Page 112 of Mafia Bride
“No.” I slide my hand along the warm swell of her ass.
“Just for the morning?”
“You want to make deals?”
“Yes. English until noon.”
“What do you offer in exchange?”
She purrs, curling into me, and through the thin nightgown, I can feel the damp warmth of herficaand I get so hard, so fast it hurts.
“Whatever you want.”
“Be careful these deals you make,Forzetta.”
Her expression is careless, trusting, and a little challenging. She’s daring me to take what I want, but I won’t.
Instead, I throw her off me, over the table. She squeals in surprise when I bend her over it, facedown, ass up, the front of her nightgown bunched at her waist, and the bottom edge landing over the back of her thighs.
I put one hand between her shoulder blades and push her down. Her cheek is pressed against the table, and I push back the desire to take her now to study her face instead.
Lips parted. Eyes fluttering. Still. I need to know one thing.
“You can speak, yes?” I can’t help but grab her ass as if I can remove it from her body and own it.
“What should I say?”
“You want me to stop, you say it…in Italian.”
“No Italian all morning,” she replies. “That’s the deal.”
I’ll stop if she says it in English, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I spank her ass, one cheek, then another, pushing her down as she squirms.
“You like that?” I ask in Italian, pulling up her nightgown until her bare ass glows in the new sun.
“I can’t feel a thing,” she replies in English to spite me, and I spank her again with the loud slap of skin on skin. I take a moment to appreciate how the flesh is hot where I hit her, and slide my fingertips into her crack and down where herficais soaking wet.
“You feel this?” I bury two fingers inside her and she makes a sound that needs no translation. “You like it.”
With her face still pressed against the table, she looks back at me, and her answer is there. Taking my hand off her back, I get my dick out, then kick her legs open.
“You like it,” I say, sliding my fingers all over her wet pussy. When she tries to get on her elbows I push her back down. “Spread your arms out. Grab the edge of the table.”
I say it in English so she understands right away, and so she knows I’m keeping my side of the deal. Her arms stretch out, reaching for the edges. She’s flat, completely supine, immobile under me with her legs spread, and though my cock wants to get inside her immediately, my cock’s going to have to wait.
Laying my hands on her sore cheeks, I spread her open so I can see the glistening bulb of her sex and the tight little pucker above.
“Relax,” I say. She doesn’t. She can’t. I can feel her anxiety, and it turns me on. I roll my mouth into an intention and let a drop of spit fall on her asshole. Her eyes crunch shut. She’s not ready.
I like that. I like the way my cock looks like a threat next to it, like an army waiting to pillage a town.
I take her pussy with my hand, entering it, using the wetness to flick her hard little nub.
“Be gentle,” she groans, wetter now. “I’m sore.”
“So?” I take the fresh juice and run it up to her asshole, mixing it with my spit as I circle the resistant muscle. “This is fresh.”
She looks at me over her shoulder. Not scared. Not even worried. She knows I can take what I want, and she knows I’ll wait. She knows I’ll take care of her—protect her from everything. Even me.
