Page 113 of Mafia Bride
And she’s right, but protection isn’t the same as indulgence.
“You’re going to relax when I fuck your ass or it’s going to hurt.” Slowly, I slide my wet thumb in her asshole. She cringes. First time always hurts, and it always descends into pleasure.
Pulling out, I push it back in and the cringe is gone.
“You’re going to learn to take it.” I twist my thumb so she feels it, and with my other hand, I line my dick up with her sore pussy. It’s still so tight I have to work at getting inside her. I use the thumb stretching her asshole to keep her still. “You’re going to learn to love it.” I push hard, and she grunts like an animal. Fuck. I have to pause for a moment or I’ll come, but then I bury myself deep in her cunt. “You’re going to learn…” I thrust out and in again. “…to beg for it.”
I swap my thumb for two fingers, stretching her asshole more, working it as I fuck her pussy. I want to get in that tight little hole. There’s no ownership that can compare to fucking a woman’s ass, marking it with my pleasure, painting it the color of my cum.
But for now, her cunt is enough. She grips the table so hard her knuckles are white. She’s immobile. Prostrate. I fuck her cunt with my dick and her ass with my fingers. I can feel my dick’s violation through the thin membrane between, and when she’s ready, I reach around and flick her clit. She cries out.
“You want to come?”
“Yes!”
“Che?”
Tears and spit roll onto the tabletop.
“Sì! Sì, already!”
I work her clit until her whole body convulses in pleasure. I feel it around my fingers and cock, and though I’ll never admit it, her completion gives me permission to release.
* * *
My wife makesthe breakfast I ask for and eats it with me. She takes her coffee the way I make it. She gets dressed in the clothes I choose for her, bought with the money I earned for her.
My life, my house, my world is in order, and for the first time in a long time, I’m at peace.
Of course it doesn’t last. I’ve committed too many sins to ever be at peace.
I leave Violetta downstairs for a moment to call Gennaro. I look out the window, over the back, where my wife lounges on the patio, her skin drinking the Italian sun. Her tanned legs are crossed, and the thought of pulling them apart calls my dick to attention.
Gennaro’s concerned about Damiano, the free agent. We used to work under the same capo, for the same family and the same purpose. Even when he and I fought, I trusted my best friend. Now I can’t.
“He came to theMille Lucilooking for you,” Gennaro says. “I said you were out, but then he asked me when you were coming in…like he knew you were outta the country.”
“What’s that mean?” I don’t want Damiano to know where I am, or especially who I’m with. Violetta and I aren’t protected in Naples the way we are at home.
Home. I don’t take a moment to understand the way I use it in my head.
“Means he didn’t say something like, ‘I’ll call him,’ or ‘Will he be back in the morning?’ It was more like, let me think. His exact words. ‘How long they gone for?’”
They.
He knows I’m not in Secondo Vasto and he knows I’m with Violetta. I don’t know who told him, but I’ll find out when I get back, which is going to be today. My wife’s legs will remain closed for the next few hours.
“What did you tell him?” I turn away from the window.
Men distracted by their wives turn them into widows.
“I said, ‘Re Santi’s not here until he wants to be here.’” Gennaro pauses. “That okay?”
“Perfetto.”
The answer is perfect, the situation is not. We have to go back to the US immediately. I give Gennaro instructions to meet us at the airport, and then the front doorbell rings. I hang up the phone and rush out of the room, down the hall, and to the stained glass window at the end that looks over the front of the house from the side.
Peering through a clear section, my view is still distorted, but I know the two women waiting at the closed door.
