DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Stolen Touches: Chapter 17
I wake up with a tingling sensation at the base of my skull, and I’m instantly aware that someone is watching me. I don’t even need to open my eyes to know it’s Salvatore.
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“Three in the afternoon.”
Dear God, his voice has an even more devastating impact on my half-asleep brain. Deep and sexy, it makes me want to bury myself beneath the blanket and simply take in the sound of his baritone. Not the words, but the timbre. I wonder whether his tone drops even lower when he’s having sex. No, I’m not going down that rabbit hole.
I blink several times before fully opening my eyes and find Salvatore leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, and his top two buttons undone.
“Did you check on the guys?”
“Yes. They’re good.” He looks at Kurt, who’s curled up on the pillow above my head. “Do you know your cat sleeps with its tail over your face?”
“He’s been doing that from the start. I tried to make him sleep at the foot of the bed, but it hasn’t worked.
“You should try again.”
“Why?”
“Because when you move into my room, I don’t want the cat on my bed.”
“I don’t plan on moving into your room.”
“But I do, Milene.”
He leaves, and I press my thighs together, despising myself for wanting to spend every night in his bed.
I remember the episode in the elevator and how good it felt to be crushed against his body, his cock pressed to my pussy. Just thinking about the moan I had to stifle turns me inside out. I do my best to ignore the urge to run after him and leap into his arms. Instead, I make my way to the bathroom to wash my hair.
Lifting the handheld showerhead, I bring it down until the jet of water pulsates against my pussy, and slide a finger of my free hand inside my aching core. I let waves of pleasure overcome me, shivering with delight while imagining Salvatore before me, his finger within me instead of my own. I come with a moan.
* * *
While eating a late lunch, I shoot a message to Bianca, asking what’s new with her. I also try calling Andrea, but she doesn’t answer. Salvatore is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably either sleeping or in his office, plotting revenge on the Irish. Finished with my food, I head to the infirmary to check on the wounded men.
Nodding to the duty nurse organizing the medicine locker, I walk over to Alessandro, who is resting in bed at the furthest part of the room. He’s scrolling on his phone, but when I approach, he lowers the device.
The way his eyes bore into mine is extremely unsettling. It’s as if he is analyzing my every action and reaction. The look in his eyes indicates he’s ready for anything and I’ve noticed that he does this with everyone. The way he observes people with such intense focus is unnerving.
I once met another man, a war veteran who returned from his fifth tour of duty in Afghanistan, with almost the same look in his eyes. He acted as if he was still in enemy territory, ready to fight insurgents hiding around every corner.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, checking his IV. He doesn’t respond, but simply watches as I replace the saline bag and scribble a note on the chart at the foot of the bed.
“Fine,” he finally says.
“Oh.” I frown theatrically. “He talks.”
Alessandro gifts me with another one of his dark glares, then takes his phone and continues swiping. I roll my eyes and head toward the next bed.
I’m in the middle of changing the dressing on Pasquale’s thigh when the phone in my back pocket vibrates. It’s probably Andrea, so I let it ring and continue bandaging the wound. As soon as the ringing stops, however, it starts again. I secure the bandage and pull out the phone. Salvatore’s name lights up the screen.
“Where. Are. You?” he bites out the moment I take the call, his voice deathly quiet.
“On the eleventh floor. Why?”
He hangs up. Has something happened? I collect the medical supplies and carry them to the other side of the room. As I’m returning the unused bandages to the cupboard, the door to my right opens with a bang, and Salvatore comes inside. I’ve never seen him leave the penthouse in anything other than an immaculate suit or without his prosthesis, but now, he’s wearing only his sweatpants and leaning on his crutches. Based on the surprised expression on Pasquale’s face, this is not a normal occurrence. The moment Salvatore’s eyes find me, he heads in my direction. He doesn’t stop, even when he’s almost in front of me, and find myself backing up until I hit the wall.
“Salvatore?” I look up into his face.
His eyes are narrowed, his breathing quick, and his nostrils flare.
“I was looking for you, and you weren’t there,” he says through his teeth. “You do not leave the penthouse without informing me first.”
