“Y-yes,” he chokes out. He tenses, his ass clamping around my fingers, and sucks in a deep breath as then holds it as his cock pulses, splashing out long pearly strings, until he lets the breath back out and begins panting wildly.
I withdraw my fingers and give his butt a patronizing little pat. “You just wait there a minute. I wanna wash up.” The truth is, I’m so hard for him that if I put my dick in him now, I’d explode. But Finch is so far gone, still tumbling through the aftershocks, that I don’t even know if he notices when I leave the bed.
I duck into the bathroom and wash my face. When I raise my head and look at myself in the mirror, I’m hot and flushed, my reflection a stranger to me. Desire has turned my blue eyes black, my pupils blown wide. I look wild as I grin at myself.
I hear Finch make a plaintive noise and go back to him at once. He’s struggling to move, to turn over. I bounce back onto the bed next to him.
“Well,thatlooked fun,” I sigh, flipping him over onto his back. I kneel between his spread legs, and help him bend his knees up, running my hands over his calves, his thighs. “Would have been more fun formewith my cock inside you, of course.”
Finch looks down his own body with a dazed, bewildered light in his eye, as though he didn’t know it could even do what it just did. His dick is still rock-hard, still dripping a little pool onto his abs. “I’m still…” he whispers, amazement in his voice.
“Yeah, you are,” I say, and give the flushed, wet tip of his dick a hard flick. He yelps, but doesn’t move away, so I do it again, then smear his own fluid all around his cockhead. Another little spurt comes out and I swipe my fingers through it, anoint myself this time. “Don’t know why we ever both with lube, when we could just use your mess,” I tell him. I pull him forward into my lap and position myself at his hole. He’s still well-lubricated from my fingering, but I like the idea of fucking him with his own cum; Finch does too, based on the way his eyes roll back.
His ass is so welcoming that I’m balls-deep in one quick stroke. I fold his body back on itself, his knees hooked over my shoulders, his face inches away from mine. “Look at me,” I order him. “Don’t close your eyes, little angel. Let me in.” There’s a green-gold flash between his lashes, and then his eyes open wide as I grab a handful of his hair. “You love me?”
His smile is tired, but it spreads wide. “You know it,” he croaks. “So come on, fill me up.”
I fuck him deep, as deep as I can, keeping his face turned to mine with my fistful of his hair, only looking away from his eyes occasionally to watch his cock bounce as I slam into him. My orgasm is white-hot, a rushing tsunami of desire and desperation and love, and I fuck him through the whole of it until my body protests,too much,too much, and I have to pull out.
My dick might be done, but I’m not. I still have a hot-burning desire for him sizzling under my skin, want to make sure he never forgets tonight. I slither back down the bed, making Finch pull his legs high, and plant my mouth back on his hole. He cries out, wriggling uncontrollably as I suck my own cum back out of him, my tongue making whorls around and inside his ring, the dark, rich taste of him mixing with my own salty spill. When I’m done with that, I move up the bed just a few inches to where he’s jacking himself with a light hand, and push his fingers away so I can suck on his dick.
I keep my lips tight around his cockhead and stroke his shaft with firm twists, bobbing up and down now and then just to mix it up. But I keep it shallow; I don’t want him to shoot down in my throat. I want to truly taste him, to enjoy every flavor of his body across every one of my tastebuds. And that’s exactly what I get when he arches on the bed, his cock throbbing in my hand three times before he finally gives up another load. It’s concentrated, a sweet and thick mouthful, and I keep sucking it out of him until Finch collapses back on the bed with a drawn-out sigh.
I lie there for a while as we catch our breath, my face pressed into his sticky belly, the scent of him in my nose, my mouth. He reaches down to thread his fingers through my hair, stroking me. Soothing me.
When I’ve recovered enough to stand, I take the wet top sheet off the bed and pull the covers back up over Finch before I go to clean myself down again. Then I clean an exhausted Finch, too, taking a warm washcloth back to the bed to wipe him over from head to toe. I take my time about it, tender over his pillowy asshole, making him hum in satisfaction. He takes a short, sleepy trip to the bathroom while I wait impatiently for him, unwilling to sleep until he’s back in my arms.
When I’m holding him again, spooning him close, his bare butt warm against my spent cock, I nuzzle into the back of his neck. “Was that soul-shaking enough for you?”
He gives a tired chuckle. “That commentwasn’tintended as a challenge, you know. But yeah, consider my soul shook. You won, babe. Is that what you wanna hear?”
I smile smugly. “It’s nice to win,” I say. “But I think we both won this round.”
I just hope tomorrow night will be another win for us. Tomorrow night, when I plan to make a second attempt at contacting La Contessa.
Chapter Sixty
LUCA
Our talk last night about escaping fate has led me to want to try the one thing I swore I wouldn’t when I came to Venice: a gondola ride. It’s not that I have anything against gondolas…except that I do. Every time I’ve looked at one of them while we’ve been here, I’ve had a flash-memory of the assassin gondolier in Las Vegas, of those bullets striking so close to Finch, and of Finch himself, dripping and astonished as he resurfaced from the water after I dumped him into the canal.
But this morning I’ve decided it’s time to exorcise that particular ghost. I also have an ulterior motive, though I haven’t told Finch yet. I wanted to think my plan through a little more, decide how much I’m willing to risk simply to get close to La Contessa.
How much danger I’m willing to allowFinchto be in for the sake of the Family.
Vitali supplied several potential opportunities to contact La Contessa, and I always had a backup plan in mind should our attempt at the opera fail. Tonight, there’s a masquerade ball that La Contessa will be attending, and a masquerade ball suggests several possibilities. But the particular plan I’m contemplating means Finch beingveryinvolved, and I worry that my protective instincts toward him might take over in the heat of the moment.
“I’m not sure how this is helping,” Finch says, as we glide along the Grand Canal on a private gondola. I checked the gondolier carefully, picking randomly from the new arrivals at the dock. The more random, the better, as far as I’m concerned.
“It’s helping,” I say.
Finch shuffles carefully out of my arms to look over the side of the boat, leaning his chin on his crossed arms. He turns his head to look at the Rialto Bridge coming up, its smooth, pale arc shining in the morning sun. “Venice is just gorgeous,” he sighs.
“Not as gorgeous as you.”
He turns to me with a grin and moves back into my arms. “You know that IFF guy is a few boats down, right?” he whispers. “Following us?”
“I do.”
