Page 46 of Falling for the Mafia Dom
“So sheer I can see your perfect little pussy,” he leans forward and places a kiss against the fabric. It is so thin that I tremble from the breath over my clit when he exhales.
“Patience,piccolo fiore,”Sal chuckles as he slowly stands before me and drops the bra on the bed. His hands cup my breasts instead as he roughly kneads them until my nipples are hard. “These perfect fucking tits, I want to see them peeking through your shirt.”
Taking my hand, he walks me into the closet and begins to flip through the clothes. He settles on thin gray dress shirt. The fabric is dark enough to conceal the color of my nipples, while still being thin enough that they will be clearly noticeable when hard. He pinches both of my nipples hard enough to cause me to yelp, and smiles as they poke against the fabric. I slide into the black pencil skirt he handed me while he looks at my shoes.
My face winces when he settles on the tallest pair of black heels I own. A pair I never wear. Bending on one knee before me, he slips each of my feet into them and fastens the strap around the ankle.
“I intend to fuck you in these heels later,” the words groan from him as he stands before me, “After I thoroughly paddle your sweet little ass.”
My thighs involuntarily squeeze together as he talks. No man has ever spoken to me the way that Sal does.
My prior experience with dirty talk is limited to a drunk guy slurring in my ear, ‘you like that?’
But Sal…. I’m pretty sure his words could make me come.
Placing my hand in the crook of his arm, Sal walks me down the stairs and outside. Once on the porch, he stops for a moment to talk with one of the guards at the door, “Angelo doesn’t come inside. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” He promptly replies.
“Give me your spare,” Sal puts out his hand and the guard places a gun in his palm. Lifting his jacket, he tucks it into the back of his pants.
Taking my hand and turning his attention back on me as he walks me to the garage, he soothes my obvious discomfort, “It’s just in case. I don’t expect to need it.”
Stepping into the garage, the lights flicker on. It is full of sports cars that I have never seen before. Looking around at the luxury automobiles, I quickly feel out of my element.
“We’ll take the Veyron,” he grabs a set of keys and I stand in place not knowing what car to walk to. “The Bugatti.”
Yes, that cleared things right up.
He walks to the passenger door of a sleek, black sports car and opens it for me. The entire interior is camel colored leather. My hands slide over the soft, supple fabric. I am still taking in the interior when Sal slides into the driver’s seat.
The car vibrates beneath me when he turns the key. His hand promptly on my knee, Sal pulls from the garage and the tires squeal as he quickly makes it down the long, winding driveway.
Sal makes his way into the city at dangerously fast speeds, as though he has no fear of the police or other cars on the roads. A sharp right at a red traffic light, and he squeals to a stop at the valet of Bistro 29.
“Nice to see you, Sir,” the valet greets us as he opens my door and helps me from the car. Taking my hand, Sal walks me inside. We pass numerous couples waiting for tables and the hostess has two menus in hand as we reach her. Without a word, she walks us to our table, a small booth in the back.
ChapterThirty-Four
SALVATORE
“You look nervous,” I slide into the corner of the booth next to Ellie.
“I’m not nervous,” she responds confidently.
“I’m not nervous, Sir. That’s two,” I smirk while raising my fingers in the air.
“Damn it, Sal!” she exclaims.
“Three,” I raise a brow as the waiter comes to the table, “It seems like you want me to paddle your ass.”
A red flush covers her cheeks, and the waiter noticeably tries not to look at her.
“I’ll have an old fashioned. Double orange peel.”
“And you, Miss,” the waiter questions as he avoids eye contact with her.
“She’ll have an Italian margarita.”
