He taps the ash off his cigarette into the tray, smirking. “Are you kidding? I’d bet good money she’d drop dead at the sight of a cock. I don’t know how she manages, especially with that slutty friend of hers getting railed by a new guy every night. If I were her, I’d say screw the sex-phobia and beg someone to take me for a ride already.”
“Make sure she doesn’t get a whiff that we’rewatchung her. I don’t want her causing a scene before we’re ready.”
“Man, she’s way too clueless for that. If it were her sly little friend, maybe she’d catch on, but this one? She’s off in her own world.”
I turn to him and my tone hardens. “And until we’re ready, stay away from her sly little friend too.”
His smirk stretches wider. “Sharp as ever, boss.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to notice your cock salutes her every damn time her name comes up.”
He just shrugs in response and snaps his fingers at one of the girls. Moments later, she’s straddling his lap, back to his chest, grinding her bare ass and pussy against his crotch.
“When’s Carlo getting back?” I ask.
“Probably tomorrow. He’s closed the deal and secured the trade. Found a new buyer in Ukraine.”
“Make it the day after.”
He pushes the girl’s shoulder down, bending her further so he can look at me. “You heading to Italy?”
I nod.
There’s doubt in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “When should the jet be ready?”
I turn my gaze back to the stage, nodding toward the pole dancer. As she strides off toward my room upstairs, I stay where I am, downing the last of my drink in one go.
“Just enough time for one good fuck,” I mutter, then follow after her.
***
When I enter my room, the dancer is already seated on the leather couch, the thin straps that barely covered her breasts and pussy tossed aside. I take a cursory glance at her. Her body is well-shaped, toned in all the right places, but her skin is too tan, and her blonde hair is the wrong fucking shade. Not the kind of blonde I want. I push the air out of my lungs, my frustration simmering just below the surface. I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the rack.
“Behind the couch. Bend over, stomach down,” I order, and she moves fast.
I step behind her and unzip my pants. Sliding on a condom, I thrust into her wet pussy with unrestrained force, her loud moan echoing through the room. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I pull her head back, forcing her to gasp for air.
“Repeat it. ‘Please let me go. Don’t do this. I’m begging.’ Over and over till I come. Got it?”
She arches slightly, a quiet sound escaping her—one she immediately despises herself for, because it gives her away, because it reveals how her body responds even as fear coils tight inside her.
“Please, let me go. Please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
Eyes closed. Her words turn into Lucia’s. This pussy’s hers. This body’s hers. I’m breaking her open, thrust after savage thrust. Over and over, I drive into her, the rhythm unforgiving. In, out, in, out—until I finally explode, filling the condom.
I’m panting, seething with rage, my chest rising and falling like a caged animal. A guttural growl escapes me, raw and unfiltered, because something is still missing. Something vital, maddeningly out of reach. It’s as if I haven’t truly climaxed in a year. My patience is gone. No more waiting. It’s time to end this misery once and for all.
***
“Until you catch the Mad Bull, don’t expect the Black Souls case to be closed completely,” Don Fernando says after taking a sip of his favorite red wine.
I stab my fork into my steak, my agreement clear in the gesture. “I agree. Right now, I’ve dismantled most of his crew. When he finally crawls out of hiding to regroup, that’s when I’ll strike.”
“That man’s like the leader of a fanatical cult, patient, ruthless, and utterly unhinged. He’s a snake, the kind that can sit in the dark for hours, even months, watching its prey. You need to be careful, or he’ll sink his fangs into you the moment you let your guard down.”
I give a slight nod, silently agreeing. As I chew on my food, I take a sip of wine, my gaze naturally drifting back to Lucia. She sits there in silence, almost like a mute, quietly picking at her food. Since I arrived, she’s barely said a word, just a stiff “welcome home” and nothing more.
A year under the Bruni roof has clearly taught her how to mask her emotions, but the subtle twitch at the corner of her lower eyelid gives her away. She’s nervous. Of course, she didn’t expect to see me again, not after all this time. Poor, naive beauty. She really thinks I’m oblivious to her secret, or rather,oursecret.
