I get to the bedroom, pull his limbs off me—they’re attached to me so hard it’s like he’s got suckers all over him or something—and then throw him down on the bed. He bounces with a half-laugh, gasps as I yank down my underwear, and arches on the bed like a cat stretching in lazy pleasure.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, eyes glued to my crotch, where I’m pulling at my already-hard dick as I watch him there laid out for me.
“Yeah,” I tell him, and grin. He just laughs and slides a hand between his thighs, fondling his ballsack, rolling it gently in delicate fingers while the other hand picks up his cock. I take a deep breath, blow it out. “You ain’t bad yourself.”
“Come here,” he says, reaching out for me. I go to the side of the bed and he shuffles over, still on his back, opening his mouth so I can smack the tip of my cock against his outstretched tongue, smear his lips with my pre-cum, already leaking from me. He swirls his tongue, eyes fluttering closed like it’s the best thing he’s tasted in a long time. If he’s going to act like that, he can have the whole thing, I decide, and I sling my knee up over him, the other foot still on the floor, and slide into his throat.
For a second I worry about choking him, but he has enough breath left to give a long, appreciative moan, and his hands grab my ass to pull me in deeper. I hunch over, one hand on the bed for balance and the other threading through his hair, and watch him deep-throat my cock with ease, my balls rolling around on his chin. Then he opens his eyes, tips his head back even further to watch me watching him, and I can’t hold back anymore. I fuck into his willing mouth, twist a handful of his hair in my fist so he stays right where I want him. I fuck his mouth until he’s gagging, drooling all over the place, his fingers clawing at my asscheeks like he doesn’t know if he wants me out or further in.
I take away the choice from him and pull out, leave him coughing and gasping for air. “Why’d you stop?” he croaks, but I don’t reply, I just shove him further over on the bed and crawl over him, slap my dick against his face. He opens his mouth again and this time I pull his head firmly up into my crotch, let him nose around in my bush as I enjoy the way his throat contracts around my flesh. He’s always liked it best this way, rough and raw, and at the start of this I wondered sometimes if he was the kind of Mob groupie who gets off on terror—the idea that I could kill them as easy as fuck them.
I don’t think he is, though. I haven’t heard a whisper of Bianchi sucking any other Morelli dick, and God knows some of the boys gossip like old women about that kind of thing. I like the idea that mine’s the only Morelli cock he’s had. It makes me swell up again in his mouth and he gags as I do, tries to swallow me further down, but I pull out and sit on his chest instead. Some days when we’re messing around like this, I shoot on his face, make him sticky with my cum and then take my time pushing it into his mouth and letting him suck my fingers clean. Today, though, I want inside him. I’ve missed feeling that ass clamp hard around me; I’ve missed slapping the cheeks, watching them wobble. Carlo Bianchi is the definition of a bubble butt.
He knows it, too—not just that his ass is amazing, but that I want it right now, because when I roll off him, he jumps right on top of me, rubbing my wet dick in his ass crack. “Where’s your stuff?” he demands, and I nod to the nightstand. He finds it fast, throws the lube on my chest and just about knees me in the nose as he swings around to sit on my face. I oblige, spreading his ass wide and do what I thought about doing downstairs. I get my tongue up into him and eat him while he plays with my cock, stroking me lightly, keeping me hard, but his focus is on my tongue and what it’s doing to him.
“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he breathes out, followed by a laugh as I pull out and lick him balls to hole in one long, wide, hot swipe.
“You know it,” I say, only slightly muffled by the fact that my lips are still pressed against his hole. I slap around on the bed until I find the lube, soak my fingers with it, and start to really open him up, watching as his body begins to ask for more. Before long, he’s fucking himself long and slow on all four of my fingers, and if my dick wasn’t aching jealously, I’d see how much more of them he could take. There’s something about Bianchi that makes me want to open him up, crack him wide and see what makes him tick from balls to brain.
Thinking about my whole fist disappearing into his ass makes my dick give a demanding leap, drizzling on my belly, and Carlo finally starts to wrap it up, slicking me down before he rolls the rubber on, then again after. He pulls off my hand with a sucking noise that makes me groan and bite my lip.