“But I’m on the floor below you.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Am I a prisoner here?”
“Nope.” In his eyes, there’s a controlled kind of crazy. “I need to know where you are at all times.”
It’s silly. He’s expecting me to let him know whenever I want to leave the apartment? For a moment, I think he’s messing with me, but then I see his expression. He’s deadly serious.
“Why?” I ask.
“I just do. Are you done here?”
“I want to check on Carmelo, as well.”
“Ilaria will be here later. She’ll make sure he’s okay. Let’s go.”
I shake my head and follow him to the elevator. When we reach the penthouse, he doesn’t say anything. There is no explanation for his strange behavior. I walk behind him as he heads into his bedroom and pause in the doorway.
Salvatore sits down on the bed and unties the knot on the left pant leg of his sweats. He pulls up the material and reaches for the prosthesis that’s leaning against the wall. It takes him a long time to put it on. Much longer than it should. Rolling on the liner sleeve is quite a feat with only one fully functioning hand because the fabric keeps slipping from his fingers. I wondered why he didn’t wear the prosthesis in the evening after he’s taken a shower. It’s probably too much trouble to do it up twice a day.
“Is something going on?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You insisting I let you know every time I leave the penthouse. Are you expecting that the Irish may try getting inside this building?”
“This has nothing to do with the Irish.” He curses when the liner slips from his fingers again. “And no one can get inside this building.”
“Then why? Do you think I’ll run away or something?”
He doesn’t reply but continues fumbling with the prosthesis. When he puts it on he stands up and approaches me, lifting his hand to the back of my neck.
“You can try running,” he says and tilts my head up, “but I will catch you every time, Milene.”
He’s still shirtless and being so close to him is messing with my already confused mind. The guy has a fucking eight pack. How can I keep up the pretense of being indifferent when my eyes want to wander to his stomach and count each ab again to make sure? I thought that shit was a myth.
“Can you please put on a shirt?”
“No.” He takes another step forward, making me step back. The hand that’s clutching the back of my neck slides down until it stops at the small of my back. The tiny hairs on my skin rise as goose bumps cover the length of my body.
“Tore?”
“Yes?” Another step, followed by one more, until I end up with my back against the hallway wall.
“What is it with you always cornering me?” I ask, trying to distract myself from thoughts of placing my palms flat against his chest. “Does it turn you on or something?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you check?” He takes my hand and presses it against his crotch, and I suck in air. He’s hard as a rock.
“Stop with this sexual intimidation, Salvatore,” I choke out.
“I don’t see you trying to get away.” He bends his head, watching me, then brushes his finger down my cheek. “Or letting go of my cock, for that matter.”
I gasp and quickly remove my hand.
“Tell me, Milene, if I were to put my hand down your panties right now,”—he glides his right hand along my hip toward the front, trailing his finger in a line from my navel to the waistband of my shorts—“how wet would I find you?”
I should tell him I’m dry, or turn and leave. Or ask him to stop. Instead, I bite my bottom lip and hold his gaze without blinking.
Slowly, I undo the first button of my denim cutoffs. Salvatore dips his head and presses his lips to mine, but it lasts for only a second.
“The next one, cara,” he says against my lips, and I undo one more button. This time, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and sucks it gently, driving me mad with desire.
“Next.”
I undo the last two buttons and take a deep breath, waiting to see what he’ll do. His finger trails lower, beneath the frill at the top of my panties, and presses against the wetness there.
“Soaked. You should have told me it was this bad, Milene.” He rubs his fingers fast over my clit, and my breathing quickens. “Why are you so damn stubborn?”
“I’m not stubborn,” I whisper. “I’m mad at you.”
“You can continue being mad at me. I don’t mind.” He braces his left hand next to my head. “Turn around and place your palms against the wall.”
No! Remove his hand and walk away, my brain cries. Unfortunately, my mind’s ability to wield control over my body has been severed, because I find myself doing exactly as he commands. The moment I turn, he presses his body against mine, his hand slides inside my panties again, and I barely manage to keep the moan from escaping. Or maybe not, as a tiny whimper does escape through my barely parted lips.
