Page 27 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

I lifted my legs and straddled his thighs, careful not to put my weight on any of his injuries. He blew three smoke rings towards the ceiling, ignoring me.

With trembling hands, I grabbed the hem of the hoodie and pulled it over my head.

That caught his attention. His dark gaze swept over my naked tits, travelled down my stomach, then back up to my messy hair, which fell around my shoulders and tickled my nipples. I waited for a reaction. He gave me nothing, just stared and smoked like an emotionally constipated mannequin.

Here goes nothing.

I reached for one of his tattooed hands and rested it over my breast. His rough, scarred hand was huge, yet it still didn’t quite fit. My breathing hitched, and my heart rate climbed as his hand squeezed just a little, feeling the fullness.

“What ya doin’, Little Monster?”

My pussy clenched. Little Monster. Why did I like that so much? It felt intimate. United in our twisted darkness. Or was it because it sounded possessive, as if I were his? His Little Monster.

“I want you to touch me,” I said, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. I wanted him to erase the memory of Donal, but I didn’t know how to ask. I’d never seduced anyone before, let alone flirted. But his dick was still hard beneath me, and his eyes were impossibly dark under his hooded, swollen eyelids, so I had to be doing something right. “I want your hands on me.”

“The only thing these hands are good for is violence,” he said darkly, reaching his free hand to the ashtray and stubbing out his cigarette. I waited until his eyes were on me again, then slowly lifted both his hands to my chest and glided them up to my neck.

“Hurt me then,” I dared, letting his hands settle around my throat like the prettiest tattooed hand necklace I’d ever seen. He swallowed, the thick cords of his throat rolling as he did.

He squeezed once. “Don’t test me, darlin’. I could crush you so fuckin’ easily.”

Holding his gaze, I unbuttoned his trousers. My knuckles grazed the hardness of his cock as I slid the zip down. His nostrils flared. His grip on my throat tightened. I ignored it, pulling his cock from his boxers and into my hand. My lips parted, my breathing growing more erratic and strained with arousal and the pressure he was putting on my airways.

Holy shit. I had his massive dick in my hands, and I had no clue what to do with it. Remembering how I’d watched him pleasure himself each night, I rolled my hands up and down his length, and he hissed between his teeth. I didn’t know if that was a good hiss or a bad one. Was I hurting him or pleasing him?

I paused, suddenly feeling unsure and stupid for even trying this. “Shall I stop?”

He pulled me down by the throat, making me gasp and stare into his black eyes as he growled, “Don’t stop.”

I panted, so turned on by the desperation in his voice. I moved my hand again. “Tell me what to do.”

His fingers flexed against my pulse point before clenching. “Squeeze. Harder. Firm grip. Like the way I’m squeezin’ your snappable neck.”

I copied the way his fingers gripped my throat, and he groaned.

“Like this?”

“Hmm, fuck. Yeah, now move. Slow as you get the hang of it. That’s it, fuck.” His fingers caressed the column of my throat, squeezing now and then, while I did the same to his dick, and my mind was being blown apart by dizzying desire. Before I realised, my hips were rolling, grinding my pussy against his thigh, trying to find some friction.

“Spit on your hand,” he ordered, and I frowned, not understanding why. “Lubricant. Makes it feel better.”

Oh. I glanced down at his throbbing erection. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I just spat on your dick?”

He threw his head back against the mattress with a dark chuckle that deepened into an erotic groan. “You’re killin’ me, Little Monster.”

“What?”

“Yes. Spit on my fuckin’ dick.”

He eased his grip on my throat, letting me drop a little lower so I could let a stream of saliva drip from my mouth onto his cock. He watched, breathing hard through parted lips. I used my spit to massage his cock, twisting a little around the head and going back down. His eyes rolled, and he swore loudly, so I did it again.

“Yeah. Just like that,” he moaned, letting one of his hands drift back to my tits. He cupped it and teased my erect nipple with his fingers. I gasped as he tugged harder, a sharp sting that faded when he let go and caressed the tip against the pad of his thumb. I sped up, guided by instinct and watching his reactions to every movement. He was breathing faster, his abs contracting, and he was swearing more, all good signs that I was surely doing this right.

He leaned up, fighting the pain in his ribs, and took my nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it before sucking hard. Pleasure exploded through my veins, making me moan and grind faster over his thighs, in time with my hand.

“Fuck,” he growled, dropping back onto the mattress. “You’re gonna make me come. Keep goin’.”

Excitement built as I watched his muscles tense and his mouth fly open. There was no doubt he was still in pain, but I hoped the pleasure was dulling it or distracting him from it at least. Two more pumps of my hand and he groaned, a feral, choked noise sticking in his throat, and then white cum shot out of his dick, plastering his inked abs in ropes just like I’d watched it do every night when he fucked his own hand.