

A delicious shiver ran through me, starting at the base of my spine and radiating outward until my whole body trembled with need.

The thick ridge of his arousal pressed exactly where I needed him most.

I was drowning in sensation. In want. In need so consuming I thought I might die if he didn't touch me, kiss me, take me.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His voice was rough, strained, like every word cost him.

His fingers traced along my jaw, tilting my face up. My lips parted automatically, and breathing became even more difficult. When his thumb brushed across my bottom lip, I tasted salt and heat and him.

My tongue darted out, wetting my lips, and his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost black.

Please kiss me. Touch me. Make this ache go away.

He leaned in, his breath warm and intoxicating against my mouth. I could smell the whiskey he'd drunk at dinner.

My eyes closed, my whole body straining toward him, waiting for the kiss that would finally...

"Did you mean it?"

My eyes snapped open. "What?"

No, not now. Not when I was so close to having him.

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