“I quite enjoy this little game we’ve been playing.” His finger pushes, and presses, and circles, causing my already wet entrance to become even more soaked.
When he applies a little extra pressure, I grind my teeth, giving in even as I try to hold on to the last of my resistance before it ebbs away. Did I scream a little? Maybe, but the out of body experience I’m having due to his deftly skilled fingers is making it hard for me to think. Slowly circling my clit this time, applying pressure in all the right places, I’m like a puppet on his string. My breathing quickens, my heart races in my chest.
“But as with every such game, there can only be one winner in the end.” He presses onto my clit just a little harder, his movements faster, and beneath his controlled and methodical touch, the last of my resistance is quickly seeping out.
“You think you’re going to win?” I bite my lip again and press my forehead to the wall. More. I need more, but I’d rather die than confess it to him. A demon. Yes, he’s a demon, sent to torment and play me like an instrument with his infernal fingers. With every press of his fingers, I lose another piece of my mind.
“Well, that’s the thing, Milene,” he whispers into my ear and slowly moves his finger to my entrance. “I’ve already won. All that’s left is for you to accept it.”
“You haven’t won anything, Salvatore.”
“Are you sure about that, cara?” he asks and slides two fingers inside me.
I suck in a breath and moan as my eyes roll up in my head. He pushes his fingers even deeper while his other hand moves to rub my clit rapidly. His fingers curl to massage my inner wall, finding my G-spot. This time a very loud moan fills the air as pleasure overwhelms my system.
As Salvatore pinches my clit a little harder and rubs faster with both hands, I reach an orgasm like I’ve never experienced before. Wave after wave of spasms rack my body, drowning out all rational thoughts. It feels as if my mind fully disintegrates in that moment.
His lips brush the side of my neck. Light kisses pepper the column of my throat all the way up to my earlobe. Softly, he whispers, “That was with my fingers, Milene. Tonight, when you’re trying to sleep, imagine how it would feel to have my cock inside you instead.”
He slides his fingers out gently, his hand vanishes, and between breaths, he’s gone as well, leaving me panting in the middle of the hallway, with my forehead and hands pressed against the wall.
* * *
“Damn him,” I mumble and take the phone from my nightstand, checking the time. Four a.m. Groaning, I put the phone back and bury my face in the pillow, trying to cast the memory of being pressed against the wall out of my head. No amount of mental gymnastics is successful.
I get out of bed and go to the kitchen. Maybe I should get wasted and pass out on the sofa. It wouldn’t take much since I don’t often drink. Three glasses of wine would do the trick.
I take out an open bottle of white wine from the fridge and walk to the cupboard next to the sink to get a glass. As I’m reaching for it, I hear Salvatore coming inside the kitchen and my hand stills on its journey toward my holy grail. A few moments later I feel a light touch against my back.
“Can’t sleep?” comes the whispered words behind my ear, followed by a light kiss that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention in a flash.
“No.”
“Me neither.” Another light kiss against my neck. “Grab two glasses. And bring the wine.”
“Bring it where?” I utter.
“Into my bedroom,” he says and moves his lips to my shoulder, biting slightly. “I’ll behave.”
“Oh? Like you’re behaving now?”
“So stubborn.” He kisses the skin on the side of my neck. “We can talk. If that’s what you want.”
“Yes.” I grip the stems of two glasses between my fingers and lift the chilled bottle from its resting place. When I turn, I find him looking at me, a curious glint in his eyes. “Just talk, Tore.”
“Just talk, Milene.”
I nod and move past him into the hallway, which has taken on a new aspect since earlier events. I’m aware of his eyes on me as he follows a few steps behind. The door to his bedroom is closed, so I lean down to press the handle with my elbow and feel my T-shirt rise. I turn to find Salvatore standing right behind me, holding his finger under the hem of my shirt, ogling my ass.
“Tore! We had a deal.”
“But I haven’t laid a finger on you, Milene,” he says without lifting his eyes from my backside. “Red looks good on you, cara. I especially like the frills.”
“I’m glad you approve of my choice in underwear. Now stop it.”
