“You look like a used whore full of my juice.” My voice comes out, gruff, deep, mischievous. I spread his bruised ass cheeks, and with my thumbs, I stretch his gaping hole a little. More leaks out, and I keep gliding my dick against his balls while I have to stifle the possessive snarl that wants to get out. It’s too much. I abruptly let go of him and walk toward my jacket to get a cigar. He follows, getting the lighter before I can and sparking it up.
His face is relaxed, and his tone is playful when he says, “I can’t believe I put that thing in my ass.” He points at my half-hard dick.
“The burn will be so real, my hoo-hoo needs a ton of aloe vera, unless your cum has natural healing properties.” He shakes his ass and winks so lamely a snort rips out of my chest—I can’t stop it. He starts laughing, and we end up looking at each other. The atmosphere feels light.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” I suddenly ask, taking a puff of smoke.
Darkness falls over him, and the lively, ballsy brat disappears.
“There are worse evils in my life.” His eyes are empty, devoid of any feeling. “You can try to hurt me and hate me all you want, but it won’t change anything.” His voice turns low at the end.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head like he’s trying to push away a thought, a memory, a belief. “I’m going to take a shower,” he then states before turning around and heading toward the bathroom. My cum is leaking down his thighs, the inner skin looks shiny. He halts for a moment still giving me his back.
“Luca.” My name on his lips, voiced in that flat tone, feels wrong. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been born in this family. Italian Mafia are so proud of their origins, but I’d have preferred never knowing about any of it, of them.”
It feels like those long scars are screaming frantically at me until he disappears inside the bathroom. I know his family did it. He just told me. The sudden protective feeling almost chokes me. What the hell is he doing to me? This was not supposed to happen.
Suddenly, the pendant around my neck feels too hot against my skin. I lift it and kiss it. But the vivid images from my past still resurface and refuse to leave, reminding me why I hate today’s date so much. I look at my watch. It’s past midnight.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
Chapter Nine
ART
Ten more seconds and my balls would have frozen off. The line was ridiculously long in front of the shop. This early in the morning, it only means one thing: fabulous donuts. I’m whistling as I stroll down the sidewalk with my box of a dozen—well, eleven. I had to verify the quality of the product before gifting it. I got candles, though.
It’s Luca’s birthday today. Yes, I remembered. No, I just have a good memory. Also, he paid for it—I have no money with me, so I took some out of his wallet—so technically this is not a present. And I needed some fresh air—it’s a fucking beautiful day—so I slipped away during the guards’ switch and Luca’s showering. I left a note, though.
I stop a moment to enjoy the sun on my face. The air feels chilly. I don’t like the cold, but this is my favorite season. Why? Because the warmth radiating from each sun ray is best savored in such an environment.
I push up the collar of my fringed sherpa jacket and wince when I feel wetness between my ass cheeks. Luca’s cum is still leaking out of me. What kind of fool possessed me to beg for abareback shooting?I did melt from brain to balls when I had my firstdry fucking orgasm, though. Which opened a whole new can of worms.
I mean, yesterday’s fuck-a-thon was crazy amazing, and after thatjuicelessorgasm, I just couldn’t think straight anymore and blurted out shit. What is it about his humongous dick? Is it because he knows how to use it? I still want to kill him nine times a day. I also want him to look at me and touch me ten times more on that same day. It’s very disconcerting.
The way he wraps around me at night like he would a cuddle pillow is still annoying—even though I’ve never slept better. And his shitty behavior when we aren’t canoodling, I hate it. But then I get confused by the way he anticipates my needs and fulfills my desires in and out of bed. I’ve been surrounded by murderers and assholes for too long not to enjoy a dysfunctional relationship.
Relationship? What the hell am I going on about? The fact that I put his dick before food…oh shit! No. No. No. Arturo Enzino doesn’t do relationships or connections or bonds. He’s fucked up, but he isn’t drawn to lousy, hostile, constipated, rude dicks.
I look up and see a couple of crows looking at me wrong, so I resume my walk, turning quickly into an alley, still fighting with my insane thoughts when I hear footsteps treading behind me. Forcing myself not to jump the gun, I keep going, slightly rushing my steps. Whoever is behind me does the same.Merda!
They can’t be Luca’s men since they are coming from the opposite direction from his building. So I finally concede to the fear and let it take control. Heart pounding, breath…where did all the air go? I can’t run in these stiletto heels, so I slide my hand in my panties to get my phone. I can’t call the police, theymight work for whoever is following me, nor Luca, I don’t have his phone number. Fly!
My hand has found the cell when a man emerges at the end of the alley and plants himself in front of me. My hand slides out of my skirt as I turn around and see two more guys approaching and blocking my other way out. No Mario. I gulp a large, relieved breath. I’m still defenseless against three goons, and there’s nobody around who could help me this early on a Sunday morning in a narrow alley. I have no weapon except the box of donuts, which I don’t think they will accept in exchange for my wallet.
Why did I leave the condo? Why do I always do things without thinking?
“Is that him?” The one wearing grandpa’s Coppola asks, sneering at me after leering at my high-heeled boots and velvet skirt. “Should we check?”
“Doesn’t look like a him to me,” the man with a craggy face declares, staring at my whole attire.
“It’s him, alright!” the shortest one states. “Come with us, Enzino” he orders me.Right to the point.
Fuck. Did my father send them?
“Ugh,” I mutter.
“Are you deaf?” The same man raises his voice, making me jump.