“Fuck, your mouth is sinful.” I slide off and nip at his foreskin, and he jolts up, gasping, and I chuckle around him. His grip tightens in my hair, and he thrusts up harder. I stare up at him, and I wink.
He pants, his nostrils flare as he tries to hold back, driving up as he forces my head down. I gag and choke, and his breathing stutters. I smile, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. He lets his dick hit the back of mythroat, and when I cough and choke, he holds me there for a second longer before pulling back and slamming back in again. His eyes darken, and the snarl on his face as he loses himself makes me so fucking wet.
I reach between my legs, but his resolve snaps. He snatches me off him, spins me, yanking at my trousers, I flick the button and zip open as he roughly shoves them down. He bends me over, crashing me against the desk, his hand still wrapped around my hair as he steps up behind me.
He propels straight inside me as he crushes me to the desk, his body hot against my back, his hand tight in my hair as he pins me to the desk with it, and his body slams into mine.
“Fuck,” he rasps. His voice wavers, and his normal dirty talk evades him. He grunts and groans with every thrust, and I mewl and claw at the table. He slams hard against me, fucking me into the wood. I cry out as he crashes into me, over and over.
I feel every inch of him with no way to give myself any release. I try to buck against him. I try to rub my thighs together, but he’s feral. He just keeps chanting.
“Fuck, fuck.”
The sound of skin slapping skin echoes around the room. I scream out as he buries himself deeper and deeper inside me. I start to cry out. Tears of frustration start to roll down my face as I need to release, but he holds me firm. He slams into me. His last thrust screeches the desk so hard across the floor that I know it will scratch. He roars as he comes inside me, and I slump, and he relaxes his grip. I’m worn out and oversensitive. I need to come. He pulls out of me.
He yanks hard on my hair, standing me up and spins me to face him. My breathing ragged, he crashes his lips to mine. His other hand slides down and wraps around my leg. He stands on my trousers, hoisting my leg up he rips them off me. I squeal out into the kiss in shock as he slams my back onto the table.
His hand releases my hair as he grabs my thighs, slamming my legs back. He gives me the dirtiest grin before he lunges, and his face slams into my pussy. He sucks and bites down, licking every drop of himself from me before leaning over, slamming his mouth to mine. He forces his tongue into my mouth, and I shudder as his body rubs over my clit. His tongue forces his cum into my mouth, and I groan, my eyes flutter at how filthy it feels.
His soft dick slides around, rubbing against my pussy, catching my clit, and I claw at him, trying to get him back inside me. His hand pushes between us, his fingers thrusting inside me as his hips buck against me. I gasp and moan, squirming under him as my eyes roll into the back of my head.
He slams against me, sliding more fingers in the slick of his cum, making them glide in and out effortlessly, then he drops to his knees and sucks my clits, he nips down on it before I scream out, gasping as the orgasm rips through me. His eyes glaze as he holds me down, sucking until I can’t take anymore, and I sob out, melting into the desk.
His face peers up from between my legs, cum covering his face, and he just grins at me. I chuckle and rest my head back, closing my eyes as my legs flop off the end of the desk. He heaves me up so I’m sitting. As hesteps against me, he slides his hand against my cheek. He whispers, “I love you.”
My eyes widen, but he crashes his mouth to mine, so I can’t reply. I wrap my arms around him and pull him to me because I love him too.
Arianna
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’ve been watching them on the cameras. They’ve been parked out there for the last eighteen hours, not even trying to be inconspicuous. Three men are sitting in a car staring outside my house, like it personally offended each of them. I shake my head, sighing at their stupidity. What the hell are they thinking?
I slide my gun in my waistband and wrap my robe around me, even though I’m fully clothed. I want to portray an element of unintimidating. I head into the kitchen, grab a cup of coffee and hand Marianne a bottle from my pocket. "Make a pot of strong coffee." I wink, heading outside. I walk down the driveway, sipping at my drink. When I get to the car, the three brothers are scrunched up, fast asleep.
I stroll around the back, lean down, and attach the little black box from my other pocket to the bottom of the car near the petrol tank, and I walk back around to the driver’s side. I tap on the window, stand up and take another sip of my steaming coffee. The strong black liquid ripples in the mug. The one in the driver’s seat slowly opens his eyes, and the look of shock that passes acrosshis face makes me chuckle. He sits up, rubs at his eyes, before winding the window down a fraction.
“It’s freezing out here. Come inside. I’ll put on some breakfast.”
He nods and turns to wake the others up. I stroll back across the street and up the driveway. As I enter the house, I hear their boots scuffing along behind me, and I grin to myself as I push inside the house and walk through to the kitchen.
“Marianne, please make these gentlemen a cup of coffee. They must be freezing.” They smile and take the cups from her. Sitting at the table, I sit opposite them. I start to chat, nothing in particular, just nonsensical drivel, pretending I have no recollection of who they are. But once their eyes start to get heavy and their heads bob. I know the coffee is working. A few moments later, two of them are passed out on the table and the other one has just slid off his chair and is lying on the floor.
Itug out my phone and send Luca a message before leaving and heading upstairs to change. I can’t torture in my good clothes.
I push into the basement, and Luca and Matteo have the three Mancini brothers tied to chairs. Leaving them secure and unaware of their situation, they’re still out cold. Their heads rest against their chests, their hands and feet bound to the metal chairs. It’s the old cold store where they used to hang meat back in the day.
A few tweaks over the years have created a perfect entertaining space, which works out great, having the drain in the centre of the room. There’s a hose in the corner to make cleanup a little quicker. I have my father’s old tools attached to the walls and a few seats down here, along with a long workbench.
The room is dim and gloomy. The single light swings back and forth from the chain in a calming rhythm. There are fluorescent strips all the way around the room, which I leave turned off. I prefer the shadows. They make the room feel more despondent. Instilling despair into its visitors.
I used to come down here when I was younger; my father had long stopped entertaining guests down here himself by then. Leaving that to his henchmen or Alfredo, but I have my suspicions that Alfredo rarely got his hands dirty.
I remember the screams, the despair that clawed at your skin as I stepped closer to the room, the coldness that spread through the corridor the closer I got. It didn’t deter me though, it called to me—almost like entering the rings of hell, or heading towards purgatory. The tingle only heightened now that I can step inside for myself. The clawing desperation of its visitors feels like a lover’s caress. The adrenaline floods my senses, making me feel alive; it’s the same sensation I get from Vittorio, that rush.
My heart beats faster. My skin clammy with excitement. Anticipation of a climax. I sigh. Good things come to those who wait. Vittorio found me when I thought I would always be alone. And now I don’t just have to kill to get that feeling, to acquire that release for my pent-up emotions. They were bound tight for so long with noabsolution. Plotting and planning demise just doesn't create the same endorphins.
I take my own seat and wait patiently for the chaos that I can feel. It’s buzzing through my fingers, an itch I need to scratch, to feed. I smile to myself and crack my neck. Where to start—that is the million-dollar question. While I wait for them to wake up, I check my tools, the sharpness of each blade. The edges of my cutters. Adding new blades to the razors and wiping down my work surface.
