“Suck. Suck. Suck,” I command, one finger hooked around her choker, using it for leverage as I pump faster, my cock hitting the back of her throat where I feel her swallow. “Suck that fucking cock.”
Her eyes are locked onto mine, glazed with lust as she meets my demands. I glare down at her while I fuck her face, growing harder by the second. Her eagerness nearly unravels me.
Pulling back, I push her down onto her back and rip the top of her laces free. Her fingers slide into my hair as I kneel down to feast on her breasts, rolling and licking and nibbling her nipples until she’s writhing helplessly beneath me. With a yelp of frustration, Candi suddenly pushes me away and reaches for my cock, frantically urging me to climb on top of her. Fuck, she’s so needy. I won’t deny her a second longer.
My pants are off in a heartbeat, my gun holster goes on the desk, and then I’m on the sofa, positioning myself between her thighs. Reaching down, I run my fingers over her leather-covered pussy and find snaps there. I roughly tear open the crotch piece, baring her waxed pussy to my touch. She’s so wet, so hot for me, gasping as I slide my fingers into her. I’m not gentle.
Sucking her nipple again, I pump her with my fingers, working her clit with my thumb until she tightens and bucks against my hand. I want to draw this out, make it last, but the way she thrashes against me, pulling at my hips, whimpering my name—fuck, I can’t wait.
“You want this cock?” I ask, just to hear her say it out loud.
“Yes,” she pants. “Give it to me.”
“Good girl. I’m gonna give my girl what she needs.”
Driving myself deep inside her, I cup her face and kiss her deep, pistoning into that sweet pussy like I’m a fuck machine. Her moans spill into my mouth as I swirl my tongue along hers, thrusting hard and fast, telling her she’s my good girl as I cruelly take my pleasure from her with no regard for her own gratification, no remorse. The sofa creaks beneath our bodies, one of the cushions almost falling off, but I don’t stop. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
“Take that cock,” I command, over and over again, punishing her with every harsh thrust. “You fucking take it. Every last inch. This is what you asked for. Now you’re gonna get it.”
“Yes,” she moans in response, begging me to fuck her harder. I oblige. “Yes, God, yes.”
Just like on the yacht, her orgasm seems to slam into her without warning—or maybe I just don’t know all her tells yet. One minute we’re joined together in perfect, frantic rhythm, and then suddenly out of nowhere she’s crying out breathlessly, my name flying from her lips as she bucks beneath me even faster. I can feel her pussy contracting, squeezing my cock in hot pulses, and it’s all over now—I can’t hold back. My release chases hers in a hot rush, tangling us together as I collapse on top of her, braced on one arm.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” she chants as her nails claw at my back, making me groan with the searing pain and pleasure of it all.
After a few breaths, I look at her and brush the damp hair back from her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen. Her eyes sparkle with satisfaction. This version of Candi is a complete surprise to me. But a very, very good one.
“Whoareyou? You’re a fucking goddess,” I tell her, still panting.
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” she whispers teasingly, reaching down to squeeze my ass.
As I gaze down at her, I wonder what’s really going on in that pretty little head of hers. Because if there’s one thing I just learned about my new roommate, it’s that she’s a master at keeping secrets. I never would have imagined her acting like such a goddamn tiger in bed.
Still. Whatever she’s hiding, she isn’t likely to share. It’s clear that I’m going to have to drag it out of her.
And we’re both going to enjoy every second of it.
10
ARMANI
“There arerumors coming out of Sicily,” Clayton says, the Irish lilt creeping into his voice.
Before marrying my sister-in-law Charlie, Clayton was a thug-for-hire working for our enemies. Early in his employ, the Brunos instructed Clayton to lose the brogue in order to be less memorable to potential witnesses. It’s important to have the ability to blend in when you’re professionally committing crimes. Clayton can pull off a decent American accent, but he slips back into the accent when he’s drunk or he lets his guard down. Currently, it’s the latter.
“Fucking delightful,” Marco huffs. “I told you it was gonna get bad, Armani, but you—”
“Relax,” Dante cuts him off, even as he paces fretfully across the room.
My oldest brother’s expression is neutral, but I know there’s a storm brewing just under the surface of that calm exterior. As the patriarch of the Bellanti family, Dante shoulders the weight of the world on a daily basis. Moving into his new house, caring for his pregnant wife, and juggling all his hopes and fears about his future daughter haven’t lightened his load any, either. I don’t envy the guy.
“How am I supposed to ‘relax’ when we’ve got World War fucking Three hanging over our heads?” Marco says.
“I’d love nothing more than to crack a few hundred skulls or seriously blow some shit up, but let’s not get overexcited just yet,” I say dryly.
A small flame flickers from the end of my lighter. I place it at the end of my cigar, take three rapid puffs, and click the lighter closed. Then I lean back in my chair and take a quick draw from the fat Cuban.
I don’t indulge in cigars very often. But Dante isn’t the only one of us who’s been tense as hell lately, long walks on the beach notwithstanding, and the rich, mellow taste of aged tobacco always imbues me with a sense of luxurious relaxation—even if it’s temporary. Clayton and Marco eye me, their expressions covetous. But this isn’t a celebratory occasion, so they should know I have no intention of sharing.
