My loose shirt rubs against my sensitive nipples as I work, and I can’t help the soft moan I produce in response.
I glance down at his cock, wanting to see it in its full glory. My fist wrapped around his shaft looks so small in comparison. As I tug him up and down, I can see his balls pleasantly bouncing in time underneath. He’s so fucking perfect.
My hand catches against the hem of his underwear as I tug back and forth like that, and Massimo shifts, pulling his jeans and underwear down to give me room to work.
“Stand for a sec,” he orders me.
I obey, hunching over to make sure I keep stroking him.
He unbuttons my jeans, and then slides them and my panties down to my knees.
“Sit,” he commands.
I comply, and plant my naked butt on the leather. He lifts the hem of my shirt—well, technicallyhisshirt—and I’m forced to let go of his cock for a moment so I can raise my arms. As soon as Massimo is done sliding off my shirt, I spit on my hand again and begin tugging him once more. I don’t take my mind off his gorgeous cock. I just love how it feels beneath my fingers.
His eyes linger on the pendant around my neck, and then drop to my bare breasts. I can feel them jiggling while I work him. His cock seems to grow even harder in my grasp.
He unbuttons his black dress shirt to reveal that sexy chest of his; he doesn’t take off the shirt completely, just lets the two halves fall down to his sides. His abs look so perfect, and I can’t help but run my other hand along the striations. They’re just as hard as his cock.
He shoves his fingers into my mouth one by one, and I suck them in turn. Is he prepping me to suck his cock?
But then he lowers his hand and shoves two fingers inside me. They enter easily—no friction at all. I guess he didn’t realize I’m already soaking wet for him.
I feel his thumb rubbing over my clit, and then I understand the lubrication. His skin slides easily over my nub, sending sparks of pleasure shooting in all directions.
We’re kissing again, more frantically then ever before, kissing like there’s no tomorrow—which there isn’t. Meanwhile, I tug him, and he fingers me.
I kiss, and I kiss, and I kiss. When his tongue darts through my lips, I let it touch mine, and I lick it in turn, trying to wrap it around his, like my fingers are wrapped around his cock. I want to entwine myself around all of him and never let go.
I can feel my climax coming. It’s arriving fast. Really fast.
I involuntarily tighten the fingers of both hands—one hand squeezes the couch, the other his cock.
“I’m going to cum!” I manage to tell him.
And then I do. My body shudders and concentric waves of pleasure travel out from my core.
Massimo groans loudly and falls over the precipice at the same time. His cock jerks in my grasp and ropes of cum fly forth in rapid succession. There’s just so much of it, like it’s been building and building inside him all morning, and it leaves a big white pool on the tile floor. I can’t help feeling a little disappointed that it’s not going inside me. Seems a waste. Finally the last of it shoots free, and his cock stills in my grasp. He collapses against the leather as if utterly spent.
I cuddle against him, resting my head on his big, muscular chest. I gaze at his cock, willing it to grow to its former size again with my eyes, but it seems he’s sated for the time being. He just lies there beside me, the most beautiful, relaxed expression on his face. He breathes in and out, at peace.
Well, he didn’t fuck me, but what we did was still pretty hot. I hear birds chirping outside and my eyes dart to the open window. Open. Why do I feel no urge to escape? Like, none at all? And escape from what exactly? This gorgeous man?
I wonder what it would be like if I just stayed here. If I forgot about my brothers and my sister, and most importantly, my father. Thing is, I don’t even know if Massimo would want me to stay. I think he’s proud of his independence. Would he feel like I’m a drag on him? Or a weakness, maybe, someone who could be used to get to him? That’s how the mafia works. When they want you to do something for them, they don’t threaten you. Oh no, they never do that. They threaten those you love, first.
Maybe I can have it both ways? Maybe I can convince Papa to come around, so I don’t have to avoid my family for the rest of my life.
No. I’ll never convince papa. I’m deluding myself. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because the biggest mafia families in Palermo are bidding on me, and this beautiful man beside me is just using me to pass the time before his big payday. Of course he doesn’t care for me. Not really.
But why then is he opening up so much to me? Why is he sharing his life with me? Giving me chances to escape? A kidnapper who didn’t care about his captive wouldn’t do that. He’d never let me in. He’d make me talk about myself, but never himself.
I trace his tattoos, lingering on the heart with the banner underneath that reads “Wear it on your sleeve, or don’t wear it at all.”
I want to tell him my feelings, but I’m afraid they won’t be reciprocated. Terrified, actually.
It’s so much easier just to stay quiet and keep my feelings bottled up.
Wear it on your sleeve, or don’t wear it at all.
