Page 48 of Falling for the Mafia Dom
ELLIE
Walking into the house, I am nervous. While Sal has both paddled me and fucked me, I feel like I don’t know what to expect as we walk up to his room. I also lost count of paddle strikes around nine.
I know I can take nine.
I’ve taken nine!
For all I know, I’m expected to take thirty when we get upstairs.
“Thirteen,” Leading me to a door at the rear of his room, Sal speaks as though he can read my mind, “Can you handle thirteen?”
He opens the door, flips a light switch and leads me down a half flight of stairs.
To say I’m nervous is the understatement of the year!
My heart is pounding as my eyes take in the room. It reminds me a great deal of the club from the other night. Dark woods. Leather. Throughout the room are various pieces of furniture and toys that resemble what I briefly saw as we passed the other room behind the velvet rope.
Sal steps behind me and gathers the bottom of my shirt into his hands and lifts it just high enough to reach the zipper at the back of my skirt.
“Relax,piccolo fiore,” his voice is soothing, “Nothing happens in this room that you don’t want. Your needs. Your wants. Your desires. They control how far I will push you. But your limits, they control where I stop.”
Sal slowly unzips my skirt and it falls to the ground pooling around my feet. As he turns me to face him, I step from the fabric around my feet. Sal leans forward and his teeth gently bite my nipple through my shirt and his hands slide against the bare skin of my back. A moan grumbles from me as his teeth slide over the sensitive flesh.
“I need your safe word, Ellie,” he slides the shirt over my head, leaving me standing before him in nothing but the thong and heels.
“Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma?” He sounds as though he is going to laugh when he questions whether he heard me correctly.
“Is it not a good word?” I can now add inexperienced embarrassment to my nerves.
“If you will remember it,” he undoes the buttons and removes his shirt, “It is the perfect word.”
My hands have been on his covered chest before, but seeing him for the first time, I cannot pull my eyes from his body. He is remarkably fit. Well-defined abs. Broad shoulders. Pronounced pecs with a light amount well-grayed hair across them.
Stepping to him, my hands and eyes travel in tandem across his marred flesh. My fingertips trailing over decades worth of well-healed scars. Long, straight lines from knife wounds. Obscure circles from gun shots. His chest, stomach, and back are all littered with them.
“I told you, I’m not a good man,” his voice is low and deep.
“I’ve told you that I don’t care,” I barely finish the words before he has me pulled tight to him and is plunging his tongue into my mouth. Moaning into mouth, he walks me backward across the room. When he pulls back from me, we are standing in front of a large X. It’s like the one on stage at the club.
Carefully turning me to face it, his hand slides along my arm, lifting it into the air and securing it with a leather cuff. Walking to the other side of me, he repeats the motion until both of my arms are secured in a V above my head. His body pressed against me, he grips my wrists just below the cuffs and caresses my skin as he slides his hands to my shoulders.
Sal gathers my hair and pulls it behind me. His fingers run through it as he loosely braids it down my back, securing it with a band before placing it over my shoulder so it hangs down my chest.
His hands linger down my sides and he trails kisses down my spine as he slowly kneels behind me. His lips travel over the top of my ass, to my hip, and down my upper thigh, as his hands slide to my ankle to affix the leather cuff.
A firm strike of his hand against my ass catches me off-guard and I let out a yelp. He hits the other cheek and I startle, but a moan comes from me instead. Roughly palming each of my cheeks, his lips kiss along the small of my back until he growls against me, “I can’t wait to fuck this perfect little ass and watch that tight little hole take my cock.”
I whimper from his words and his finger swiping over the front of my thong as he forcefully pulls my leg toward him. Securing it with the final cuff, his hands trail up my legs as he stands behind me.
“You look so fucking gorgeous,” he groans before striking my ass with his hand again, “Secured to my cross and waiting for my paddle.”
“Thirteen,” he repeats the number of times the paddle is going to hit me as his palm strikes each of my cheeks. Rubbing over the warming flesh, Sal continues, “Take five like a good little girl and I’ll let you come as a reward.”
Sal’s shoes click on the hardwood floor as he walks to the hooks next to the cross. He returns seconds later and rubs broad edge of the paddle against my ass.
“I want to hear you count them for me,” he demands as he begins to swing the paddle against me.
