Page 44 of Wicked Mafia Mistake
"I'm seeing you." I grip the armrests. "Turn around."
She turns. Slowly. The heels shift her weight forward, lifting her calves, and I hear the faint click of the heel against the hardwood with each small movement. I watch the curve of her spine, the dip at the small of her back, the way her hair falls between her shoulder blades in loose waves that catch the silver light. My cock strains against my slacks and I don't adjust it. I let the ache build because tonight isn't about what I need. It's about what she needs.
When she’s facing me again, I remind her of the truth. "You're safe here, Sloane. No one touches you in this room unless you want them to. And right now I want you to feel what it's like to be looked at by a man who sees you. All of you."
Her breath catches, a small, sharp intake that I hear across the room. Her shoulders drop. The tension she's been carrying sincethat box arrived begins to drain out of her body one muscle at a time.
"Sit on the edge of the bed,tesoro."
She sits. The mattress dips under her weight and the dark sheets pool around her hips. Her thighs press together, her hands grip the mattress edge, her blue eyes hold mine across six feet of bedroom.
I reach into the nightstand beside the chair. Pull out a small device, sleek and quiet, and hold it up so she can see it.
Her eyes widen. "Is that?—"
"Yes. I ordered it this morning. And I control it." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "I'm going to tell you what to do. I'm going to watch you do it. And I'm not going to touch you until you ask me to. Understood?"
Her cheeks turn a lovely pink in the low light of my bedroom. "That seems cruel."
I bring my lips to her forehead, one last touch before we start. "Clause four," I remind her.
"I'm starting to regret signing that contract."
"No you're not."
She bites her bottom lip, her teeth pressing into the soft cherry-stained flesh. Her thighs part. "No. I'm not."
I press the vibrator into her hand and she takes it. I guide her next movements with my voice.
“Lie back for me and spread your legs wider.”
“That’s it. Beautiful. Now put your hand between your thighs. Show me. Spread your folds and show me what belongs to me.”
She follows every instruction with a compliance that has nothing to do with obedience and everything to do with trust. Her fingers move where I tell them, sliding through the slick heat of her pussy.
Her hips roll when I tell them to. The toy buzzes low against her skin where I tell her to hold it, the faint vibration humming through the quiet room, and her mouth falls open and her head tips back and the sounds she makes, raw and unguarded and rising, fill my bedroom and press against the windows.
"Look at me. Don't close your eyes."
She looks at me. Blue eyes blown wide, lips parted, her chest flushing pink from her collarbones to the swell of her breasts. Her hand moves faster, her breathing ragged and sharp, each inhale catching in her throat. The toy hums against her clit and I watch her thighs shake and her free hand twist into the dark sheet and her mouth form a word that might be my name.
"That's it. Let me see you."
"Massimo." Her voice breaks, raw and desperate. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Please. I need your hands."
I'm out of the chair and between her thighs in two strides. My mouth covers hers and she tastes like wine and need and the salt of tears she didn't let fall.
She moans into me, her hands flying to my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, pulling me down onto her. I take the toy from hertrembling hand and hold it against her while my mouth moves to her throat, tasting the flutter of her pulse against my lips, then her collarbone, then her breast where I drag my tongue across her nipple and feel her entire body arch off the mattress.
Her fingers twist into my hair and when I slide two fingers inside her, the wet heat of her clenching tight around me, while the toy works her clit, she comes so hard her whole body locks against mine. She screams into my shoulder, her teeth biting down on the fabric of my shirt hard enough that I feel the pressure against my skin. Her legs clamp around my forearm, and I hold her through every wave until she goes boneless against the mattress. Her body vibrates with aftershocks, her breathing shallow and fast against my neck.
I press my forehead to hers. Her skin is damp and warm and her breath rolls across my lips in short, trembling pulls. Her eyes are wet, her lashes dark and clumped together. Her cherry lipstick is smeared across her chin and my collar, a red streak that marks me as thoroughly as any signature.
"Still regretting clause four?" I murmur.
