Zoe's eyes widen slightly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
I reach for the nightstand, pulling open the drawer to retrieve a condom. I tear the foil packet open with my teeth, never taking my eyes off her perfect ass displayed before me.
Instead of entering her immediately, I position myself behind her and take my cock in hand. I drag the tip along the curve of her ass, tapping it lightly against her skin. Her breath catches, her back arching further.
"You want this?" I ask, slapping my cock against the roundness of her cheek. The soft smack of flesh against flesh fills the room.
"Yes," she whispers, pushing back against me.
I continue tapping my cock against her ass, alternating between gentle slaps and slow drags. Her skin flushes pink under my attention, her breathing growing heavier with each contact.
"Tell me what you want, Zoe," I demand, bringing my cock down harder against her ass.
She whimpers, grinding back against me. "Please..."
"Please what?" I tease, circling the head of my cock against her entrance without pushing in, feeling her wetness coat me through the condom.
"Fuck me," she gasps, desperation lacing her voice. "Please, Damiano, fuck me now."
The week passed in a blur. Days spent with Lucrezia, watching Netflix marathons or shopping at high-end boutiques with Daniel's watchful eyes never far away. The man is like a shadow—silent, observant, and completely loyal to Damiano. I've tested his boundaries, trying to shake him, but he sticks to us like glue.
"He's actually nice once you get used to him," Lucrezia whispers as we browse through racks at Saks. "Just don't ask about his scars. He hates that."
I nod, filing away the information. Every detail matters now.
Evenings bring family dinners—a strange concept that's becoming oddly familiar. Enzo's dry humor, Alessio's calculating gaze, Lucrezia's bright chatter, and Damiano at the head of the table, watching everything. After dessert, he always excuses himself for "business," and I'm left wondering what exactly that entails.
But nights—nights belong to us. To wandering hands and secret whispers and things I shouldn't want but crave anyway.
I zip my weekend bag closed, double-checking I have everything for Chicago. This trip is my chance to push further into Damiano's world, to see how he operates outside his kingdom. The Sartoris are important allies—I know that much from Byron's files—and gaining their trust means gaining access to a whole new level of information.
I haven't told Byron about the trip yet. Something holds me back each time I reach for my phone. I tell myself it's strategy—better to gather comprehensive intelligence first than report half-formed observations. But deep down, I know there's more to my hesitation.
"What are you thinking about?" Damiano's voice startles me as he enters the bedroom.
I smooth my expression into something neutral. "Just making sure I packed everything for Chicago."
Damiano comes up behind me, his large hands resting on my shoulders.
"We leave tomorrow morning," he says, his breath warm against my ear. "Private jet. Seven sharp."
"Private jet?" I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "What did you expect? Commercial?" He says it like it's a foreign concept, something beneath him.
"Who else is coming?" I ask.
"Alessio and Noah will join us. Enzo stays here to watch things." His fingers brush my cheek in a casual gesture that sends unwanted sparks through me. "I've arranged for the penthouse suite at The Peninsula. Best view of the city."
I nod, making mental notes. Alessio and Noah—Damiano's right hand men. This is perfect. The more time I spend with his inner circle, the more I'll learn.
"What about security?" I ask.
Damiano's eyes narrow slightly. "Curious about our arrangements, lupacchiotta?"
"Just wondering if Daniel will be hovering over me in Chicago too," I say quickly.
He studies me for a moment, and I force myself to hold his gaze. "Security will be handled. You don't need to concern yourself with those details."
