I wake up late the next morning, something I haven’t been allowing myself to do since taking over our Boston interests. Of course, with the opening of Deconstructed, my debauched all-night schedule might pick back up for a while. Looking over, I admire the bare ass of my gorgeous bride. There is a very distinct bite mark in the center of her left cheek. I could not help myself last night.
She’s sleeping face down, one arm hanging off the bed as if she simply passed out right where she was the moment I pulled out of her.
For the fourth time.
Sitting up, I wince and wait for my chapped, dehydrated dick to stop twinging. “Fuck off,” I snarled, looking down, “I was making up for lost time.”
Finally walking into the bathroom with a low groan, I turn on the shower. I’m not sure if it should be hot to soothe my sore muscles or cold because just looking at Cora’s gorgeous, bruised ass is making my dick rise again.
“Dario…” her weak little voice makes me smother a chuckle. “Daarrriooo…”
“Bellissima,how do you feel?” I bring her a glass of water and some aspirin. She’s making weak, paddling motions like a baby turtle trying to get into the surf. My girl looks like she got railed good and hard. I know she will never forgive me if I start laughing, so I press my lips together. Putting down the water and painkillers so that I help her sit up, I'm enjoying her little hiss of discomfort when her ass rubs against the sheet. “My poor darling,” I croon, “maybe we went a little overboard last night.”
“I am equally guilty since I jumped your bones right there on Shoreline Drive,” she moans, leaning against me.
“Why yes you did, you slut.” I agree pleasantly.
She looks shocked. “Rude! A gentleman would tell me it was mutually assured destruction.”
“Are your breasts tender?” I ask, noticing she’s gingerly holding them with her forearm.
“Yes, the bite marks might give that away,” she glowers, “and I am raw from your favorite body part.”
“Good,” I said unsympathetically, “you should always be sore from my cock. You should always remember who you belong to.”
Her green eyes narrow a bit. “I belong to myself.”
I could throw her on her back and teach her a lesson, but I think I’ll wait and do that at the grand opening of Deconstructed on Friday. Thinking of her wide-eyed, innocent expression when we walked through the construction phase makes me grin. Cora has one hell of an awakening planned for her.
Dropping a quick kiss on her lips, I stand up, still naked and head for my shower.
“Do we have any intel yet on who actually killed Santos?”
I’m meeting with Carlo and we’re going over our growth in Boston and any threats. There are always the usual, rival organizations trying to weasel in on our territory, interference from public servants who think their bribe money needs to be increased. Then there’s the mystery of Santos’ execution that still troubles both of us.
“Boss, I got nothing,” he sighed, pushing his hair back with the hand not holding his double espresso.
“You’ve been working for the last seventy-two hours straight again, haven’t you?” I asked.
“You know how it is leading up to big events,” he yawns, “so many security leaks to plug.”
“You’re going to have a stroke if you don’t sleep soon,” I said, “go home. Stop drinking double espressos. Get some rest. You’ve got a good team and we’re pacing ahead of where we were on any of the other club openings, even after that bullshit police work stoppage.”
“Okay,” he agrees, which is how I know he’s really fucking tired. “Let’s just go over the security issues for the VIP guest list first.”
Groaning, I roll my neck, trying to get the kinks out. I had my bride’s pussy hovering over my face for a good thirty minutes last night and the angle was not great. Her orgasm was worth it, though.
Cora…
I let out a yelp of excitement before realizing it will freak out Mattia, who sure enough comes galloping into the study.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Toscano?” His hand is in his jacket, no doubt ready to pull out a firearm and start spraying the room with bullets.
“Yeah, I’m sorry Mattia. I was just excited about something,” I said, “why don’t you call me Cora?” He is my favorite of Dario’s sinister legion of security guards, even though he’s strung tighter than a piano wire.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate, ma’am,” he says politely. Then he hesitates for a moment. “If I can ask, what is the good news?”
“Oh, I just got my credits transferred from Brown University here to Harvard. That means I can work toward my Master’s degree again.”
