I rubbed her face against the underside of my shaft, her tongue bathing my sac and her labored breath pumping hot air against my groin.
She had come twice.
My turn now.
I pumped straight back into her mouth.
I didn’t care that she was still catching her breath from her orgasm.
Her eyes widened, but her hands clutched my ass again.
We were covered in precum, saliva, her slippery honey . . .
I palmed the back of her head, feeding her more cock than before.
I watched her face get closer to my groin as my balls boiled over, and I blasted her mouth with more cum than she’d probably ever had.
Huge spouts of my seed fired onto her tongue, and her cheeks swelled outward.
“Swallow,” I grunted out hoarsely.
Her nod nearly imperceptible, she did as told.
Another ripple coursed down her body as she ate my cum.
I only had more to give her.
Jet after jet until I bellowed and bent half over her body with my cock still hard and still in her mouth.
I pulled out with a groan, and Lucia swallowed one last time to ingest my load.
Afterward, she licked her lips in a dazzling display of total dirtiness.
“Blyad,” I muttered thickly.
Shucking off my shoes, socks, briefs and pants, I picked her up.
I maneuvered her fully onto the bed and flipped to my back beside her.
Heat still licked outward from my groin, and I wiped sweat off my forehead with my arm. Then I rolled my head lazily toward her.
“Dio mio . . .” She curled toward me, and her hand played lazily along the tats and the hair on my upper torso.
I grinned smugly. “You needed that.”
She rose to her elbows, her tits dangling distractingly down to the mattress. “I needed that? I got mine last night, mister.”
Her outburst reminded me of her spunky nature that simmered just below the surface of propriety.
“I gave you yours.” Sliding a hand from the indent of her waist to the swell of one breast, I toyed with her nipple.
“Yes, you did. But you wouldn’t let me suck you.” Her playful pout tugged at me in ways that should have been incorruptible.
Hand raising from her breast to slide up her back, I tweaked a tress of her hair. “Wanted to make sure you deserved it first.”
“You!” She tried to swat at me, but I caught her wrist, and she quickly found my grip intractable.
Just as I rolled her to her back, ready for another go, my phone rang.
During the past hour, I’d forgotten about all but Lucia.
The blaring sound dragged me immediately back to reality.
I hopped off the bed, fished out my phone, answered it with a swipe of my fingertip.
I listened, gaze staying on Lucia who sprawled so lusciously on my bed.
“Da,” I answered. “Two minutes.”
Turning off the phone, I knew my demeanor changed instantly because Lucia sat up straight and clutched a pillow over her nudity.
“What’s going on? Who was on the phone?”
No answer.
I dressed again. Clean briefs, fresh pants, shirt donned. I pushed my Sig Sauer into the back of my trousers then slipped on a jacket so I could pocket my boleadora too.
I only leaned over her after I palmed my phone. “Put some clothes on, Lucia.”
Those were the only words I spoke before leaving the room and locking her in.
Da. I left her alone again, but I wasn’t going far and I didn’t imagine this would take long at all.
After loping downstairs, I opened the front door like a gracious host when I was anything but.
Two Zolotov Bratva soldiers grimly escorted the don himself into my abode.
“I’ve been expecting you.” This was my domain, and I had Marco Leone’s last living child captive upstairs.
If Sabato and his men had figured out Lucia was under my keeping, surely they passed the information on to their Italian compatriot.
I only wondered why it took him so long to try to get her back.
“Sì. I see.” Lucia’s father shot a disdainful glance at the soldier escorts, and I got my first look at the man while the guards searched him only to come up clean.
The don had a sharp-featured face most notable for its hooked nose. The head of Lucia’s family and Boston’s failing Italian mob boss was perhaps as old as Yury, but he had much less padding.
Deep lines grooved into his face, and a silver mustache twitched above his thin lips.
Well-deserved arrogance spread across my expression. How could I not be smug? I had the scent of his precious daughter’s pussy all over my fingers and her taste still lingering in my mouth.
Yet he must have very big balls. Marco had shown up alone and unarmed. I’d afford him a little bit of respect for that at least.
Shadowed by the soldiers, Don Marco trailed after me to my den. With a glance, my men knew to remain outside.
Closing the door, I lifted a bottle of chilled vodka and poured a shot.
“Drink?” I offered.
Gracious host.
“I prefer wine.”
So I poured him a glass.
It was not an Italian vintage.
Standing near the fireplace, I motioned him to take a seat in one of the leather club chairs.
He declined the seat but drank the wine.
“You know who I am then.” I leaned an elbow on the mantle as he stood formally in front of me.
“The one who murdered Augustu. The man who took my daughter.” His lips flattened in anger though he tried to appear unruffled. “The brother of the Russian who viciously killed my only son.”
I got sick twisted pleasure hearing those words from the old don’s mouth. “Not exactly in that order.”
“Is that so?”
“You don’t appear to take very good care of Lucia,” I mentioned, and his eyes narrowed. “You see, I just happened to come across her a couple nights ago when she was being accosted, to put it nicely. Two street gangs were fighting over who’d get to rape her first, but I intervened.”
Surprise flickered briefly across his countenance before I continued.
“I saved her before I even knew who she was. Imagine my surprise finding out this Italian mafia beauty was out by herself wandering around an unsavory area of Boston.”
“She has always been strong-willed,” he said as if defending himself.
“She probably just needs someone to pay a little more attention and set down some hard and fast rules,” I countered.
“And you would be that man,” he stated flatly.
“It would depend on what else is on offer. I don’t buy my women.” Taking my shot of vodka, I let the alcohol trickle down my throat. “As it happens, I broke into Lucia’s apartment yesterday to retrieve some of her belongings. That is when I killed your man Augustu.” Satisfaction colored my tone.
“Lucia is not for sale anyway, not to a Russian bastardo like you at least.” His eyes dimmed with hate. “You still owe me for Bastiano.”
He seemed to care more for his dead son than his living daughter.
“Not personally, I don’t. And I have to assume you are aware of the Zolotov reputation, so I would advise against retaliation.”
Slamming his wine glass down, he spouted out, “You Russians have no right to be here.”
Well, that was rich considering his own foreign allegiance.