I open the door and move inside his bedroom, knowing full well I haven’t come here to talk. At some point during the night, between tossing and turning while I was trying to sleep, I finally admitted to myself—I can’t resist anymore. My integrity be damned. I can’t keep going on like this because, if I do, I’m going to lose my mind.
Salvatore
I pass Milene, who’s setting the glasses down on the dresser next to the door, sit on the edge of the bed, and lean my crutches against the wall before sprawling out on the satin sheets. Milene pours the wine, then sways her hips as she moves toward the nightstand next to me and sets down my glass. Walking around the room, she sips the Sauvignon Blanc while checking out the space. I hope she likes it, because she’ll be spending every night here with me from now on.
“You really like art,” she comments, standing in front of a wide landscape painting on the wall facing the bed.
“Yes.”
“An expensive hobby.” She takes a sip of her wine and continues perusing the rest of the paintings.
I wonder how long she’ll keep on pretending we’re just going to chat. We both know how this will end. My wife, I’ve come to realize, has an almost pathological need to stand behind her decisions, even when she knows they’re wrong. From the info Nino uncovered, Milene’s father was a tyrant who went to great lengths in forcing his will upon his children. She’s probably compelled to do anything, even fight against herself, to maintain a semblance of control over her life. She wants me, but she’s afraid it would mean she’s somehow failed. I’ve been patient with her, letting her dance around this situation for quite some time, but it ends tonight.
“Come here, Milene.”
She turns around, takes another sip and raises an eyebrow. “To your bed?”
“Yes. Come here or I’m going to chase you across this penthouse until you do.”
“I’m pretty sure I can outrun you.” She smirks.
“Teasing a handicapped person, cara? That doesn’t suit a medical professional.” I cross my arms behind my head, noticing the way her eyes rivet on my biceps.
“The only way you’re handicapped is that you can’t understand the meaning of the word “No”, Salvatore.”
I focus on the curve of her lips for a few moments, then ask, “How about we play a little game?”
“I’m not interested in your games.”
“Afraid you’ll lose, cara?”
Her eyes snap to mine as she covers her mouth with the glass. “I’m not afraid of you, or your games,” she says. “What did you have in mind?”
No, she doesn’t seem to be afraid of me. “I’ll tell you something about yourself. If I’m right, you remove a piece of clothing.”
Milene laughs and a warm feeling spreads through my chest upon hearing it.
“And if you’re wrong?” she asks.
“I remove one of mine.”
“You don’t know me. You’ll end up naked in under five minutes.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
She leans her back on the wall and takes another sip of her wine, smiling. “All right.”
The gray T-shirt she has on is one of mine. I wondered if she would wear my shirts after I threw away the shit that belonged to her ex. I barely restrained myself from setting the whole closet on fire that day. The mere idea of Milene wearing something that belonged to another man nearly sends me on a murdering rampage. The sight of her in my clothes, however, pleases me immensely.
I move my gaze up her body until it reaches her mouth. She’s still smiling.
“You lied when you told me you don’t know why you wanted to become a nurse,” I say and watch for her reaction.
Milene’s body goes rigid, her hand holding the glass stills halfway to her mouth. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I cock my head to the side. “Why not a doctor? A neurosurgeon? Cardiologist?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs and looks down at her glass.
“Lying will get you disqualified from the game, cara,” I say. “What did you see that made you want to be a nurse?”
Milene closes her eyes and leans her head against the wall. “My sister, Bianca, was in a car accident when she was eleven. She almost died because the paramedic who came to help had no idea what he was doing.” She shakes her head. “Some idiot recorded the whole thing on a phone and posted it online. I was at a friend’s house when it happened. Her brother showed me the video. I watched the guy as he tried and failed to intubate my sister while she lay in the middle of the sidewalk. Only when the other paramedics arrived did they manage to bring her back.” She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes but keeps staring at the ceiling. “My father was driving the car when they crashed. He was drunk.”
Yes, Bruno Scardoni was an epic son of a bitch.
“So, what do you want me to take off?” Milene asks and lowers her eyes to meet mine.
“Your choice.”