“I know what you need,” he says, that smug fucking smile firmly in place as he turns around on top of me like an acrobat. He holds my shaft up, wriggling until the head of it sits at his puffy, needy hole, and then he sinks down onto it, his eyes on mine the whole damn time.
I go to grab his hips, yank him down hard, but he swats them away. “Uh-uhh,” he warns breathlessly, holding my wrists as though I couldn’t just pull free. For this guy, I’ll play along. I know I’ll always get my reward in the end.
He pauses where he is, halfway-impaled, and pulls back up again, then bounces slowly, his thighs working hard. He leans over, guides my hands up to his nipples and I play with his tits, pinching hard at them the way he’s told me he likes it. He bites down on his lip, mutters, “Fuck, that’s good,” and finally sits down hard on my dick, letting me all the way into him. “You like my ass?”
“You know I do,” I grunt. I’m not a talker during sex. That’s fine, though, because Bianchi talks enough for both of us. Not like I’m complaining, the way he moans out exactly how hot I am, all the ways I’m making him feel good, although this time he doesn’t go near what he said about being the best he’s had.
Unforgettable. The way he looked into my eyes when he said it sent a thrill through me like nothing else we’d done. He’s staring at me again right now, and for once his mouth is quiet, though not shut—it’s half-open, panting, waiting for his brain to catch up so the words can start again.
He’s close to coming, just from fucking himself on my dick, from teasing me. I smirk, and he blows out a long, shaky breath, still trying to get hold of himself. I snap my hips up, drive deep into his gut and make him gasp out a curse. He grabs my shoulders, his fingers closing painfully hard.
“Come on, Harvard, ride me like you mean it. Or should I flip you over and fuck you like the little bitch you are?” He scowls and pushes me hard into the bed, writhing around to make his ass milk my cock, hissing and bitching at me as though I’m doing very bad things to him instead of very good.
In his mind, maybe it’s a little of both. As for me, I just lie there and take it, try to make it last, to block out the dirty stream of words coming out of his mouth. But it’s impossible not to hear those filthy things, and if I don’t switch it up I’m going to blast, and he’ll act like he’swon. Everything’s a competition to him, I’ve noticed, from the law to personal relationships to fucking.
But I like to win, too.
I reach down and this time he doesn’t swat my hands away when they land on his cock. No, this time he moans like I finally figured out what he really wanted all this time, bends into what looks like a back-breaking arc, and lets me jerk him to a rough and messy climax while his mouth still spits out curses and endearments, wrapped up in each other so that I can barely tell the difference. He pops with a loud shout, his cock spraying right up my body, splashing across my lips. When he’s done and collapsing with my still-hard, still-desperate dick inside him, I tug him back up to kiss him, let him taste how delicious he is, and drive hard into his ass without any finesse at all until I shoot, his tongue lazily exploring my mouth as wave after wave of relief pours out of me.
* * *
Later,after we’ve cleaned up and come back to bed just to snuggle, I feel something tender and delicate pulsing inside me. I’m so afraid of what it might make me do, make me say, that I get straight back to the business at hand. “We need a few days to investigate this blackmail shit.”
He gives an irritated shrug from where I’ve made him little spoon. “Nicky, I told you, once was enough with the wet work. Please don’t make me—”
“I won’t drag you into anything and I won’t talk about what I’m planning. But I—I don’t want to do it without you.”
He turns over in my arms and gives me a curious look. “Why?”
The last thing I want to do is scare him, but he needs to know the plain truth. “Because I need to know you’re safe. If there’s someone out there who knows what happened—reallyknows, not just someone fishing around to see if they can get a reaction out of me—then they might know you’re involved, too. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He reaches out with a finger to trace my mouth. “Why?” he asks again.
I can’t tell him anything too real. I shouldn’t have even taken him to bed today, although at least I can blame that on my pent-up balls. “Because you’re important to the Family.” It’s the truth, at least.
His face, so soft and open just a moment before, closes off. His finger leaves my mouth. “I can’t just fuck off from work to go play private eye, Fontana. I have ajob.”
