Page 60 of Mafia Mistress

I was already hard, my body primed for her the instant our mouths touched. It would be so easy to drag her shorts down her legs and sink inside her body. Fuck, I wanted that. Could I make her beg for my cock and have her not regret it yet?

Her arms twined around my neck, her little whimpers driving me crazy. She was the hottest, most responsive piece of ass I’d ever had—and we hadn’t even fucked yet. I swear, she was going to kill me.

She drew back, her fingers threading through my hair. “I think we should find an empty stall so I can suck your cock, capo.”

I froze, every muscle clenching. Was she serious? Or was she trying to gain the upper hand with me? Something about the bold offer, so out of character for her, struck me as false.

But God, I wanted it. Despite the reason for her request, I still craved having her lips wrapped around my cock, sucking me down. I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. Soon. I had to remain strong. I needed to win over her mind as well as her body.

I stepped back and lowered her to the ground. With little regard for who might see, I slapped her ass. Hard. “Later, monella. I want to show you something first.”

* * *

Francesca

Fausto was suspiciously charming.

Over the next hour, he took me around the estate grounds, pointing out various places and trees, showing me where he’d played as a boy, and I tried not to fall under his spell. I couldn’t allow him to worm his way under my skin. I was still angry with him for what happened in the dining room this morning, not to mention horrified by my wanton behavior. How easily I’d given in to him, with just a few strokes of his magic fingers….

I had to gain the upper hand with him. The only way I could do that was through sex. I had no other leverage—and he knew it. So if I had to give a few blow jobs, I would if it meant getting a phone or finding a way to escape.

Though I hadn’t been entirely lying. I did want to suck his cock. I don’t care what it said about me, but I liked giving blow jobs. I was good at it—at least David had said so—and it made me feel powerful. I’d spent enough time rubbing up against Fausto’s crotch in the last twenty-four hours so I had a pretty good idea of what he was packing...and I needed to see it. Touch it. Taste it.

God, I was hopeless.

A kidnapped mafia princess who could only think about getting into the pants of her kidnapper. Was this Stockholm Syndrome? I learned about it in school last year, how some captives could become enamored of their captors. Has my brain already twisted that far?

He treated me like a doll, not like a person with a mind of her own. He’d degraded me, made me come three times, and asserted his dominance over me at every turn. So why did I find that so fucking hot?

Because you are messed up, Frankie.

It was the same reason I snuck out to find David and gladly offered up my virginity. I had a darkness inside me, a desperate need for excitement and danger. Fausto had somehow recognized it in me and was using it to his advantage.

“Where did you go, Francesca?”

I looked up at him, his beautiful face radiant in the warm Italian sun. The estate workers were on their afternoon break, leaving us completely alone. My heart raced, every bit of me alive in his presence, yet I felt at peace, too.

It was comfortable between us, walking with our hands clasped through the rows of grape vines back toward the castello. He’d taken me to a small stream where he played as a boy. We skipped a few rocks together, though mine never went as far as his.

“Why did you decide to break my engagement to Giulio?”

He chuckled and fingered a grape leaf. “You are just asking that now?”

Bastard. I pressed my lips together, knowing he was right. I should have asked it last night before I let him strip me naked and lick my pussy, but I lost the ability to think around him. “That is not an answer.”

He flicked his fingers dismissively, a move I was coming to learn was the Italian version of shrugging a shoulder. “Because I decided I wanted you.”

“Why?”

“Because you make my dick hard and I get what I want. There was nothing keeping us from exploring what it is we feel for the other except for the engagement. And there are many Italian girls who can marry my son. So….”

God, the absolute ego of this man. “How do you know what I feel for you?”

He smirked, his lips curled in male satisfaction. “You eye-fucked me on the yacht when I came out in my trunks. Your breath hitches every time I get close. Should I tell you how wet your pussy gets when I touch you?”

No, he needn’t bother. I was well aware.

“If I’m not marrying Giulio, then let me go back to Toronto.”

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