Page 33 of Power
I shiver. “You’re the absolute worst.”
“Do you hate me again?” he teases, and the asshole licks my clit just enough, a quick sweep of his tongue that only cools my already-sensitive bud.
“So fucking much.”
“Is that so?” he asks, and this time he traces his tongue along my entrance, up and over my clit, licking everywhere but where I want him.
“Dario,” I plead, squirming.
“Fuck, princess, I love it when you say my name like that.” He gives me a quick but violent suck on my clit that makes my legs tremble around him. “When I finally let you come, that should be the only word you moan.”
“I can’t do this with you…” I respond, trying to scoff even as I writhe against him.
“Oh, but I think you could, baby,” he says, and his eyes stay locked on mine as he glides his tongue up my hips again and back to my ass. “I think you would let me touch you and fuck you with my tongue…my cock.”
“Yes…” Should I feel ashamed of my wanton desires? Maybe, especially since it’s with someone like Dario. But I don’t. I can see the desperation lurking in his eyes, a desperation that mirrors my own sexual needs. “Please make me come.”
Dario surprises me. Instead of yanking my panties down as I expect, he roughly pulls them aside and glides his tongue through my wet folds. My knees buckle at the impact as I fight to regain my composure.
“God,” he breathes, his voice igniting a fire within me. “You taste like heaven. I could eat you out every single day and die a fucking happy man.”
If that isn’t worship, I don’t know what is. “Dario… please…”
To be fair, I don’t know what I’m pleading for, but he seems to understand. He plunges his tongue back inside me, swirling itwith expert precision. I’m chained, unable to touch him or pull back, completely at his mercy.
He makes wet sounds as his tongue laps at my pussy. “Oh fuck… Dario… Dario…”
He groans as he fucks me with his tongue, reveling in my pleasure as much as I am in this awakening. Just when I start to feel the wave building, he increases his pace.
As skilled as his tongue is where he teases me, that’s not what takes me to the edge. It’s the sight of his head nestled between my legs, watching the passion with which he unleashes each electrifying, violent stroke of his tongue. He devours my pussy as if it’s the greatest privilege, and it’s that image that sends me spiraling over the edge.
“Ohhhh, fuck, Dario,” I moan, my words flowing long and melodic, as if I’m serenading him, crafting an anthem in his honor. It’s all the encouragement he needs to lift one hand and find my breast, cradling its fullness and pulling my nipple like a fucking handle.
“I want… to… I think I’m gonna come.”
“Come for me,” he commands, as if my body belongs to him and always has. “Come on my tongue… I want to drink all of your goddamn juice.”
That’s when I lose myself, spilling across his tongue. I scream his name as he continues to lap at me, and the orgasm washes over me, splendid in every way.
When I finally come back down to earth, he’s already standing, his expression stoic once more. He seems to be shifting back to the usual business, and in that moment, I start to question everything all over again.
Chapter 10
Dario
I land in Italy with that familiar fucking ache in my chest as though some part of me never really left. It’s been years since I walked these streets, but nothing feels different.
Same smoke-choked air. Same old buildings that refuse to crumble no matter how much shit happens inside them. Maybe that’s the thing about Italy—everything stays the same until one day, it doesn’t. And when it changes, it’s like the city barely gives a damn. Just shrugs and keeps moving.
But I’m not here to wax poetic about the past. I didn’t come back for nostalgia. This is business. Cold, calculated, fucking necessary.
And it starts with Vincenzo "Vigo" Moretti.
Vigo used to be Enzo’s golden boy. A numbers guy. Smart. Careful. Knew how to hide money in places no one would ever think to look. Then one day, he fucked off without a trace. No warnings, no goodbyes. Just gone. And word is, he took something important with him—something Enzo would kill to get back.
I’ve spent months digging through dead ends and chasing whispers from Paris to Prague, and now, finally, I’ve got him. Hiding out in some shithole town near Naples, playing house under a different name like he thinks the past won’t catch up to him.
Too fucking bad.
