Aristocrats and gangsters have a lot in common.
They're both selfish, get bored easily, and have access to wads of cash they didn't work honestly to get and neither have any interest in bourgeois rules or morality.
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So when...
"Slow down." Tommy breathed, his voice rough, hands firm around Leonor's waist as she moved against him, her rhythm relentless. He tried to steady her, but she was lost in her own world, her thoughts far away.
Leonor wasn't hearing him. The overwhelming sensations—the fullness, the heat of his skin pressed to hers, the weight of his hands gripping her flesh—blurred everything else. She could feel the marks his fingers left behind, the pressure of his touch branding her. She'd always liked it when he left marks.
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Not that he was complaining, on the contrary. Lately, she seemed to need him more than ever—everywhere, at any time. The office. The kitchen. Rooms in the manor they'd never bothered to use before. Even the shower. It was exhilarating, yes, but exhausting too.
"Hey." His hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her down so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His voice was rougher now, more serious. "This isn't a fucking race."
Her lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned down, her breath warm against his mouth. "Isn't it?"
Her hands slid across his chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her palms. Her body trembled with the rush of it all. "You're losing, Mr. Shelby."
Tommy's eyes narrowed, and in one swift motion, he flipped them over, tossing the pillows to the floor as the wrinkled wet sweat sheets tangled beneath them. His breath came in short bursts as he spread her knees apart, sliding inside her again. Spent from the night before, and the one before that, he knew he had little left in him.
But all was forgotten at the first taste of her warmth. The way she tightened around him. "What's gotten into you, Mrs. Shelby?"
Leonor moaned, her head falling back as he drove into her deeper. Her arms wrapped around his ribs, pulling him close as he began to thrust, harder, faster. The sounds that escaped her lips each time he moved were inebriating, clouding his thoughts, and pushing him past the edge of control.
Sweat dripped from his brow, falling onto her neck. He reached up to wipe it away, but as his hand hovered over her skin, something shifted in him. His fingers wrapped around her throat, a momentary squeeze, something darker, more primal, rising in him.
The second his grip tightened, Leonor's reaction was immediate. Her eyes flew open in panic, and her hands shoved at his chest. "Don't," she gasped, her voice strained. "Please, Tommy."
He froze. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the tears welling up in her eyes, the fear in them unmistakable.
"Shit, I didn't mean—look at me, it's okay." Tommy stopped, leaning down, wiping the tears in a worried manner. "I didn't know-"
