Page 40 of Mafia Darling

More than happy to torture him, I parted my folds and let him see. Then I dipped a finger in my wetness and brought it to my lips, sucking the tip inside and cleaning the arousal off.

“Cazzo!” Faust barked, his body tense as he rocked against the glass. “I want you in my mouth, little girl. I want to suck on your clit and tongue that pretty pussy.”

Fuck, I wanted that, too.

I began working my clit, circling and rubbing, and pleasure streaked through me like lightning. I watched his hand pick up speed and thought about how good it would feel if he pinned me down and fucked me. His large body straining and thrusting, his cock delivering pleasure, driving me into the mattress. He knew exactly what I liked, what got me off, and he used that knowledge shamelessly. I loved it. I wanted to be his dirty slut, beg for him to let me come. I wanted to let him use me anyway he saw fit.

The words burned the tip of my tongue. I knew if I asked, he would rush from the shower like a man possessed. I would get fucked to within an inch of my life, the delicious soreness between my legs lasting for days . . .

Moaning, I picked up speed, wiping my fingers on my thigh when I became too slippery. Jesus, I was wet. I couldn’t remember ever being this turned on before. But my clit craved the friction, and I moved faster, in time with Fausto’s hand. I imagined he was fucking me, his body rubbing me on the downstroke.

This did not go unnoticed.

“There you go,” he said, holding onto the top of the glass as he angled toward me, his hips rocking. “It would feel so good if I were fucking you right now, no? Your tight little cunt wrapped around my dick. I would fill you so good, piccolina. I dream about fucking you, about taking you hard and fast, until you are raw from it.” He threw his head back. “Madonna, I have never jerked off this much in my entire life.”

Panting, I grasped the counter. Tingles gathered and pulsed, little trails of light that multiplied until they became a wave of pleasure rushing toward me. I tried to hold it off, wanting to prolong this as long as I could. “You should get used to jerking off. It’s the only satisfaction you’ll ever have.”

“We will see,” he growled, his fist flying over his shaft. “Cazzo, Francesca.”

The use of my name in his sexy rumble did it. The orgasm was right there at the edge of my mind, the strength of it stealing every bit of sense I possessed. I couldn’t hold back the words of our game, the sexy secret only he knew. “Sono la tua puttanella,” I gasped and came all over my fingers.

“Minchia!” he shouted. Thick spurts of come shot from his cock as his shoulders hunched, his muscles straining. We both trembled and shook, our eyes glazed as we watched one another, pleasure sparking between us like a live wire. I wanted to touch him, to taste him so badly that tears nearly sprang to my eyes. It was so unfair.

Reality crept back in as the orgasm subsided. The shower glass fogged with his exhales and my knees were weak. Holy shit, that had been unexpected. And hot. But wrong.

So wrong.

But it was so hot.

Damn it.

I jerked my panties and shorts up to my waist and ran from the bathroom.

* * *

I was halfway up the stairs later that night when the front door burst open. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched Marco march Giulio into the castello. My friend’s face was slack, his limbs loose, as he tried to pull away from his uncle. “Let me go, Zio Marco.”

“What’s going on?” I called down.

No one paid me a bit of attention. Instead, Marco kept shoving Giulio in the direction of Fausto’s office. I didn’t like this. Was something wrong?

“I didn’t do anything!” Giulio said with a laugh. “You’re pissed for no reason.”

“We’ll see what your father says about it, eh?”

I was already trailing them. If Giulio was in trouble, I wanted to help. He was my friend—my only friend these days—and he hadn’t abandoned me when I was exiled. I owed him for looking after me during those dark weeks.

So I didn’t hesitate in following them directly to Fausto’s office. Marco turned and frowned at me. “What are you doing?”

“Helping my friend.”

“Frankie,” Giulio said, smiling over his shoulder. “Thank God. Tell Zio Marco he’s being dramatic and to let me go.”

Ah, so this was the problem. Giulio’s eyes were glazed and rimmed with red. He looked like my ex-boyfriend after he’d spent a few hours with his bong.

“Quiet,” Marco snapped, then knocked on the door to Fausto’s office. “Permesso!”

“Prego,” my baby daddy shouted from within.

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