Page 33 of Abducted By the Mafia Don
Focusing on keeping my breathing calm, I ready myself and hope. I hope so much, though I’m not sure exactly for what. For him to touch me, yes. But I need him to go further than he did last night.
His fingertips on my shoulder are unexpectedly tender and soft, then he sweeps an unmistakably possessive hand down my body, over my hip.
“You’re so beautiful, bambola,” he says, almost reverently. “Exposed, and mine. I can’t wait to do this when you’re awake… I want to see your eyes looking up at me.” He sighs. “But that’s not going to happen.”
He skims his fingertips down the dip of my spine, and when I guess a man who was restraining himself would stop at the base of my back, he doesn’t. A deep, wounded sound comes from his chest as he trails a path between my buttocks and to my bared slit.
“Have you been thinking of your monster, coming to get you tonight, bambola? Did your dreams make you a horny little toy for me?” It’s a rumbling tease, and it makes my clit twitch.
His fingers find my clit and stroke right over it in a move so confident it’s pure arrogance. It’s taking, even as it’s giving me pleasure. I wish I could rub my aching nipples against the sheets, and push onto his hand, begging for his cock.
The touch to my bottom is rough. A possessive grasp. Now he thinks I’m unconscious, all his base desires have risen to the surface. Then his hand is gone and there’s just the rhythmic, insistent strokes to my clit.
A chink of metal, the whoosh of leather. A button pops and then the sound of his zipper is the perfect harsh music. The shh of fabric being pushed aside.
I strain to hear him stroking his cock.
I can’t at first. The wet sounds of his fingers on my pussy and the spiralling feeling of pleasure obscure it.
It’s his groan that reveals that he’s touching himself slower than I was expecting. Like he’s rubbing his cock up and down with the intention to enjoy it, not just get off as quickly as possible.
“You’re unbelievably lovely,” he whispers. “My good girl. I don’t deserve your perfection.”
This is better than anything I’ve ever felt. He somehow knows my body, pushing me further and further into pleasure with his fingers. I’m close, just needing a small bit more. A missing part. Then there’s a touch at my entrance, and pressure.
His finger slides into me, satisfying in the moment and yet not enough a second later. I pulse, and he moves faster.
“You’re so wet, and my god. Such a needy little pussy. Grasping at my fingers. My good girl needs something bigger don’t you?”
Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve seen his cock. It’s magnificent. Scarily big, but I want it anyway.
He continues to pump into me, rubbing his thumb over my clit. I’ve touched myself, sure, but it has never felt as all-encompassing as this. He senses my body like we’re tuned to each other.
I’m writhing, right on the brink, crazed with the intensity of my desire forhim. Dom.
“I can’t.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of something. “I shouldn’t.” He groans. “But my god. You need it, don’t you?”
I do. I really do.
“A toy… But there weren’t any on your wish lists or social media posts, were there? So I didn’t buy you one.”
What? What has that got to do with it? The question slips away. I don’t care as much as I crave my fake husband.
“All I have to satisfy you is… I shouldn’t.”
You can, I tell him silently. Do it. Please.
“You trust me, and you’re sleeping.”
There’s the rustle of his knees as he shifts closer.
“But your sweet, weeping, needy cunt…” He groans. “Just the tip. Just because a pussy this soaking wet needs a cock to hold.”
Something hot and blunt and silky brushes my inner thigh and I bite the inside of my lip to keep my face impassive, and not cry out. Then his frighteningly large bulbous end touches where I’m slick.
I can’t help the sound that emits from my throat.
“It’s okay, bambola,” he soothes me. “It’s almost a pacifier. This will make that empty little cunt of yours feel better.”
