Page 41 of The Mafia Bachelor

“I want to.” I crave him in my mouth, and in every way. I want the memory of this night to sustain me after this ends. I’m painfully aware I’m just the hired help. I can’t have any illusions.

But for tonight, he’s mine.

“Feck, you look so pretty on your knees for me, love.”

My fingers are clumsy and inexperienced as I try to get his trousers open. The leather belt is bad enough, heavy and supple, but unfamiliar from this angle. The fastenings are even worse. Practically one of those mind puzzles that are supposed to keep your brain agile.

And he doesn’t move, as though this is another task I have to win. His hands are braced on the top of his thighs. Normally he helps me if I’m struggling, but this time he’s just watching, pupils dilated.

I think I get a hint of a musky scent as I finally pull down his soft black boxers, and then my mouth waters.

His cock is magnificent.

Admittedly, I have nothing to compare it to directly, but it’s thick and smooth and enormous as I reveal it all the way to the base. There’s a vein throbbing up the front. It’s sculpted, I guess I imagined dicks as just poles, but the head has a curve up, and skin that’s pulled taut. At the tip, moisture beads.

Pre-come? Getting ready to shoot ribbons of white… into me? Onto me? I’d love to watch. To see him lose control, and give himself over to pleasure.

And I’ve never given any thought to balls—they’re a secondary event, right?—but his are proportional, and I get a shiver of arousal I don’t fully understand.

“Can I…” I lift my gaze to his face, but I’m already leaning forwards, drawn to kiss that thick length.

“Yes.” His groan is hoarse.

Then my lips press to his erection, and I’m whimpering. The first thing that strikes me is how unexpectedly silky he feels. The second is the heat. He’s burning with desire, as I am. And then the way he responds.

He moans, low and rumbling, and I feel it in the shudder as his cock shifts under my eager but inexpert mouth, as though just the press of my lips is enough to unravel him.

I’ve got vague ideas of how this is supposed to go, and summon up all my courage to slip my fingers around the base of his shaft, and strain my head up at the same time. But I don’t want to hurt him, and there’s a moment where there’s an inch of gap, and no way for me to bridge it. Then Kill has shifted his hand—helping me—and the tip of his cock is within reach. I seize the chance. I don’t question. I just open as wide as I can, and try to get as much as possible.

Every sensation is heightened as he slides between my lips, fills my mouth, and pushes against the back of my throat. The velvet of his skin, the heat, his size, and the taste of him that’s all him, without anything else.

It’s maybe crazy, but as he lets out a rough noise of pleasure, there’s an answering pulse between my legs. This feels so incredibly intimate. I’m on my knees, his supplicant, accepting him into my mouth. But he’s at my mercy, and I can feel the need in him growing. Making him tremble. My teeth almost graze him.

I am making this powerful man shake from desire. It’s me who he chose to spend tonight with, and I’ll be happy with that. I’ll get everything I can.

Closing my lips—but not my jaw—around him, I try to cram more of him into my mouth. It’s absolutely pointless. He’s huge, my mouth isn’t. I angle my gaze upwards to see his face as I experimentally withdraw and then push him back in.

His eyes are hazy, but they’re fixed on mine. “So fecking good, love. Such a good girl for me. I knew you’d be perfect.”

I take that as encouragement, and approval of what I’m doing, and repeat the action. But it’s not enough for me. I want to touch him more, have him more.

Sex. Obviously. If this is our last “date” before he chooses another girl as his bride, I’m going to have him in every way possible.

But until then, I need to give him as much as I can. I circle my fingers around the part of his cock I can’t get into my mouth, and as I begin to stroke him there too, he lets out a gratifying raspy hiss.

“That’s it. You want me to blow in your mouth, huh?”

I can barely nod, and I definitely can’t speak. But I hum agreement, and keep my gaze on him, even as he begins to rock his hips back and forth in time with my movements. It drives him deeper into my throat, and in seconds I’m drooling.

“Avery,” he grits out. “I never dreamed, feck, you feel amazing. And seeing you like this…” He shakes his head in apparent disbelief. “Willingly on your knees for me, when it’s me who should be worshipping and thanking you.”

Oh no. I’m not letting thoughts of the competition in here.

I suck harder, as though I can draw every thought from him that isn’t about me. There’s everything I need right here, even if my jaw aches. I only want his attention on me.

He shudders. “Avery, forgive me.”

Then his fingers are in my hair, and his palm at the back of my head, and he’s controlling me. He thrusts into my mouth hard and fast. I can barely breathe, saliva is dribbling down my chin. It’s heaven, but I crave more. I keep up the movement of my hand on his cock, exposed with each withdrawal. And I bring my other hand to his balls, cupping them with some instinct that he’d like it, but maybe more that I like it. That I’m eager to feel every part of him, even the bits that are more breeding equipment than refined man.