Page 8 of De Luca: The Saint

Chapter Five

Kat

His words cause my cheeks to heat, so much so, I know I must look like a tomato. I’m standing here half-naked with a mobster on his knees in front of me, speaking the dirtiest words I’m pretty sure have ever been spoken.

I’m not a nun. I’ve heard and said many curse words, but never have I heard such filth.

He’s so different from any man I’ve ever dated. For some reason, I want more of those dirty words. I gaze at him on his knees as he undoes the buttons on his shirt before tossing it on the floor. Damian smirks at me while I gape at him. Men don’t look like this, I’m sure of it.

I’ve only had sex with one person back in high school, but there is no way they’re supposed to look like this. How would any woman ever get anything done if they did? I allow my gaze to travel from the skull tattoo on his neck to his chest with more colorful ink on his torso, then to the full sleeves on his arms. How is that so sexy? More skulls and roses decorate his body. It’s breathtaking, the beautiful artwork stretching around his massive muscular form.

“Do you have something to say, Kitty Kat?”

I shake my head because all the words I would say are trapped in my throat.

Damian hooks his thumbs into my panties and slides them down my legs, until they pool at my feet, and grabs my thighs with both hands, “Open.”

Using his thumb and forefinger, he spreads me wide, “Do you come when your clit is sucked?”

Bringing my hands to my face, I cover myself so he can’t see me, “Oh my God, Damian.”

“Do not hide from me, Kat. I want to see your face. Need to.”

I lower my hands, knowing my face is beet red again.

“Kat, answer my question. I have to know what you like.”

His gaze is intense as he waits for a response.

I avert my gaze, unable to look at him because I’m so embarrassed. I want to crawl into a hole and hide forever, “I’ve never done this. I told you, I’m not experienced.”

His gaze is so intense, I can feel it heating my skin, his desire palpable, “Are you a virgin?”

I shake my head no.

“You’ve had an orgasm, right?”

“No. I’ve never tried.”

He rises to his feet, “You’ve been a good girl for so long. Depriving yourself of pleasure? No more. I can’t wait for the sweet little angel to fall from grace. And fucking shatter for me.”

As he lifts me effortlessly, I gasp, “Where are we going?”

He growls as he walks with me over his shoulder, his arm over my legs, “Upstairs, so I can eat that pretty little cunt and you can learn how good it feels to be bad.”

I can’t stifle the giggle that slips out as he takes three steps at a time, walks into his massive bedroom, and throws me on the bed, “Maybe I like being good.”

He arches an eyebrow as he quickly removes his pants but leaves his boxers on and climbs over me, “Good girls don’t go to heaven, Angel. Bad girls do. Spread those beautiful thighs and let me take you there.”

I nearly roll my eyes at him because he’s so cocky, like he’s positive he can make me have an orgasm. I may not be experienced, but I do read, and I know some women can’t, no matter how hard they try.

He stands at the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but black boxers.

Again, I take in his chiseled body and suddenly can’t breathe.

Damian runs his tongue along his bottom lip, “Take your shirt off Kitty Kat.”

I nod, unable to form words like the intelligent woman I am. I undo the buttons on my shirt before removing it and laying it on the side of the bed. Now, I’m lying in a mobster’s bedroom wearing nothing other than my basic bra. If I could see into the future, I would have worn a nicer one—something with lace or satin. Instead, I’m in my JCPenney ten-dollar bra in front of a man who probably has millions of dollars.

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