Page 21 of Mafia Queen
“Play it for me. Tell yourself I couldn’t wait for my new husband to—”
“I’ll destroy you.” He yanks my wrist and pulls me off the chair, flings me to the floor, and puts his foot between my shoulder blades. I can barely breathe from the pressure. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
My head jerks back when he pulls my hair, then he removes his foot so he can pull the rest of me off the floor. I never get my feet under me as I’m thrown over the table, with the corner digging against my lower back. The soup spoon clatters to the floor. The hand that had pulled my hair is under my chin, ear to ear, forcing my throat to stretch.
“You’re going to know I’m here by how I break you.”
Is he past the point of no return?
He needs to be.
“You were almost too late. I almost sucked his dick.”
“No more talking.” With his palm on my throat, he puts two fingers in my mouth. “This opens when I want, and you take what I put in it.”
He probes deep, blocking my airway. There’s no more verbal agreement necessary. I’m pulsing with arousal, and he knows his every word swells the flood of my desire.
“I’ll let you breathe when I see your tits.”
Wiggling, I yank up my shirt and bra, exposing myself to him.
When he pulls out his hand, I breathe. He puts his spit-covered middle finger in his mouth and sucks my saliva off, eyes coursing down to my hard nipples. He takes one in his wet fingers and twists, turning me into his arch-backedputa.
“Look at you, waiting for my cock.” I’m locked in place by his eyes, and it’s not until he steps back and says, “On your knees, that I’m able to move…but not quickly enough. He pushes me down violently and undoes his fly, digging his erection out of his pants.
“Open your mouth, and suck a dead man’s cock.” I open up, and he guides himself in, pushing deep and holding me against him by the back of my head. “I am not dead. I never want to hear it again. How many holes do I have to fuck to make you believe it?” He pulls out and I gulp air. “How many?”
“Three.”
“Va bene, allora.” He spins a chair to face me and sits in it, propping his cock up at the base. “It’s not going to suck itself.”
Holding back a smile, I crawl the short distance to him and take him in my mouth, but Santino does not ever give up control. He pushes me down and holds me for a moment, then lets me breathe before pushing my face onto him so deep my nose is against his skin.
“What man could die when a woman like you spreads her legs for him?”
I shrug—lungs tightening, throat clenching.
“Not me.” He pulls me off.
I gasp, chest heaving, spit dripping from my chin. “Prove it.”
“Take your pants down.”
I tug on the elastic waistband. I don’t get to finish before he takes me by the back of the neck, pulls me up, and pushes my face to the table. He has complete control over me, and every drop of fluid in my body rushes below my waist.
“Who owns your cunt?” He unceremoniously sticks three fingers in me, and that alone is enough to push me close to orgasm.
“You do.”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m dead, Violetta.” He bends his inserted fingers and twists his hand at the wrist like he’s trying to screw it inside me, finding sources of pleasure I didn’t know were there. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.”
I grunt when he takes out his fingers and kicks my legs wide open before commanding, “Show me.”
I look over my shoulder, watching him spread my lips and ass apart. He fingers both like a man who can’t decide which new car he wants, biting his lip as he edges my asshole with his thumb, then pulls my clit. The pleasure is agony.
