Page 81 of Deal with the Devil
My mouth drops open from how full he makes me.
Some distant part of me knows this is so sudden, so wrong when Il Diavolo is here.
Instead of backing off, the man in the devil mask comes up behind me.
Rafael holds me in his arms, sliding me up and down his dick. I cling to his shoulders, body vibrating from pleasure.
“Look at how you fall apart,” Il Diavolo rumbles. He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You melt so easily for him. Just like you melted for me.”
I have no clue what the hell’s going on.
Rafael grunts and fucks me harder, bouncing me up and down in his arms. I answer both men with a throaty moan.
My head is spinning, my thoughts so hazy and scattered that I can’t make sense of what’s happening.
“So perfect, dolcezza,” Rafael says.
“Yes, so responsive,” Il Diavolo agrees from behind. His firm hands stroke my back, his touch slow and erotic. “She’s ours.”
I should be horrified by this—by wantingbothof them—but the pleasure is the only thing that matters.
I’m already so close to coming…
“Let us make you ours,” Il Diavolo says.
I wrap my arms tighter around Rafael’s broad shoulders as I feel Il Diavolo behind me. He’s stroking himself, getting ready to share me between them…
I’m pulled from sleep by hands on my shoulders, shaking me awake.
My eyes flutter open to darkness. A shrouded figure stands over me, devil horns vaguely distinguishable among his silhouette.
It takes me a second longer to realize it’s Il Diavolo. Then another moment to grasp the urgency with which he’s gripping my shoulders. The tension his presence brings.
“You’re coming with me,” he says, voice clipped. He leaves no room to argue.
“What…?” I croak. “What’s going on?”
“Get up. Now.”
I push myself upright, the sheet falling from my chest as my body catches up with my mind.
I’m in my nightgown and scarf, though it doesn’t feel like enough around him. I might as well be naked.
“Wait… what are you talking about? Where are we going?”
He steps back from the bed. “We’re leaving.”
I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, feet hitting the cool floor as I stand. “Leaving? Leaving where?”
“Sicily.”
My stomach drops. “What? Leaving Sicily and then what? Where will we go?”
“Where else? Newport,” he snaps irritably. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“You don’t need to understand, dolcezza. This is urgent. There’s been an incident.”
