“I don’t want to end up bleeding at the end of his knife. I have my orders to follow, and you should as well,” he says before closing the door behind him.
So that was Jeff’s blood on the blade. Damn it! Why do I even feel guilty about it? They are keeping me against my will-ish.Sweet mother of all that is evil and putrid, Luca is really a bastard. Carlo is understandably afraid of him. But I detected respect, as well—something my father and brother have never instilled in their men. They either follow them out of fear or to gain something—money or power. Good for the Leones to have loyal men, but bad for me. Flirting with this Carlo will prove useless.
What do I have to do to get my ass eaten around here?
More time passes by until Luca finally comes back…smelling like sex and the fresh outside air. I need all of that. Fuck, I miss going out and getting fucked. He enters the apartment and, without even glancing my way, goes to the kitchen to drink a glass of orange juice. Does he get a sweet tooth after hours of pounding—the prick.
He takes off his black jacket and leaves it on the back of the sofa—giving me a clear vision of the gun tucked in the back of his pants. He is still ignoring me. The rolled-up sleeves of his collared, light gray shirt reveal heavy forearms—basically vein porn—and just the right amount of hair on the broad chest visible through the top two buttons that are undone. I have to admit the wacko has style. The colorful pocket square peeking out of the jacket front pocket and the matching, loose tie look good on him. I bet even a garbage bag would.
Denver gets the job done, but nothing beats a good nailing from a handsome man with a big dick. And from what I felt against my belly when he spanked me—that was a damn eye-opener—and under my ass when I humped his lap, he’s exceptionally well-endowed. I need a close-up with that monster of a dick. But how can I if he goes and fucks someone else? A woman by the smell of sweet perfume still clinging to him.
There’s only one explanation for him choosing a woman when I’m available…target practice and internal struggle. I made him horny but he went to what he already knows.
He goes straight to the bathroom, and after a minute, I hear the shower turn on. He went dipping his cookie for hours on end, leaving me chained to this marble slab of a sofa with the worst case of blue balls. At any moment, they could shrivel and fall off, which is absurd for me since I’m no chastity-belt maiden. I’m not used to getting my dick to behave. I’ve never been shy about my body; flirting and seducing are like intrinsic traits of mine. I’m smaller than most men I come across, and only a combination of sass, smarts, and my sculpted ass let me come out on top—figuratively speaking. I prefer to be pinned down most of the time.
The anger that has been simmering in the pit of my stomach wants out. I need to spread my slutty wings and fly, need my string of fleeting encounters to keep…stringing. That makes me satisfied. I never connect with people in a romantic way, and for the other ways, I have only one friend—Aurora and Rami are more business partners. So hook-ups it is.
“Art Enzino has never chased after someone to get in their pants,” I say to myself. “No man has ever rejected this porcelain bussy to go get some elsewhere.” Do I need to fluff those babies up? I clench and unclench my ass cheeks. “Of course not! Art Enzino’s tushy is…callipygian!” The last guy I fucked told me so. I had to check the meaning of the word on Google, and I was so flattered that I gave him a sloppy blow.
The images that flash through my mind as I remember how big that guy was soothe my annoyance, but not for long. I hear the bedroom door and then the wacko strides in the living room—revealing miles of olive-golden, muscled skin. He’s wearing onlya pair of tight boxer briefs. Is he fucking with me? The elephant trunk inside his underwear tugs against the black fabric with every step he takes. And those abs, I could grate cheese on them to add to a nice plate of nachos and guac—damn I’m hungry. Why are his bare, masculine feet so sexy to me? I really need to be railed.
Luca must have enjoyed his evening of nailing someone else because he looks relaxed as fuck,lo stronzo! I want to bite that muscular ass until I taste and spit his blood. Ptooey!
His perpetual bunched eyebrows are down to a neutral, resting state, the forehead smooth, the muscles unclenched. No sign of his chronic scowl. I want some of that post-nut glow, too. I feel wrinkles digging tunnels into my skin the more I glower at him.
He takes his pack of slim cigars out of his jacket and walks to his bedroom, again without looking or talking to me. Did I suddenly turn invisible?
“I can’t sleep,” I state, but I get nothing in return.
“Are you reading?” Still nothing. “Can you read out loud? Can you hear me? No? So I can talk all night without disturbing you.” I give him ten seconds of silence before starting my monologue. “A prostate exam, I’ve never had one. The recommended age is fifty. Fifty. You should go have one, sweet cheeks. A guy told me you can get a happy ending if you like, or was it after a massage?” I hear him sighing loudly. I’m the one who should sigh here. “I’ve been thinking about teddy bears today while I was left on this prison bunk of a sofa for hours. Now I’m thinking about furry bellies; do bears have curls there? Now I’m thinking about poking sticks and chopsticks. Now I’m thinking about Japan. I want to go, but Nacho doesn’t like to fly so much. But I digress. Now I’m thinking about slow, nasty tongue kissing, the dirtierthe better. Half-naked fucking, slurping noises resounding around.” I let out a low, breathy moan.
“Shut up!” He finally lets me know he’s alive. His voice is gritty, but still deep enough to entice me even when I want to strangle him.
“Or…?” I reply, looking at the phone. Still no reply from Rami.
“After I’m done with you, I’ll let the maid sweep out your ashes with a dustpan!” He growls with annoyance.
Killing his afterglow buzz is my mission tonight. I should poke the bear a little more, just to be sure he feels as miserable as me.
“Great comeback. Was it Shakespeare? Maybe Edgar Allan Poe? Always had a thing for dark poets, Shakespeare had a knack for murder and betrayal.”
Another sound, more on the frustrated side.
“How about this? I will step on your scattered pieces of brain and then clean my shoes on the welcome mat on the way out,” I try to copy his irked tone from earlier.
I hear a very faint snort this time. Did I imagine it? I must have.
I count to twenty to give him a false sense of peace, before announcing, “I need the bathroom, cuddles.” I’ll never run out of cheesy nicknames.
“Hold it in.” His response doesn’t surprise me. Jerk.
“I have a child’s bladder,” I declare, making the condition up.
“A what?”
“It means that I’ll water your floor if you don’t uncuff me. The stench will remain for days.”
I receive no reply for a long minute, so long that I’m about to start my unfiltered thinking out loud again, when I hear heavy footsteps coming my way. A second later, Luca’s gigantic body invades my vision. Green eyes filled with cold anger glare at me. Ha! And his after-sex buzz is gone.
