His Mafia Prince

(WESLEY)

I am so engrossed in the moment that I don’t notice that he’s tugged my pants off. I’m only aware of that fact after he slips his hand inside the waistbands and pushes it down to my hips, letting gravity take care of the rest of the way. He pauses, eyeing the ankle holster and gun on my leg. He gently unhooks the clasp of the holster and carefully places the gun on the nightstand then glances over my naked body, giving me a head-to-toe appraisal, a small smile curving on his lips when his gaze returns to mine.

Now would be the right time to run for the door. That would be the most logical thing to do now, instead, I gaze back at him and feel weak kneed. I know for a fact that wasn’t a simple appreciation look he just gave me. That is an unspoken promise of every wretched torturous thing that he is planning to do to me. My heart is pounding with anticipation at the prospect of having sex instead of being resigned to it.

"This is total insanity." I whisper.

"I don’t care." He drops his robe on the floor.

Seconds later, Jericho shifts behind me. I’m glad to feel that I’m not the only one with a raging hard on. It is hard to miss as it grazes my pass. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it though, since he doesn’t thrust or do anything to indicate that he wants me to touch him.

"Do you have any limits, Wes? Is there anything that you don’t want me to do to you?" he whispers against my ear. A shiver races down my spine, either from the timbre of his voice or the graze of his cock, I’m not sure which. Any time he inches anywhere close to my neck, I feel like champagne bubbles are rippling inside of me.

I am so distracted that I almost forget to answer him. "N...no. I mean, I’ll let you know." I sputter.

"Awesome."