Page 67 of Mafia Mistress

When I was finally on the other side of the fence, he stepped close to cup my jaw with one hand and hold onto my hip with the other. “Terre e sole,” he murmured before giving me a long, deep kiss in full view of the estate staff. I couldn’t worry about who was watching, though, because I was spinning, lost in the maelstrom that was Fausto’s attention. He was all I could focus on as his lips moved against mine, the warmth of his body sinking into my flesh. Fire skittered along my veins, a ball of want and need erupting in my belly as the kiss wore on. I was helpless, clinging to him as he commanded my entire being with just his mouth.

He broke off and whispered, “Let’s go before I fuck you here.”

Fear dimmed a bit of my enthusiasm at those words, but I didn’t have time to ask for clarification because he was tugging me toward the castello. “Wait,” I called to his back.

“No waiting. I am tired of waiting.”

My mind whirled as he pulled me after him. I didn’t want to have sex with Fausto. Did I?

My body was one hundred percent on board. I’d masturbated in the shower this morning just picturing it, imagining what it would feel like to have his big cock filling me up over and over. But the reality had implications I wasn’t certain I could handle. Letting him fuck me meant I had agreed to be his mistress.

You’re already his mistress, dumbass.

No, I wasn’t. We had messed around a few times. That wasn’t a huge deal. A few orgasms here or there from oral was more of a friends-with-benefits thing, not a mistress thing. I did not want to be Fausto Ravazzani’s kept woman.

So why was I letting him lead me into the castle and through the entryway?

Because I was weak. I was a slut who liked it dirty and rough, and I couldn’t resist Fausto’s good looks and sexy charm. The aura of danger and power he wore like his expensive suits appealed to me, too. I guess being raised in the mafia life had rubbed off on me more than I’d thought. I had been around these types of domineering men since I was born. For some reason, I craved Fausto’s darkness. I was obsessed with it, fantasizing about what he might do to me.

Except I suspected the reality would be a thousand times better, and once I had a taste I’d never be able to stop.

* * *

No one was aroundas we finally entered his side of the castello. I hadn’t been over here before, and the bare walls surprised me. No family photos. No drawings Giulio had done in school. No famous paintings or posters. Just a blank surface on all sides, like someone had recently moved in. Hadn’t his family lived here for more than a hundred years?

Worn eastern carpets covered the stone floor, with the same elegant lights overhead from our wing. He strode to the end of the hall and threw open a door, not letting go of my hand as we went inside. The door closed and then I was lifted up, my legs dangling as he carried me through the sitting room and into the bedroom.

It was nothing like I expected. If I had to guess, I would have imagined black sheets, dark walls and a mirror over his bed. This room was...romantic. Soft, almost feminine. With pale walls and an enormous bed that bordered on ornate. Plants dotted the windows, a vase of fresh flowers on a small table. The furniture looked old but made from sturdy pale oak.

I didn’t have the chance to see anything more because he dropped me on the bed. “Get naked.”

Pushing up on my elbows, I scowled at him. “Just like that?”

“Just like fucking that, piccola monella.” He ripped off his suit coat and tossed it onto a worn leather chair. Then he started unbuttoning his vest. I could see the outline of his erection through his trousers. God, I wanted that thick cock so badly.

“Do not deliberately disobey me. You will not like the consequences.”

Or maybe I would.

The part of me that loved to push him, that wanted more of his sternness, pouted up at him. “I thought we were going to talk first.”

His vest hit the floor and he unfastened his cufflinks, one at a time, his eyes never leaving mine. I was caught, mesmerized, hardly able to breathe as I waited to see what he would do.

He unbuckled his belt slowly, the leather whispering as he pulled it free from the loops of his trousers. “Have you ever been spanked with a belt?” His voice was like honey, slow and seductive through his accent, and I stared at his elegant hands as they cradled the leather.

“No.”

“I will not lie to you. It will hurt. But it will feel so good afterwards when I reward you. Would you like to try?”

Indecision warred inside me. Fausto slapped my ass all the time. Would the belt feel the same? Or better?

He dropped the belt. “Dio, I can see the answer on your face. Another day, dolcezza. I cannot have your ass purple this afternoon, as much as I’d love to see it.”

“Why?”

His shirt came off next and I saw all his muscles on glorious display. He was large with broad shoulders and a firm stomach. Dark hair dotted his olive skin between his pecs and then into his trousers. This was no gym rat, with a smooth body crafted from protein powder and supplements. Instead, Fausto was all rough man, barely leashed power, and I needed him to surround me, to fill me with that strength.

After toeing off his shoes, he unfastened his trousers and stepped out of them. He stood there with only tight boxer briefs covering his mouth-watering body. The erection pushing its way out of the expensive fabric was nearly obscene. I swallowed, my limbs vibrating with excitement.

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