Patrick: A Mafia Love Story by Kit Tunstall, R.E. Saxton Page B

strum her with his expert touch.
    She couldn’t stave it off anymore, and her pussy clamped tight around his fingers, drawing them in deeper. Her back passage did the same, and he let out a groan that sounded like he was almost in pain as she cried his name while she climaxed.
    Seconds later, his hand was gone, and he lifted her onto her knees. There was no time to adjust, but no adjustment was necessary as he lined up his pulsing cock with her opening and pushed inside her forcefully. Patrick tangled a hand in her hair, forcing her head backward and her back to arch for him. She screamed as he pounded into her, but it was a scream of primal pleasure, not one of fear or pain. She had never imagined sex could be like this, and she’d read her share of erotic romances. It was animalistic and raw, and she knew he wasn’t holding anything back. Neither was she, and she strove to meet his every wild, deep, and demanding thrust.
    The room was filled with the sounds of their passionate onslaught against each other, peppered with cries, moans, grunts, and the sweet slap of flesh against flesh.
    He jerked harder on her hair, likely without thought, when he started to come. She strained backward against him as much as she could, bringing a hand between her thighs to rub her clit. It only took a couple of strokes to send her over the edge, and she convulsed around him.
    Afterward, they collapsed into a sweaty heap, and she found it almost impossible to move. “Patrick?”
    “Yes, Lauren?” He sounded as exhausted she felt.
    “If that was your idea of punishment, feel free to discipline me anytime.” She said it playfully, because she didn’t want him to think she was actually okay with him punishing her.
    He laughed softly before pressing a kiss to her shoulder and pulling her closer to him. “Let’s just call that fun and remove discipline completely from the picture.”
    She liked that idea, but she hoped fun would still include the occasional spanking, because it had been delightfully wicked pleasure, much to her surprise. The entire experience had been surprising, full of revelations, and she couldn’t wait to do it again.

Chapter Eight
    They had chosen to have a moderate-sized wedding, since he had people that must be invited. The invitations had gone out, and the ceremony was in four weeks. He had wanted desperately to accidentally forget to send Peretti an invitation, but it was a slight that wouldn’t be easily forgiven. Especially since Alexei Varnakov would be in attendance, having already RSVPed to attend in his father’s place.
    Patrick was reluctant to have the other man at his wedding, not just because he loathed Peretti, but also because he wanted to keep Lauren as far away from the Perettis as possible. He was sweating bullets that the other man might recognize her maiden name. At least he had managed to have the invitations altered at the last minute to remove her father’s name. She had insisted on the invitations reading “daughter of Howard Welsh,” and he’d pretended to go along with it, but there was no way in hell he was going to have that man’s name on the invitations for the Perettis to see.
    She had been understandably upset and disappointed with the final product, when the invitations had arrived without her father’s name on them. Lauren had seemed to accept easily that it was just a mistake on the printer’s part, and when she had suggested they delay the wedding by a week to allow time for reprinting, he had pointed out their deposit was nonrefundable, and most of the invitations had already been sent by his efficient assistant. He’d kissed away her disappointment, hating to cause her pain, but having good reason to shield her connection to Howard Welsh.
    Assuming the matter settled, it was disconcerting to have her come bouncing happily into his study just a few days later, a new box of invitations in her hand. “What’s that?”
    “Mementos for the wedding.” She passed him