“You’re a pervert, Laura,” he breathed, unable to calm his breath.
“Didn’t your visions have anything sexual about them?” I asked, provocatively licking the remains of his jizz from my lips.
“I often thought about what you were like in bed, but I always fucked you—not the other way around.”
I moved closer to him and kissed his chin, gently stroking his balls.
“That’s just me, you know. Sometimes I like to be in control. But don’t worry. It doesn’t come often. Usually I prefer to be the slave. And I’m not perverted. I’m kinky. There’s a difference.”
“Well, if it doesn’t come too often, I think I’ll allow it. And trust me, baby girl,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “You are perverted, promiscuous, absolutely debauched, and—thankfully—mine.”
CHAPTER 17
The next two days were rather ordinary. I met with Olga, and Massimo met with Carlo. We ate breakfasts together and watched TV before going to sleep.
On Saturday I woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep. I kept thinking about having to take the Man in Black to meet my parents. A few weeks back I had been afraid they’d die from his hand, and now he was about to meet them.
When he finally woke up, I could start preparing, pretending everything was fine. I went to the closet to rummage through my stuff in search of the perfect outfit, completely forgetting that all the best ones had been left on Sicily. Resigned, I collapsed to the soft rug, staring at the hangers, and hiding my face in my hands.
“Everything all right?” I heard Massimo ask as he leaned on the doorframe.
“Nothing but the standard dilemma of half the women in the world: I don’t know what to wear,” I replied, frowning.
Massimo took a sip of the coffee in his mug, keeping his eyes on me, as if subconsciously feeling that it wasn’t the clothes that were the problem.
“I have something for you,” he said finally, walking to his part of the closet. “It arrived on Friday. Domenico’s pick, so I hope you’ll like it.”
He reached up and took out a hanger covered with fabric sporting a Chanel logo. Delighted, I jumped to my feet and immediately unzipped the cover. I gasped, seeing a short nude silk dress. It had short sleeves and a very deep, creased neckline. It was perfect—simple and modest, but at the same time extremely sexy.
“Thank you,” I said, turning to Massimo and kissing him on the cheek. “How can I ever repay you?” I asked, slowly dropping to my knees and stopping with my face on the level of his crotch. “I’d love to show you how grateful I am.”
Massimo leaned his back against the closet and grabbed me by the hair. I pulled his pants down and opened my mouth, allowing him to decide the course of action. The Man in Black watched me with eyes full of desire, but didn’t move a muscle. Impatiently, I tried catching his cock with my mouth, but the hands in my hair tightened their grip, immobilizing me.
“Take off your top,” he said, holding me in place. “Now open your mouth. Wide.”
He slid into my throat slowly, so I could feel each inch of him on my tongue. I purred with delight and started sucking. Blowing him was something I loved to do—I adored his taste and the way his body responded to my touch.
“Enough,” Massimo said after a dozen seconds or so, pushing away and pulling his pants up.
“You can’t always get what you want. Also, you’ll be late to the hairstylist.”
Staying on my knees, frowning and horny, I watched him leave the closet. Why did he give up his pleasure? It was no accident—I was sure. I glanced at my watch and realized it really was getting late, so I rushed down to the kitchen, gulped some tea, and grabbed a sweet roll from the table. After the first bite, I felt nauseous. I sprinted to the bathroom, nearly toppling Massimo over on the way. A while later, I heard knocking on the door, rinsed my mouth, and left.
“Everything all right?” he asked, looking me up and down with a worried expression.
I dropped my head, resting my forehead on his torso.
“It’s stress. The thought of you meeting my parents scares me. I don’t know why I told them we’d come,” I blurted out. “I’m nervous and tense, and I’d just like to stay home today.”
Massimo smirked, seeing my resignation.
“Will you feel better if I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down?” he asked, his expression comically serious.
For a while I considered that. My nausea was quickly vanishing. I decided that sex might actually help me to release the tension and improve my mood. The thought itself was making me feel better.
Massimo glanced at his watch and took my hand, leading me to the living room, before pulling my pants down and stopping next to the glass table.
“Lean down,” he said, pulling on a condom. “And now show me that sweet ass. I’ll do it fast and hard.”
He did as he promised, and a while later I was relaxed and decidedly calmer—ready to go to the hair salon.
An hour passed and I was back home, but Massimo was nowhere to be seen. I took out my phone and called him, but he didn’t pick up. He hadn’t said anything about any meeting, so I grew a bit worried, but he was a grown man—he knew what he was doing. After two more hours and about thirty more calls, I was really pissed, though. I went to the apartment on the other side of the street to learn something from Massimo’s goons, but nobody opened the door. I shot a glance at my watch and cursed under my breath. We should have been on our way by now. All spruced up, in my tight-fitting dress and sky-high stilettos, I took a seat on the couch, wondering what to do now. I didn’t want to go on my own, but Mom would kill me if I told her I would miss the party. I grabbed my bag and the keys to the BMW and took the elevator to the garage.
On the way, I thought how to explain the absence of my new partner, and settled on selling everyone some story about him catching a cold or some such. Around ten miles from my destination, I glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing a car quickly gaining on me. It overtook me and blocked my way. I stopped my BMW. It was the black Ferrari. Massimo stepped out gracefully and headed my way. He was wearing a smart gray suit that perfectly brought out his musculature. He opened the door and offered me a hand.
“Business,” he said by way of explanation, shrugging.
“Come on.”
I kept my hands on the steering wheel, staring ahead. I hated this feeling of helplessness I had to experience so regularly when Massimo’s “business” interfered with our plans. I knew I wasn’t allowed to ask, and even if I did, he wouldn’t tell me, and that would only make me angrier.
A moment later, a black SUV stopped behind my car, and Massimo said, unable to hide his ire, “If you don’t step out of that car right now, Laura, I’ll have to pull you out by force and that might ruin your look.”
Pouting, I gave him my hand and got into the black Ferrari. In an instant, Massimo stepped inside, taking a seat behind the steering wheel and placing a hand on my thigh. As if nothing had happened.
“You look gorgeous,” he said, stroking my leg softly. “But I feel like something’s missing.”
He reached to the glove compartment and took out a small box that read Tiffany & Co. My eyes widened, but I was doing my best to hide my glee, faking impassivity.