Page 39 of Mafia Darling

Oh God, I should leave. I shouldn’t think about him naked and soapy, hands gliding over that body, his thick cock swinging between his legs. I used to love showering with him, getting on my knees in the hot spray and worshiping him with my mouth. He’d brace his hands on the tile and watch as he pumped his hips, dragging the heavy length of him in and out of my throat.

Desire, raw and undeniable, clawed in my gut and itched at my skin. I couldn’t stop picturing him, couldn’t stop needing him.

Then I heard a soft grunt. I knew that sound. I still heard it in my dreams.

Before I even realized it, I drifted toward the bathroom door.

What am I doing?

It was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. I had to see. There was no harm in seeing, was there? I wouldn’t touch him or let him touch me. But I could watch, couldn’t I? He’d never know and I would only allow myself a quick peek.

I stepped inside, the tile cool on my feet. His back was to me, so he didn’t notice my arrival. He had an arm propped on the tile, and water ran down his back in rivulets, smoothing over his ass and legs. A hand worked his legs as his hips flexed ever so slightly, muscles popping as he jerked himself off. I licked my lips at his magnificence, the sight of him like a cool drink after weeks of extreme thirst.

From now on, any time I needed to come, I would let myself imagine this right here. Before I could stop it, a soft sigh escaped my throat.

His head whipped around, blue eyes wide and surprised. I didn’t move. Part of me had hoped he would catch me, drag me into the shower clothes and all, then have his wicked way with me. I was so tired of fighting this. I wanted him so badly.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly turned and dropped his hand. Jesus Christ, his body was unfair. His flat stomach had more definition than before, his hips more pronounced. That cock, though. Fully hard, it stood out from his body, every bit as perfect as I remember—more than big enough to be a challenge. My pussy clenched, the stretch of his dick having imprinted there, and I had to grip the counter to keep from lunging at him.

He let me look for another few seconds, then wrapped his fist around the shaft once more and began stroking slowly from root to tip. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about?” he asked.

Yes.

“No,” I breathed.

He cocked an eyebrow as if he knew I was lying. “I’m remembering the first time you let me fuck your ass. When we were in Roma.” He sucked in a quick breath, his fist squeezing the head of his dick. “Madonna, that was fucking hot. Dirty and rough, my favorite thing in the whole world.”

Mesmerized, I watched his hand glide over his dick.

“You took my cock so good, piccolina. You were so tight and warm. So sweet.”

The words sent lust careening through me, like he’d injected a drug into my veins. My mouth was completely dry, while my pussy was the opposite. I was soaked and slippery there, a needy, throbbing mess.

“I loved to hear you beg,” he continued, shifting to squeeze his balls. “Almost as much as I loved to see you come.”

Fuck it. Why should I be the one to suffer? He’s the one that did something wrong. My fingers found the button on my shorts. Flicked it open. His body went still, his entire attention focused on my hand. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting to see what I would do.

“Maybe it’s your turn to beg,” I whispered.

“Please,” he said instantly, his free hand falling against the glass barrier as if trying to reach for me. “Ti prego, dolcezza. I am so hungry for you.”

I flicked the zipper down. “Again, paparino.”

The nickname fell out of my mouth but I didn’t think he heard me, thank God. Instead he leaned in and repeated, “Ti prego, baby.”

I slowly pulled my shorts and panties to my knees.

Fausto’s expression twisted, like he was in exquisite pain, and his hand picked up speed along his erection. His eyes were locked on my pussy, so I shifted to spread my legs as far as I could manage. The air felt cool on my overheated skin, and the shower filled the bathroom with a fine mist. I watched him pump, the muscles in his forearm bunching, working, and I slipped my fingers between my legs.

“Madre di Dio,” he groaned, hips punching forward.

My clit was ripe, engorged, and the brush of my fingertips felt better than anything in recent memory. I swiped again, biting my lip to keep from moaning, my knees actually trembling.

“Show me,” he said. “Pull apart your lips and show me how wet and swollen you are.”

“Beg for it.”

“Amore, please!”

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