Page 56 of Mob Queen

Dear lord, let me fuck her once more before she goes to jail. Just once, that’s all I ask. Let me bury myself deep inside her and fill her with my fingers, cock, tongue. I need this. Just one more time.

Her hand dips even further until her fingers are inside her. She moans and closes her eyes while she fucks her fingers. I need a taste. “Give me those fingers,” I say in a low, husky voice.

Frankie fucks her fingers while playing with her tits, as my cock strains inside my suit pants, desperate to have her on the end of it. She turns and bends from the waist while still fucking her fingers. Her silky moans increase while I can’t tear my eyes away from her body, especially her ass.

My breath catches as I watch how comfortable she is with her body. I love how self-assured Frankie is. It’s refreshingly delicious to see a woman who has so much confidence. Though, at the same time I wish that woman wasn’t the devil reincarnate.

Abruptly, Frankie stops pleasuring herself, she turns and saunters over toward me. With quick fingers, she unzips me and frees my hard cock. “What are you doing?” my gruff voice encourages her to do whatever the fuck she wants. I hate how powerless I am against Frankie DeLuca.

She turns and eyes my suit jacket. She walks over to it, rifles around until she finds my wallet, then opens it and pulls out a condom. Without missing a beat, she tears it open on her return, slides it onto my cock, and positions herself over me. She grabs my cock and lines it up to her wet pussy. “Tell me to stop and I will,” she says.

I thrust up, silently giving her my answer.

Frankie lowers onto my erect cock and swivels her hips, using me for her own pleasure. I want to close my eyes so I can concentrate on how fantastic she feels, but I can’t tear my eyes off of her. She’s sinfully tempting. Her moans, her eyes, her entire body sparks my own to life.

She places both her hands on my shoulders as she rides me. Fucking me to get what she wants, using me for her own benefit.

This is crazy hot. I love how I’m nothing more than a tool for her own pleasure.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I find this so erotic? I shouldn’t want this, or her.

Frankie moves her hips, finding her own rhythm until she finally speeds her actions. “That’s it,” I say as I watch her use me. “Keep going, baby.”

“You talk too much.” She seals her mouth over mine, shutting me up with a fiery kiss. She drags her teeth across my lower lip, before nipping and biting. The kiss is scorching, igniting an electric charge to pulsate through me.

Frankie closes her eyes and throws her head back as she reaches her orgasm. God, I’m so damn close myself. I just need her to clench her cunt around me and I’ll be a goner.

She slows her movements and sits straighter. She slowly opens her eyes, lifts her hand and wipes at my mouth. Frankie gets off of me, leaving me with a hard-on, and walks toward the front door. “Frankie!” She looks over her shoulder at me, winks and fucking leaves.

Great, I’m tied to my fucking chair, with my cock out, and Frankie has walked out of my house, naked. Again.

“Frankie!” I holler when I hear the car start.

The driver toots the fucking horn as it drives away.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Chapter 19

Frankie

I can’t help but smile at my last interaction with Miller. Nothing better than using him for my own purposes, and leaving him tied to the chair. The car jolting to a stop snaps me back to the now and away from my delicious memories.

I step out of the car and look across the front of Moonlight. “It looks good,” I say to G.

“It does.” He walks ahead of me and opens the door, waiting until I enter before he follows.

“Miss DeLuca,” the host says with a big smile on her face. “Your private room is ready.” She steps to the side and guides me with a hand gesture to follow her.

“I’ll look at the kitchen first.” I break away from the host and head into the kitchen. Immediately, I notice the smell of food and not shit.

“Miss DeLuca,” the head chef says when he sees me. He straightens and quickly scans the kitchen. “I’m sorry, it’s a mess, if I would’ve known you were coming, I would’ve made sure it was clean.”

There’s nothing dirty in the kitchen except the pots and plates stacked where the dishwasher is cleaning them and stacking them in the industrial dishwashers. “The dining room is full; you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

The head chef is rigid. “Can I help you?” he asks with a strained tone.

“How is the kitchen?”

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