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“I like it when you lick my pussy,” she says and that word, pussy, it sounds so delicious and filthy coming from her. I stroke faster now, groaning. “I like when you make me taste myself.”
I reach back with my other hand. I grab the back of her head, digging my fingers into her hair as I stroke my cock. “You’re going to get up, you’re going to get on your knees, and you’re going to put your hands behind your back. I want you to open your mouth and look at me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Move. Now.”
I release her. She obeys and comes to kneel in front of me. She’s wearing a thin tank top, her nipples stiff, and a pair of dark panties, and she puts her hands behind her back as instructed, her pretty mouth wide open.
I stand and press the tip of my cock against her tongue. She doesn’t move, only looks at me, the image of perfect obedience.
“Beautiful girl,” I whisper and press myself deeper into her mouth. She responds by hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard, and I groan in absolute ecstasy. The image of her down on her knees letting me slowly fuck her lovely mouth is enough to make me want to come on her tongue right this instant, but instead I growl and drag her to her feet.
“Let me see you,” I command as I pull off her clothes. I kiss her neck and tongue her stiff nipples as I grip her ass, suddenly starving for all of her. I want to bury myself in this girl and feel every line and every curve of her gorgeous skin. “I need to feel you, Stefania.”
She whimpers at her name and kisses my chest. “I’m not hiding.”
And she’s right. She’s on display for me, her curvy hips and smooth thighs and that gorgeous little pucker between her legs. I guide her to the bed and she wraps her knees around my neck as I devour her pussy, tongue gliding up and down, tasting every inch of her, starving for this in a way I’ve never imagined.
It’s so fucking easy, licking her and sliding my fingers inside her, and it doesn’t even occur to me that I’ve been with Stefania now more often than I’ve ever been with another woman in my life. I’ve never let this happen before, because once I commit, I commit for life, and I thought I’d be able to hold a piece of myself away from this girl.
Instead, as she comes on my mouth, I realize how fucked I am. How deeply and truly fucked I’ve become.
I hold her hands down as I take her. She grinds her hips against me, whispering how much she loves when I fuck her, how badly she wants me deep inside, and I tell her how incredible she feels and how good she looks and how badly I want to fill her to the brim. I make her moan and beg, and I make her come a second time before I finally give in to release.
We end up panting and exhausted. One of her legs is draped across me, and if this had happened with any other woman, I would’ve shoved her away to make sure I didn’t fall apart into a simpering, pathetic, panic-stricken mess.
Instead, I relish in her closeness.
And that’s a problem, because I don’t know how to let someone in like this.
Chapter 17
Stefania
I find I’m kind of enjoying the domestic thing.
It helps that I don’t have to do the hard stuff. Davide’s family has approved cleaners that go from house to house every few days, scouring every inch of every room. The ladies appear chattering away in Russian and Ukrainian as they do their thing, and I retreat up into my library to hide from their easy, comfortable laughter. It’s weird that I’m jealous of cleaners, but I miss my job and I really miss Giorgia, and I don’t know what I’m doing with myself right now.
Playing wife is one thing. Cooking, straightening, sleeping in bed with my husband, that’s the fun stuff—but it’s like I’m at summer camp. The real world is on vacation and I can pretend like turning myself into a mafia Martha Stewart is fun and cute, except the summer always ends, and I don’t know what I’ll be once I decide to come back home.
Which is how I find myself walking down the Bianco compound’s private, shady street, and stopping at a house a few doors down. It looks a lot like Davide’s, but it’s bigger and more austere, with more turrets and fancy molding around the roofline. I knock at the door and stand back, feeling nervous and silly, until Davide’s mother, Freddie, answers.
She seems surprised, but not unhappy. “Stefania, I didn’t expect you.”
“I’m sorry to drop in like this. You said to come by if I ever needed anything and?—”
She seemed like she meant it, which most people don’t.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, ushering me inside, and again, I actually believe her. When someone says that, normally they’re being polite or filling silence or whatever, but Freddie seems so genuine. I’ve met a lot of women in the mafia world and none have been such a ray of sunshine and comfort like this lady. She’s not even wearing any designer clothing, which is practically unheard of in most Famiglia circles.
I feel at ease the instant she sits me down at her kitchen table, which is shockingly unassuming and simple, and starts to make tea. She makes small talk the whole time, and when it’s finished, she comes over and sits across from me.
“I’m really sorry to barge in like this,” I say and accept the mug she offers.
“It’s totally fine. Everything’s okay with Davide, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I mean, as good as they can be.” I laugh awkwardly because I’m not about to tell this lady that I’m having some of the most intense and satisfying sex of my life with her son, but we haven’t exactly formed an emotional connection yet. Davide’s frustratingly hard to get a read on. “This isn’t about him.”
