Page 48 of The Silencer

But he doesn’t.

He just watches as I suck him eagerly, trying my best to get him to bend, to get him to snap. But he’s unbreakable.

His chest rises and falls, his wet hair falling into his face as I swirl my tongue along the vein under his cock, feeling it throb against me. His dick twitches in my mouth and he lets out a puff of air above me.

The fact is, he’s hard. For me.

It’s enough to keep me going.

I slurp and gag as I continue to pull him into me, my fingers flexing on his hard ass cheeks, loving that I get to see him like this. Naked, spread out, letting me use him.

My cock is unbearably hard at the sight, all my fantasies just standing before me, the taste of him exploding on my tongue.

With one hand, I reach down and tug at my cock, my eyes rolling back in my head at the sensation pulsing through me. Bliss, pure and utter horny bliss.

And then suddenly, it stops.

Anthony pulls away, his cock dragging from my swollen lips, leaving my entire body frozen in place. Even my hand stops its shuttling.

I blink up at him, the water rolling down his muscular, tattooed chest.

“What?” I ask, that word just a rasp of a broken syllable.

His lips stretch into a narrow line and then he reaches down and pulls me up, my body still trembling from the lack of release, from the impending orgasm that hasn’t yet come. I try to stand, my legs shaking, my body flushed with desire.

“Get out,” he says, and I can do nothing but shake my head, unable to move. He’s going to have to carry me if he wants me to leave.

“Tatum.” It’s a warning, and all I can do is swallow.

“You can’t tease me like this,” I whine, my hands settling on his chest, feeling the rapid way his heart is beating, tracing the script there, the names of his children surrounded by swirls and roses.

He may want me to leave, but he enjoyed it.

He did. I can tell.

“Get. Out.”

I sigh and take a step back, nearly slipping as I do. His hands come around me, pulling me roughly into his chest, our bodies now completely flush with one another. I can feel every part of him. The hair on his legs, the feel of his softening dick against mine, the bulge of his biceps.

“Careful,” he whispers.

Oh god. I can’t be careful. Not around him. I want to slip and fall right onto his dick.

But instead of saying that, I nod, trying to step back, but he just grabs on to my ass and lifts me, walking us both out of the shower, completely naked and dripping wet.

If he thought this would deter me, it’s only made me hornier.

To be lifted by a mafia man, from the shower, completely naked.

God have mercy on my tortured soul.

He gently sets me down on my feet and reaches for a towel hanging on a rack, handing it to me. But it slips through my shaking fingers, and I stare at it puddled on the ground.

“You’re helpless, aren’t you?” he says as he spins me around, my back against his chest. I stare up at him through the mirror, noticing the way that his wet hair drips droplets down the side of his face and onto his shoulders. He looks like he’s come undone.

And yet, so put together, so stoic.

Like the mob boss he is.

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