She bends and reaches under the T-shirt and slowly removes her panties. When she straightens, I nod toward the piece of red lace she’s holding and extend my hand. “Those are mine now.”
Milene curves an eyebrow as she launches her panties right into my face. “You got lucky with that one. Next.”
The red lace falls onto my chest, so I deliberately lift it to my nose and inhale, enjoying the sight of surprise on Milene’s face. “You are allergic to fish,” I say and then add, “and to peanuts.”
Her lips widen in a smug smile. “That’s two misses, Tore. I eat half a jar of peanut butter a week, and we had fish at that restaurant where you made all the other guests leave. I expected you to be more attentive for someone who—” She stops in the middle of the sentence, and surprise flashes in her eyes as she comes to a realization.
“Yes, I guess I should be more attentive,” I say and remove my sweats for the fish. For the peanut butter, I take off my shirt. She only has the T-shirt left, and I’m in my boxer briefs. “Looks like we’re even at the moment.”
Milene’s eyes travel down my chest and stomach and stop at my crotch, or more specifically, the bulge there. “Playing games with me turns you on?”
“It’s not the games, Milene,” I say. “Just you.”
Her gaze snaps back to my face, those green eyes glaring into mine, lips pressed tightly together.
“Tell me, Milene, why were you so scared of getting into a relationship with someone from Cosa Nostra?”
She blinks and quickly shifts her focus to the painting above the bed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You are a very bad liar, cara. Lie again, and you remove your T-shirt as a punishment.” I reach for my wine on the nightstand. “I noticed a very interesting thing when I went over the info Nino collected for me. This last guy you were with, David . . . he was a yoga instructor.”
“So?”
“Before him, it was some pastry chef. Before that one, a florist. Even when you were in high school, you always picked the most . . . tame partners. You never even went out on a date with anyone from our circles.”
“You had your chief of security dig out my high school crushes?” She gapes at me.
“Yes.”
Milene leaves her empty glass on the dresser behind her and grabs the board at the foot of the bed. “You had no right!” she snaps.
“Were you afraid everyone in Cosa Nostra is like your father? Terrorizing people because of his own inferiority complex?” I continue, “Or was it because you didn’t feel safe?”
“And I’m safe with you?” The corners of her lips curve upward. It’s concerning, how much that little smirk turns me on. I watch her as she climbs onto the bed, then crawls over my body to straddle my waist until her face is only inches from mine. “You think you’re better than the other men in Cosa Nostra, so I have nothing to fear? Is that it?”
“You are safe with me, Milene.” I take a sip of my wine and leave the glass on the nightstand. “But not because I’m better than the rest. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“Oh?”
I grab her chin and fix her with my stare. “You’re safe with me because I’m the worst it can get, cara. And no one will dare touch what is mine.”
“You missed again.” She hooks her fingers in the hem of my boxer briefs. “I was never afraid that I might get hurt if I ended up with someone from the Family.”
“What else?” I ask and regard her as she moves down my body, pulling my boxer briefs along my legs. She doesn’t flinch when she reaches the stump midway of my calf, just continues sliding them down my right leg and then throws the underwear over her shoulder.
“I was terrified by the possibility I might fall in love with someone from Cosa Nostra,” she says and crawls up my body, avoiding my now fully erect cock until she’s sitting on my stomach with her bare and completely drenched pussy pressing onto my skin.
My cock is so fucking hard it feels like it’s going to explode. “And why would that pose a problem?” I ask and lift my hand to trace the line of her lips with my finger.
“Because I don’t think I’ll survive watching a man I love die, Tore,” she whispers, looking down into my eyes.
“Well, it’s a good thing you hate me, cara. So, I guess you’re safe from the heartache.”
“Of course I hate you,” Milene says through her teeth.
I behold her sitting there on me, her blonde hair falling down her face and over her breasts. My beautiful, stubborn liar. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, and when she exhales, it sounds like a sigh of defeat. A second later, those mischievous green eyes open. Keeping a hold of my gaze, she grabs the hem of her T-shirt and pulls it off.
“Looks like it’s game over for both of us, cara,” I say and move my hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down.
“Fuck you, Salvatore,” she whispers and crashes her mouth to mine.
