I obey immediately, bracing my palms against the cold concrete. Behind me, I hear his zipper, then feel the hot length of his cock sliding through my folds, coating himself in my wetness.
"You're mine," he growls, positioning himself at my entrance. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasp as he pushes inside me in one deep thrust. The stretch is perfect, that edge between pleasure and pain that makes my whole body light up. "All yours."
He sets a punishing pace immediately, one hand gripping my hip while the other tangles in my hair, pulling my head back. The position makes him hit even deeper, each thrust pushing little screams from my throat.
"That's it," he encourages, his grip tightening. "Let me hear you. Let anyone listening know who's fucking this perfect pussy."
The thought of being heard, of someone knowing what he's doing to me, makes me clench around him. He notices, of course, laughing darkly against my ear.
"You like that? Like the idea of being caught with my cock buried inside you?" His hand slides around to find my clit, rubbing tight circles that have my legs shaking. "Such a dirty girl. My perfect, filthy wife."
My orgasm builds fast under his skilled touch, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my core. Just when I'm about to fall over the edge, something changes. The compound is too quiet. No footsteps in the hallway outside. No distant voices. The silence presses against us like a held breath.
Alessandro must feel it too because his rhythm falters slightly, though he doesn't stop. His phone buzzes insistently on the counter.
"Ignore it," I plead, pushing back against him, so close to release.
But he's already pulling out, leaving me empty and aching. The loss makes me whimper as he adjusts himself with a pained expression, his cock massive and erect, bobbing with every movement.
"Security alert," he says, checking the screen. "We need to go upstairs. But this isn't over, stellina. Not even close."
My body throbs with unfulfilled need as I pull my clothes back on with shaking hands. The denim feels rough against my oversensitive skin, and I can feel how wet I still am, how ready. Alessandro's eyes track my movements, dark with promise and frustration.
"Come," he says, taking my hand. "My study. Now."
The walk upstairs feels endless, my legs unsteady from our interrupted encounter. His grip on my hand is almost painful, betraying his own frustration.
His study smells of leather and aged whiskey, afternoon light streaming through bulletproof windows. I've been in here before, but never like this. Still trembling with need, my pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him so badly I can barely think straight.
"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk.
But I remain standing, my eyes drawn to the wall of watches behind him. Dozens of them, each one pristine, each one with a story I'm only now beginning to understand.
"Tell me about them," I say, needing distraction from the ache between my thighs.
His eyes darken with something beyond desire. "You want to know about my trophies?"
"Yes." I move closer to the display, noting how his gaze follows me like a predator tracking prey. "Tell me about the first one."
He rises from his chair, moving behind me, not touching but close enough that I feel his heat. "Bottom left. The Rolex Submariner."
I study the watch, its face gleaming in the afternoon light. "Who was he?"
"Antonio LaPaz. Low-level enforcer who thought he could skim from family shipments." His breath ghosts across my neck. "I was nineteen. Marco wanted to test me, see if his pretty brother had the stomach for real work."
"Did you?" My voice comes out breathy as his hand settles on my hip.
"I put three bullets in his chest while he begged for his mother." His lips brush my ear. "Then I took his watch while he was still breathing. Worn it to every execution since."
The casual violence sends a thrill through me. My pussy clenches with fresh need. When did I become someone who gets wet from murder confessions?
"Which one will you add next?" I ask, turning to face him. "When someone threatens us?"
He stares at me for a long moment, then crosses to his desk, pulling out his phone. "That's my dark little stellina. Already planning violence."
The praise makes heat flood through me, but then his expression changes as he reads something on his screen. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking with barely controlled rage.
