Page 11 of Stroke of Luck

Slowly, Enzo pulls out with a hiss before placing a tender kiss on the back of Paolo’s neck, his cum leaking out of his boyfriend’s ass. I shouldn’t find it sexy, but I sure as fuck do.

Enzo glances over at me, letting his eyes roam my naked body with a heat so fierce I might actually get burned. Turning his attention back to Paolo, he grips his face and turns it so he can kiss the ever-loving shit out of him, cradling him to his chest. Then, without a word, he releases him and heads back down the stairs, leaving me to watch his gorgeous ass all the way down.

Not to be forgotten, Paolo steps up to me and yanks off the nipple clamps, causing me to cry out, but he silences me with a kiss just as passionate as the one Enzo gave him.

“Next time, firefly, we’ll play together. It’s not nice to keep all the fun to yourself,” He winks, giving me a peck on the nose. “If you like the dragon, just wait until you try the werewolf… knotting is a whole other level. Sleep well. I know I will, thanks to you.”

After sleeping the sleep of the dead, I roll over and stretch, loving the feel of the sheets against my bare skin. I’m going to have to ask Paolo where he got them. Cracking open one eye, I glance at the clock, which informs me it’s no longer morning but half past noon.

Sitting up, I look around for the button-down shirt but instead find a silk dressing gown covered in bright colored flowers that makes me smile. Drifting my way into the bathroom, I flip on the shower and hum to myself as I take care of other business. Hopping into the shower, I let the scalding hot water flow over me. Once I’m warmed up, I take a quick sniff at one of my locks and grimace at the scent of gross river water.

“Ugh, I should have done this yesterday. How did I stand myself?”

Taking a small amount of shampoo, I lather it in my hand until it gets a good lather and start working on my scalp, working in between all my dreads. The fact that I instinctively remember how to do this must mean that I’ve had these beauties for a while. Rinsing, I let the soapy water run down my hair, milking out the water to make sure I get all that disgusting shit out. Then I move on to the rest of me. Spotting a razor, I grin and snatch it up, working my way from toe to armpits. A girl needs to be ready for anything with this many men around. Finally satisfied I’m no longer a swamp creature, I hop out of the shower and wrap up my hair.

“So you are still alive,” Remo’s deep voice states behind me.

Peeking over my shoulder, I give him a wink. “I was born for the night. The sun does little for me, so I try to avoid at least half of it.”

Remo steps up right behind me and leans in. “Haven’t they ever told you that nothing good happens after midnight?” Shocking me even further, I notice a towel in his hands, which he begins to dry me off with.

“Who said it’s a good time I’m looking for? Being good isn’t always that much fun,” I whisper as he runs the towel over my ass and down my legs, squatting next to me as he reaches for my other leg.

Slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet mine, and the need in his eyes stalls my breath. “Then you’ve stumbled into the right house, because none of us are good men.”

When he leans forward and places a kiss on my pelvis right above my clit, shivers of excitement roll through my whole body. Much to my disappointment, though, he stands and wraps the towel snugly around me. “Othello is waiting for you. I was sent to fetch you, coniglietto. I brought you more clothes that hopefully you will wear this time… If not, there will be consequences for your choice.”

Smirking, I hitch a hip up on the sink and cross my arms, looking at him. “Are you the one who’s going to punish me?”

“No, my little coniglietto, I will not,” Remo answers. “You have fifteen minutes to be downstairs.”

Rolling my eyes as he walks out of the bathroom, I start patting the water out my locks as best I can to speed up their air drying. What I wouldn’t give for warmer weather where I could drink a cup of coffee under the shade of a tree. One day, I’m going to leave this frigid state and go somewhere warm.

Padding back into the bedroom, I find a stack of clothes and am shocked to see so much color. The jeans are light wash with rips, and the sweater is slouchy with fake paint splashes on it. Even the undergarments are toned down and more functional, making me smile. It seems that my retaliation last night worked in unexpected ways, because the only person who truly knows my style is Enzo. Dressed, I look around for shoes but don’t see any, so I head downstairs to see what the mafia has in store for me today.

When I reach the living room, I find Othello there alone, in his leather chair reading something off a tablet. “You summoned me, oh dark ruler?”

He doesn’t answer me but holds up one finger, telling me to wait a moment. Heaving a heavy sigh, I turn and walk back up the stairs.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Othello demands.

Pausing, I turn to make sure I have his attention. “If we’re going to play power games, I’m going to need coffee. You need a moment, and I need the magical bean juice… Or would you rather I choose violence this morning?”

“It’s afternoon…”

“Your point?”

Othello rubs his forehead and waves me off. “Go get your coffee if it will make you easier to manage.”

I laugh the rest of the way up the stairs, not bothering to explain how wrong he is in his delusions. Once in the kitchen, I spot what I think may be the coffee maker, but it has a touch screen and way too many knobs and buttons for my liking. What was wrong with the good old fashioned twelve cup pot you put ground coffee in with a paper filter? I decide to come back to that once I find a mug and coffee to use. Opening cabinets at random, I find many interesting things that I have no idea how to use and would take far too many steps to make. When I finally find the mugs, I grab the largest one I can find, which in my personal opinion, is still extremely small.

Still not having found the coffee grounds, I return to the machine and start poking at the screen. It lights up and asks me what type of drink I want.

“How the fuck do you tell it to just make coffee? No, I don’t want to make a cappuccino or a macchiato, and what the hell is a doppio? Sounds like one of the seven dwarves…”

“Skyler, are you arguing with the coffee maker?” Giorgi asks, coming to stand next to me. He looks at the coffee maker, then back to me with a raised eyebrow. “Did it do something to offend you?”

“YES! It won’t give me just plain fucking coffee! Isn’t that its job?! You know, to make the coffee?”