I roll her onto her back, my body looming over hers, and drink in the sight of her. Finally, my little hellcat has succumbed. I rarely feel satisfaction, or any kind of excitement, but this, having my wife under me, can’t compare with any other sensation I’ve ever experienced. Milene wraps her legs around my torso, pressing her warm and waiting sex against my cock. I thought I might take this slow, savor the moment, and torment her a little by making her wait. I intended to drag it out for an hour or more before purposefully sliding my cock into her heat until it fills her completely. A rather odd plan because I’ve never wanted to take it slow with a woman before. For me, sex has always been a means of release. But not with her. Everything is different with my Milene.
I move my hand down her front and press my fingers onto her pussy. She’s so wet, silently begging me to fuck her into the stratosphere.
My cock is already close to bursting, veins pulsing. As Milene buries her nails into my back, I lose my composure entirely. I want her to moan, scream, and pant. I want to hear her yell my name . . . I want everything, and I want it now! I remove my hand and bury my cock inside her in one thrust. Perfect. Milene gasps and squeezes her legs around me. I slide in to the hilt, marveling at the sensation of my cock filling her.
Bending my head, I move my hand to grip her nape. “Look at me.”
Milene’s eyes open and she stares at me, her deep and heavy breaths fanning my face.
“Who owns you, Milene?”
She presses her lips together and squints her eyes a little. I withdraw my cock till it’s almost completely out of her trembling pussy. Milene’s legs tighten around me, trying but failing to keep me deep inside.
“I said . . .” I tangle my hands into the hair at the back of her head. “Who owns you?”
She pants, wrapping her hands around my neck and pulling me toward her, but she doesn’t utter a word. The urge to push myself all the way back in is infuriating, but I don’t move an inch, enjoying the way she’s begging with her eyes and her body.
I squeeze the blonde strands a little harder. “Who, Milene?”
“You!” she cries out.
“Me.” I slam inside her. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
Her hands travel up my neck, tugging at the back of my head, and she tilts her chin to stare up into my eyes. “I’m still mad at you, Salvatore.”
I slide out and slam back in, then lean to whisper into her ear, “I don’t believe you.”
Her hold on me tightens. Moving my hand between our bodies, I find her clit and tease it. Milene’s breathing quickens. I pull out my cock slightly, then thrust all the way in, massaging her both inside and out.
“Faster,” she breathes.
I place my lips at the curve of her shoulder, kissing the soft skin. “Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes.”
I slide my cock out completely, replacing it with a single finger. She wraps her hands around my upper arms and buries her nails into the skin.
“What is it, cara?” I ask and add another finger. “Is something bothering you?”
Oh, the look she gives me. Frustration in its purest form. Still, she doesn’t reply. Stubborn. So, fucking stubborn. I curl my finger inside of her and press onto her clit with my thumb.
Milene moans, and the hold she has around my arm tightens. “I want your cock,” she says finally.
I remove my fingers from inside of her pussy and bend to gently bite that lower lip she likes to chew. “Are you still mad at me?”
“No, damn you!” she cries out, and I slam my cock inside her once again, all the way up to my balls.
I push into her, slowly at first, my eyes locked onto her face. Then faster, until the bed creaks beneath us, and the headboard bangs against the wall as our bodies rock together.
Milene screams and presses her palms to the board above her head as she widens her legs, panting. My hand moves up her body to wrap around her throat, and I thrust into her even deeper and harder than before. Mine. I slide out only to slam back inside. Only mine. I stare at her—into her half-closed eyes, at her mouth that’s red from her biting her lips. The mouth that fascinates me so much.
“Smile at me,” I bark as I rock into her.
Her eyes find mine and lock on, but her lips remain puckered. I lightly squeeze my fingers around her neck and bend my head until we’re face-to-face.
“Smile. At. Me.” I pound into her—once, twice, three times. It’s like air to me, her smile. I need to see it. If I don’t, I’m going to lose my mind. “Smile, you stubborn woman.”
