He looks me dead in the eye then, to judge my tone, and I can see the calculations running in his brain. Then slowly, as the force of my will rolls over him like gravity, he sinks down in the water to his knees, and pays his respects to my cock.
Chapter Twenty-One
FINCH
My man just needs someone to show him what’s possible, sometimes. Like five years back, when I showed him New York City laid out like a buffet for the eating. Here and now I knew he wanted my ass, so I showed it to him—also for the eating, if he was so inclined.
But I think I like what he has planned even more. His cock is butting into my chin, and I open my mouth to take it in. This is how he used me the very first time, five years back, so maybe I’m wrong, maybe he could take or leave my ass, and this is his favorite thing.
I don’t think so, though.
I think this is about teaching me my place in this strange little hierarchy. So I open my mouth, and he dips in, shallow, just pressing his silky cockhead against my tongue, and then pulling out. He’s holding his cock at the base. It’s long; he’s got impressive girth, too, curving up towards his belly. It’s exactly the kind of cock the rest of those mobsters wish they had and don’t, and which they suspect, morosely but correctly, that he has.
And now it’s mine. Mine until death. I mouth towards it, wanting its reassuring weight on my tongue, wanting the proof of his desire for me. But he grabs me by the hair, pulling my face up. It stings, just a little. I can tell he’s not doing it to hurt me, just to show me that he can. And then, with his other hand, he lifts his dick and softly slaps my face with it.
I start in surprise; it’s not that it’s painful, it’s just unexpected. And my face is admittedly still tender from Tommy the Thug giving me that huge slap before. I stare up at Luca, wondering what his point is. Wondering what he’s trying to show me, because it’s definitely something, and I want to learn this man.
He stares down at me, his blue eyes electric but unreadable, and then slowly, deliberately, slaps his cock against my other cheek as well.
“That’s the only slap you need to remember from today,” he says, and then I get it. What I’m going to remember from this motherfucking shit of a day is not getting slapped around by Tommy, or the multiple bangs to my head, and it certainly won’t be Tommy getting his fucking face shot off with ten rounds.
No. My husband’s cock will be the only thing I remember from today.
“Stand up, angel.”
I do, my legs barely functioning now. He pulls me close, one arm around my waist, keeping me steady, and with his other hand he gathers our cocks together, so I can feel his warm, wet flesh against mine. And then his mouth descends onto mine.
He kisses like no one I’ve kissed before. I’ve never known anyone like him, and at the same time, he’s the only other person in this world I’ve ever truly known.
He kisses with abandon, with passion, with a warmth that never seems to be echoed in his eyes, and I crack mine open just to check on that. But his are closed, shut tight, like he can keep out the rest of the world, and his hand is tugging me, taking me right up close to the edge almost straight away.
“I’m gonna—” I choke out. “Baby, I’m gonna—”
“Come on,” he says, and jacks me right over the edge. I go off like a bomb in his hand, and grab at him, clutch like I’m drowning, panicking, and maybe I am. He keeps working me until it’s almost-almost-painful, but then he explodes too, painting my belly and chest with his cum.
As he washes me down and jokingly makes me kiss his soft-but-still-impressive cock and say thank you to him, I can’t help but wonder where all this is going. He towels me off like a precious object, and wraps me in the softest, fluffiest robe I’ve ever felt, and then he leads me back to bed. “Can we fuck some more?” I ask hopefully, but he shakes his head. He smiles when he does it, at least.
“You need a nap before dinner,” he says. “And so do I. I function best on seven hours of sleep a night, and I haven’t been sleeping great the last few weeks.”
“Why?”
He gives me a look like he doesn’t know how to answer that. “I guess I was nervous about the wedding,” he says at last, and he says it with a dead straight face, so I can’t tell if he’s serious or being ironic. “But I slept better than I ever have last night, with you in my arms.”
He can’t be serious, surely.
He pulls me into the bed with him, wraps me up securely in his long limbs, and I breathe against him. I can feel his heart beating against my back, strong and consistent. I could get used to this, I think, before I can’t hold on to thinking anymore.
I don’t know what time I wake, but I wake tumbling out of his arms. I think something woke us—yes, there it is again, a tentative knock on the door. Luca is sitting bolt upright, his gun pointed dead at the door, not wavering.
“Who is it?” he shouts.
“It’s Nunzio, signor’,” someone calls back. “You asked me to alert you when your dinner was thirty minutes out. My wife tells me it will be thirty minutes from now.”
Luca stares at the door, face blank, and then clicks the safety back on the gun. “We’ll be there.”
“Scusi, signor’, mi scusi, but ehhh…” Nunzio wavers again, and he sounds nervous.
“What is it?” Luca barks.
“I cannot find one of
