She blushed. “I wanna try… something.”
The possibilities only made me harder. “We can try anything you want, Net.”
She reached up and grabbed my dick, giving it a little squeeze. I moaned. She smiled and started stroking me. “You like that?” she asked.
I nodded.
She tugged me closer to her and slid me inside her mouth. I’ve had blow jobs before, but something about Annetta’s plump lips wrapped around my dick made me lose my mind. As she sucked and teased me, I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her further up my shaft. Remembering she’d been a virgin before our last encounter and fearing I might have gone too far, I watched her for a sign of how she felt about this. When she looked up at me with a grin tugging at her lips and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, god dammit, I think I fell in love.
I fucked her mouth as her hands wrapped around me and squeezed my ass. I let her take me to the brink, and then released her head and pulled out.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
Sparkle still dancing in her eyes, grin still tugging at her lips, she said, “You like that?”
In answer, I climbed on top of her and buried myself deep in her pussy.
She gasped.
“You like that?” I asked, turning her own question on her.
“Yes. Fuck me, Dom.”
One thing was certain, she wasn’t a virgin anymore. I made her come, and then pulled her out of the tub. With my fingers inside her and her hand stroking my dick, we each drained a glass of champagne. Then I talked her into letting me pour it on her and lick it off. She returned the favor, and we ended up back in the tub.
By the time I dropped her off at home the next morning, the sheets were full of champagne and all the towels had been used.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dominico
OVER THE NEXT several weeks, Annetta and I kept up our secret relationship. Whenever I could get away, we’d slip off to the Davenport Hotel, room 325, and fuck until morning. I knew I was playing a dangerous game, but I couldn’t force myself to quit her.
In August, Abriana married and moved to California with Romario De Lucca. I called her a couple of times, and although she didn’t sound happy, she was alive and healthy, which I told myself had to be enough. The attacks on the family increased, and the De Luccas had given us the leg up, steadily supplying weapon shipments and helping us organize strikes against the Durantes.
The Commission was still trying to place a messaggero, and my father’s paranoia kept increasing at an alarming rate. He had every available wiseguy working around the clock. With lengthened workdays, and Father demanding more of my time, my free-time with Annetta was basically non-existent.
September brought on Michael’s engagement dinner. Since the Carusos hosted, we didn’t return to Annetta’s restaurant. Which was a good thing, since Valentina was at the party and wouldn’t shut up about me and her getting hitched. With Valentina’s eighteenth birthday less than six months away, my future looked bleak. As the goddamn pink-lipped octopus butted her shrill voice and immature opinions into my dinner conversation with Mario, I lost my appetite. Tossing my napkin onto my untouched plate, I escaped the stuffy banquet hall and headed outside for air.
That bitch was gonna be my wife.
I couldn’t begin to come to grips with it. Not after Annetta. Thoughts of my girl’s perfect lips and bright green eyes churned my stomach even more. I would have to tell her about Valentina soon. Then what? I couldn’t let her go.
Would Annetta agree to be my mistress?
The thought made me laugh. My feisty little firecracker would likely stab me rather than sleep with me after she found out I’d have to marry someone else.
Maybe Annetta and I could disappear…
My head was in a very dark place when Mamma found me.
“What is wrong?” she asked, joining me at the porch railing.
No sense in worrying her with something she couldn’t do anything about. “Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just tired.”
“Don’t you lie to your mamma,mio figlio,” she tsked, frowning as she studied my face. “And don’t pretend I can’t see the truth for myself.Avere un chiodo fisso in testa.”
The old saying—an accusation that I had a nail fixed in my head—was the Italian way of saying I had a bee in my bonnet. I couldn’t help but chuckle at her idiom. “It’s not a nail, Mamma. More like being caught in a net.” Realizing I shouldn’t have even said that much, I clamped my mouth shut.
