I fuck her with single-minded intensity, using her body to blank my mind, to purge my stress and my rage.
Her ass is tight and hot and perfect. I can feel her getting close to orgasm, that telltale flutter to her breathing.
“Don’t you dare come.” I punctuate the command with a vicious thrust. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”
“Please—”
“Pleasewhat?” I lean over her, pressing my chest to her back, my mouth at her ear. “Use your words, princess.”
“Please,signore.” Her voice breaks on the word. “Please may I—”
“No.” I pull out completely, and she whines at the loss, hips pushing back, seeking me out.
I grab her hair and haul her upright, spinning her to face me. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted and swollen from biting them. She looks fucking wrecked, and I haven’t even started.
“On your knees.” I release her, and she drops obediently. “Open.”
Her mouth falls open, tongue out, waiting.
And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? She’stoowilling. Nothing I do fazes her. Every degradation, every humiliation, she meets it not just with acceptance but an eagerness that makes me feel like she’s still fucking playing me.
I push my cock between her lips, watching it disappear into her warm mouth. She doesn’t gag or protest, just takes me deep, eyes locked on mine, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.
“Fuck yourself while you suck me off.” I grip the edge of the counter behind her, using it for leverage to thrust deeper. “Lift your ass so I can watch you touch that pussy from behind.”
Her hand slides between her legs, and even from this angle I can see how wet she is, oil and arousal coating her thighs. She circles her clit with her fingers, moaning around my cock, the vibrations shooting straight up my spine.
This was supposed to humiliate her. Break her down. Make her run crying to daddy about the big bad mob boss who degraded his precious daughter.
Instead, she’s looking at me like I’m giving her everything she’s ever wanted. Which fucking sucks.
I pull out of her mouth with a wet pop, jerking myself off roughly. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
She obeys instantly, tongue out, waiting for me like this is communion and I’m her priest.
I come across her face, her cheeks, her nose, her parted lips, trying desperately to convince myself this is just about revenge, nothing more, nothing less.
When I’m finished, she opens her eyes and smiles up at me, cum dripping down her face.
“Thank you, Vincenzo.” She licks her lips, tasting me, that innocent expression unwavering, and irritation twists in my gut.
I’m so fucked.
“Clean yourself up.” I tuck myself away, trying to find my fucking balance. “Then finish making my dinner.”
My phone buzzes. Tommy again, and Matti, plus three texts from Valentina asking where I am.
I’m in Sophie Bellamorte’s tiny apartment watching her wash my cum off her face, content and happy like I didn’t just use her like a fuck toy and deny her orgasm.
“I’ll need to roast a new batch of pine nuts,” she says, pulling out a sheet pan.
“I don’t give a fuck about pine nuts, Sophie.” I drop into a chair, spreading my legs, making myself comfortable. “I give a fuck about you learning to keep your mouth shut when I tell you to.”
She pauses, then turns to face me fully. “Would you like me to stop talking?”
It’s a genuine question. No attitude. No defiance. Just like she’s checking in.
And somehow that fucking pisses me off even more.