Milene squints her eyes at me, and then she smiles. It’s like the first ray of light after a thousand hours of a long night, piercing the darkness inside my chest and filling me with warmth. I kiss that stubborn mouth and enjoy the feel of my cock as it stretches her inner walls until her pussy spasms around my length.
She screams as I push my dick even deeper into her, and it drives me more insane. I slide out and thrust back inside, feeling her body shake. I bite her chin and graze my teeth down the side of her neck.
“I want you to smile at me every day,” I say next to her ear and slam into her again. “Every.” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “Day.”
“Why?” she breathes out, then moans as she comes.
Because I need it. Because every time she does, something happens inside my chest. Because it breathes air into my lungs and makes my heart race.
“Because I’m ordering you to,” I bark, staring her down.
She watches me for a few seconds, then squeezes her legs around me and bursts out laughing.
I take a deep breath and thrust into her one final time, unable to keep my orgasm at bay as I pump weeks of my frustration into her. Not for one second do I take my eyes off her smiling mouth.
Milene
“Are you okay, cara?” Salvatore reaches out and traces the back of his hand along the line of my jaw.
Nope, I am not okay. My legs are still trembling slightly, my pussy is sore, and my whole body aches all over. The best feeling ever. “I hope I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” I say and lift my head off Salvatore’s chest to find him watching me.
I place the tip of my finger at the corner of his mouth and push upward slightly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Salvatore smile, so I don’t understand why he seems to be fixated on me doing so. He almost “sextroyed” me for it earlier.
Salvatore bites the tip of my finger, then kisses it. “I will carry you around with me if necessary.”
“Piggyback?”
“If you insist.”
I imagine how his men will react and laugh. “You are such a contradiction, Tore.”
“Does that pose a problem?”
“No. I kind of like your strange ways.” Moving my hand upward, I thread my fingers through his hair. “When did you start to go gray?”
“A few years ago. It runs in the family.”
“Your father’s side?”
“No. I got it from Ilaria.” He tilts his head to the side, giving me greater access to his neck. “I still remember the day she discovered the first gray hair on her head. I found her crying in the bathroom. I was sure someone had died. She was twenty-nine, I think.”
I raise my eyebrows. “From what I’ve seen, she comes across as a very composed person.”
“It’s a front,” he says. “She’s very well versed in pretending, since she’s been doing it for years. My father and her were a bad match. I’m glad she has Cosimo now. He makes her happy, which means I can’t kill him if he fucks up.”
He says this as though he’s reading the weather report aloud. Facts. Conclusions. Zero emotions. For a second, I think he’s joking, but he looks down at me, and I see in his eyes he’s deadly serious.
“What happened to your father?” I ask.
“He was killed during a Family disagreement.”
I sigh and lower my head back to his chest. “My father was killed, too. Four years ago.”
“I know. It was the fuckup with the Bratva.”
“Yeah. He almost killed Bianca’s husband.” I shudder. “I hate Cosa Nostra.”
“You and Ilaria can set up a club.” His hand settles on my arm and he traces random patterns on my skin. “But if there was ever anyone who had his life fucked up by the Cosa Nostra, it’s Arturo.”
“The underboss?”
“Yes. His parents, along with four other people, were killed in a police raid at one of the casinos. The previous don was heavily invested in the illegal gambling business.” His hand moves down to my ass, then back up. “Arturo ended up raising his sisters. He was twenty.”
“Jesus. How old were they?”
“Five years old, twins.”
“Whoa.” I blink. “Did he have help with that, or . . . anything?”
“An aunt who came occasionally, but that was all.”
We remain silent for a long time, me staring at the wall, and Salvatore still tracing lines across my back.
“I wish I’d been born into another family,” I whisper. “A normal one.”
“I’m glad you weren’t.” He squeezes my ass and looks at me with his calculating eyes. “Because our paths wouldn’t have ever crossed.”
I place my palm on his chest and glide it up to wrap my hand around his neck. “That’s extremely selfish.”
“I know. But it’s the truth.” His other hand comes to take my chin and tilts my head. “Would you prefer I lied to you?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” I throw my leg over his middle and climb to lay atop of him, feeling his cock swell rapidly against my stomach. “Seriously?”
