Page 38 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

“And what else does this man do with his life besides the Rossi Mafia?”

She’s asking too many questions. Questions no one has asked in years. I should shun her, but that’ll negate the shenanigans I pulled to make her give me Silvio’s name. I fucking acted as if I cared. And that, I do not. I must not!

“I catalogued images of computer parts as a boy. I’ve moved on from it now.” I throw my gaze out the window.

That was all I wanted to do, until my father decided otherwise. At sixteen, I started receiving rigorous mafia training. Father was hard on me…but Mother, she’d call me to the privacy of her room and apologize because she didn’t want me in this kind of life. She’d apologize for birthing me into this world, and just encouraged me to hold onto my computer hobby. And for a while I did… until she died.

Her lips are stretched into a full-blown smile now. “Why don’t you take pictures of me then?”

I glare at her. “No.”

Bracing herself with her arms, she hops onto the mahogany desk, hooking one of her slender legs over the other in a pose, blinking those large eyes daringly at me.

Fuck! I down some more whiskey, and as I do so, I hear a small whimper.

When I look at her, her lower lip is between her teeth as she draws a knee up halfway to her chest. Is she teasing me?

“Come on, Adrian. One picture,” she whines, arching her back. She definitely wants more than a picture.

When she flips her hair, I lose it.

Snatching her phone from between her fingers, I throw it down on the table next to her. “I’ll give you something better.” Then I crush my lips to hers.

The desperation in the pull of her lips nearly brings me over the edge. Her hands wrap around my neck, but I instinctively pull them away.

“No hands.”

There’s a wicked glint in her eyes. “I want to touch you.”

“I said no.” Yanking the laces out of the waistband of my sweatpants, I grab her wrists with one hand, wrapping the lace around them swiftly with the other.

Her tongue runs over her lips as if she’s inviting me back to them, but I don’t give her that pleasure. Instead, I run my hands roughly up her thighs, trailing them until they reach her waist.

I groan, drawing a gasp from her as my fingers find her slick wetness. She’s not wearing underwear? Fuck!

I shove the rest of her dress open, digging my head between her thighs, before devouring her pink, moist pussy. She sucks in a sharp breath, arching her back and spreading her legs wide for me to eat her out.

My tongue circles her opening, pushing in slowly. I can hear her sharp gasps, her hands attempting in vain to push my head further into her.

I can feel my pants dripping with precum. Fuck.

Lifting my head from between her legs, I shove the dress even further, catching those hard nipples between my teeth.

“Ahhhh…” she moans out loud, her back arching, pushing more of her perfect tit into my mouth. I grab all of it greedily, sucking until my dick is straining painfully against the desk.

Heavy breaths heave from my chest, my second hand returning between her legs to finish the job my mouth started.

Precum drips down my thighs as I reach into the drawer of the mahogany desk, taking out a bandana I’d kept there and tying it around her eyes.

She starts to groan in protest, but I close my mouth over hers, shutting the sound off. Then I ease her off the desk.

“Get on your knees.” She sinks to the ground in front of me without a struggle. Yanking off my sweatpants and underwear, I tease her lips with the dripping head of my engorged cock. She hums in approval, biting her lip.

“Find it,” I growl. She moves her head, her tongue swirling around to find and pleasure my dick. The sight alone drives me into a frenzy.

My cock pulses against her cheek, leading her straight to it. She takes the head between her lips, sucking off all the precum, then draws me further in.

I groan, pushing every remaining inch into her mouth, my hands clutching the strands of her hair until her lips are at the base.