I love the way she reacts to me, it’s almost effortless, a stark contrast to the feistiness that is usually steeping from her.
I continue to pet her clit, rubbing circles around it, and watch the side of her face for her reaction. Dipping my fingers lower, I coat them in her wetness and use it as lube to continue teasing her clit. I want her close, on the verge of coming before I take it away.
What I want isn’t too far out of reach because soon her moans turn to pants and she’s fucking my fingers, doing everything she can to get my fingers down to her entrance. I give her what she craves, slouching just enough so I can bury two fingers to the hilt.
“Fuck, Easton.”
I slap her tit. “Quiet, amore.”
She clamps her mouth closed and places a palm on either of my thighs, squeezing me to keep from crying out. I smile, pride filling me from how well she’s taking this. But this is nothing, child’s play, a weak introduction into the type of pleasure and pain I can bring. She’ll either love me or be terrified, and there’s nothing better than when it’s both.
Her walls tighten around me, and I know she’s close to the edge. I find her G-spot and focus on it, hitting that spot over and over until she gives way in my hands. She can’t come yet, at least not without my dick being inside her.
Regret is already creeping into my mind because I know if I do this, if I fuck her like she’s begged of me, there’s no turning back. I drag my fingers out of her, and she cranes her neck to give me a questioning glance. I take her mouth again quickly, then break our kiss and roughly push her down on the green top.
Next, I yank her jeans and panties down in one swoop, taking a brief moment to admire her ass. It’s a little red from where I spanked her, so I rub the spot only to hit her again. Arloe flinches, her fingers gripping the sides of the pool table. I deliver another smack, groaning at the way her ass jiggles. I lean down to kiss the redness, and when I look up, she turns her head so she can see what I’m doing.
“Facedown, amore.”
She obeys without hesitation. I’m upright again, stroking my cock through my pants. My belt buckle sounds off as I undo it to get to my zipper. Arloe wiggles her ass at the same time as my pants pool to the floor.
I stare down and my length, the veins glaring back at me. He wants inside her, and I can’t wait to give him that.
“I’m not wearing a condom. I’m clean.”
She nods. “Me, too.”
I meet her nod, knowing she can’t see me and not caring that she spoke even though I told her not to.
I line myself up with her pussy and rub the head of my cock between her slit. The head pulses, precum oozing from the tip. I stroke myself as I brush against her clit, and she moans, the hum muffled by the pool table.
“What happens behind those curtains, amore”—I slap her ass while still using my dick to play with her clit— “will ruin you.” I groan and drag my cock to her hole.
Arloe’s back arches and I push into her.
“Sss,” I hiss from the tightness.
She gasps, and when I pull out without slipping back in, she cries.
I know my sweet, I think to myself.
I enter her again, this time a little deeper. “Delirium isn’t for you.”
I push even deeper.
“Mm,” she moans.
“Do you understand me?”
Deeper.
She’s quiet except for cries of pleasure.
“Delirium is sex.”
I pull out.
“Lust.”
Slowly I stroke into her again.
“Dark.”
I slam into her.
“Ah,” she whines, her face twisting from pain.
“It’s forbidden.”
Harder.
“It’s pain.”
Harder.
“It’s—me,” I grunt out between thrusts.
Gripping her waist, I fuck her, rough and hard, each stroke sounding just as loud as the slaps to her ass.
“Fuck,” she mutters as her walls squeeze me. “I’m going to come. Shitttttt.”
“Gahh. Go ahead, and I’m going to fill up your cunt.”
The harder, faster, deeper I give in to my desires, the wetter and louder she gets. She likes my pain, my darkness—and something tells me, she’ll never hate me for it.
One final thrust, and I blow, spilling my seed in her pussy.
Home.
That’s what it feels like, and that’s a place I can never be.
Chapter Twelve
Easton
I didn’t want to leave her, and that’s done nothing but make me realize how dangerous all of this is. Arloe was supposed to be a quick job. An in for our family. But already, she’s turned into so much more.
If I was smart, I’d leave her alone. Drop her without an explanation and never look back, but we’re past that point, and I’ve known that since the night at the club.
Being a Ciccone means following orders. It means putting the family first and not questioning a damn thing. We weren’t raised to grow up and find love, have a family, and live behind a white picket fence.
We were raised to be cold and calculated criminals. To follow in our dad’s footsteps.
I try my best to push the thoughts from my mind and I enter my father’s home, but it’s fucking useless. I can’t even escape Arloe here.
I tip my head to Alfredo as he closes the door behind me then start up the stairs. My feet drag with every step, and I dread what I know is waiting for me at the top.
When I make it to the door of his office, I don’t even knock. I push it open and step inside, keeping my eyes to the floor.
“Please, son,” he starts. “Don’t look too pleased to see me.”
I raise my face to meet his stare and glare at him. “Don’t worry, Pops. I wouldn’t waste my energy kissing your ass like Max does.”
He scoffs and stands, his hairless ball sac leaping from his lap with the motion. “Maybe if you were more like Max we wouldn’t need these little meetings.”
I shrug. “It’s too bad, isn’t it? That not all of us feel the need to repay you like Max does.”
He rounds his desk and leans onto the front, crossing his arms over his chest. “Repay me? I don’t need anything you all could offer. I’m the one who holds all of the power, Easton. I am the one who makes each and every one of your world’s go round. Without me, you and all of your siblings would be nothing.”
I smile and fall into the chair in front of him. “Don’t worry, Eric. I know because you never let us forget it.”
The smile that tugs the corners of his lips with my words is prideful and disgusting. He gets off knowing he has all of us under his thumb—that because he raised us to care for one another so fucking much, we wouldn’t dare do anything to fuck it up. So we follow orders.
“So,” he changes the subject. “Are you ready to do what needs to be done?”
I roll my eyes. “Aren’t I always? I’ll get you your cut of his precious little hotel chain.”
He flashes me a condescending smile. “Great. Jude has all you will need to follow through with the plan. Get with him and get on a fucking plane. I want results by tomorrow morning.” He waves me off with a flick of his fat wrist.