“You denied me for weeks.” His hand comes into my hair. “I plan on collecting everything you owe me, Milene.”
“And you think you’ll manage to get everything tonight?” I straighten up, straddling his waist.
“You’re working off the interest at this point, cara.”
“Oh? And how much do I owe you in total?” I raise an eyebrow and slide down his length. My pussy is sensitive, but I don’t really care because having his hard cock filling me, straining the parts of my body which are already tender, is worth it. It’s only a sliver from being painful, which makes it even better.
“I could have killed you when I found you in my city.” His left hand comes to my waist, and he slides it up over my stomach and breasts to once again wrap it around my throat. “I didn’t, so I’d say you owe me everything.”
A shiver runs through my body on hearing his words, and I lean forward slightly, my throat pressing onto his palm. There is something disturbingly sensual in having his hand wrapped around my neck, knowing he can feel every draw and release of my breath, and, if he wished to, he could cut off my supply of air altogether.
It should scare me. I don’t deal well with giving a man, any man, a semblance of control over me, ever. Still, for some reason, this doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s because his touch is feather-light, his fingers barely pressing on my skin, as though he doesn’t truly want to scare me, and as if this is a game. Yes, such a contradiction—my husband. Ordering four innocent men to be executed, then offering to carry me around the apartment because I’m sore.
I press my palms on Salvatore’s chest and slowly rotate my hips. It’s my turn to tease, so I lift myself slightly and slide back down again, hard, watching him as intently as he watched me. I change my pace and shift forward so I can take even more of him inside, and he arches his hips to rock into me from below. I moan as my nails dig into his chest and ride him faster, a mixture of satisfaction and excitement washing over me. Salvatore Ajello, the most feared man in all of Cosa Nostra, is coming undone beneath me.
His arms wrap around my back, pulling me down to him. He rolls us until he’s on top again, pounding into me, neck muscles straining with the effort. He is so beautiful—in the way the exotic, dangerous animals are. The closer I get, the more likely I’ll be eaten alive.
Salvatore’s hand slides between our bodies and finds my trembling pussy. I’m already close, so when he pinches my clit and thrusts inside—hard, I scream as tremors rack my body.
“I love when you scream, cara,” he says and suddenly pulls out.
I stare at him. He did not just do that!
“You don’t have to worry about the hitmen, Salvatore,” I snarl, winding my legs around his waist and grabbing at his throat with my hand. “Because I’m going to be the one to end your life if you don’t get your cock back inside me.”
Salvatore dips his head until our noses touch. “That sinister streak of yours is sexy as fuck,” he says and slams back into me so hard, I unintentionally squeeze his neck. His eyes flare, and a growl leaves his lips. I tighten my hold on his throat a little more, smiling. Hawkish eyes watch me from above as he pulls out, only to thrust back in even harder, making me moan.
I release his neck and let my hands travel over his shoulders, wrapping my fingers around his bulging biceps. Salvatore slams into me again. I dig my nails into the skin of his arms. Another growl, and hard lips press down onto mine. I smile into Salvatore’s mouth and grip tighter, digging deeper into his flesh with my nails. Drawing my next breath, I bite his lower lip.
He completely flips. His palm slides between my breasts and around my neck, then he threads his fingers into my hair and pulls. I gasp for air while a waterfall of pleasure washes over me as he continues his powerful thrusts, making the headboard bang against the wall once more. Stars explode behind my eyelids, and I come at the same time as him.
As the waves of bliss pass through me, we’re kissing again—our breaths heavy and the surrounding air filled with the scent of our lovemaking.
I open my eyes and find Salvatore looking down at me. His fingers are still tangled in my hair. I raise my hand and move one of the black strands that has fallen over his forehead.
“That was a lot of pent-up aggression, Salvatore,” I say and brush the back of my palm down his cheek. “Where am I with my debt now?”
“Right where you were two hours ago.”
“That doesn’t sound quite fair.”
He lowers his head, leaning toward my face. “I don’t give a fuck.”
I sigh, then pull his head down until our lips touch. “So, I still owe you everything?”
“Everything, Milene,” he whispers without lifting his mouth off mine.