Page 38 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

Masturbating like I’m a fucking kid isn’t on my list of the evening. Not in here. Not where she can walk in. Not if she isn’t a willing participant…

When my cock deflates, I soap up again, then rinse, turn off the water and step out, reaching for my towel.

It’s not there.

But Lucie is.

And her shocked gaze is on my junk.

“See something you like?” I ask.

TWELVE

lucie

“I wasn’t hungry,”I say, desperately trying to keep the drool from spilling out of my mouth.

Because… holy fuck.

“You sure look hungry to me.”

I’m holding his towel. His cock is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Of course, I’ve seen them, I’ve seen snippets of porn that Viv made me watch and we giggled over, I saw my boyfriend’s, whose name I suddenly couldn’t conjure up if my life depended on it.

His cock was small, nothing like what’s staring back at me now. Callahan’s is long and thick, a monster, if you ask me. And I can’t stop looking, no matter how much embarrassment floods and flares in my cheeks.

“Is that a tattoo?”

I point at his dick, because that thick, perfect-looking member is definitely tattooed. And pierced. Like, alot.

“Yeah, it’s a tattoo, and yeah, Lucie Joy, my junk’s pierced. Maybe, one day soon, I’ll initiate you on the delights of piercings.”

“I’ve already been initiated.” The words… I can’t take back the words.

A hot shiver ripples over me as I remember the drag of his stud on my tongue, the way it added something extra to his kisses when he went out of his way to make it known. And how it pulled and played with my nipples when he tugged and sucked them with his mouth.

And oh my God, when he went down on me earlier, when he penetrated me with that tongue, pushed the stud against the most delicate, intimate parts of me, and added that pressure and extra something to the push and slide and thrust. Against my clit?—

A jagged breath slips from my lips.

“Who did that? I’ll dismember him. I thought you were a—” He starts laughing. “Aww. That’s fucking sweet as American apple pie. You mean me. My tongue stud. Oh, Lucie Joy, you have no idea…”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet,” he repeats softly.

And I don’t know if his words stem from exasperation or the fulfillment of one of his promises.

I drag my gaze up, over his tattooed abs, over his tattooed chest, his pierced nipples. His arms are tattooed, too, to just above the wrists. And then I drop my gaze down again, pressing my thighs together.

Desire lances the center of me, spreading out into every cell. The man’s a work of art.

Is it wrong to want to touch, to see what he feels like, to see if that hardness pressing into me when we kiss is all from his cock? Because that hardness always felt bigger than what I can see here.

Then again, he’s not exactly hard right now.

Oh. Lord.

I swallow. I might melt or faint thinking of his cock. Wondering what it looks like when completely erect. Because that, right there, is big and swollen, but still soft. And it’s perfectly shaped from the head to the base.

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