Page 15 of Contracted

“I bet you rarely cook,” I said with a smile.

Emilio parked next to a private elevator as Serafino nodded and said, “I do love my Italian food.” He winked. “The restaurant might be my best investment to date, not financially, but personally.”

I giggled. “Well it would take a lot to fuel your big body.”

The driver opened the back door and I noticed Serafino touch the firearm under his jacket before he climbed out. I followed him and asked, “Is something wrong?”

His nostrils flared. “Two of my best soldiers were killed here by the Irish mafia. It’s made me cautious, perhaps even a little paranoid now, especially when I have others to safeguard.” He pulled me closer to his bulk. “Not even Salvatore was safe from our enemies after being shot in a gunfight. He was a heartbeat away from death thanks to our shared enemies.”

My knuckles cramped as my fingers locked around my clutch bag and I looked back at the closed gate, where the other car that had trailed behind us was now parked. Two men stood guard outside it, their presence reminding me once again of the powerful, intimidating man who’d paid to fuck me. I didn’t want to think about what he was capable of. I especially didn’t want to acknowledge that my hefty fee was likely blood money.

Then he silently clasped my elbow and drew me with him toward the elevator. The driver stayed behind, yet another soldier ready to destroy anyone who dared to cross his caporegime.

The elevator doors closed with a near silent hiss, then we ascended quickly before the doors reopened with a ping. I couldn’t help but be impressed by the spacious foyer with its dark marble flooring leading into a large gray kitchen with chrome fixtures including a double oven. A dining room boasted a huge table with gray velvet chairs, a crystal bowl filled with exotic fruits sitting in the middle.

A gorgeous, glittering chandelier broke what I considered an otherwise masculine setting, while huge windows showcased million-dollar city views outside. Heading toward a staircase, I noted the large black-and-white nude painting on the upstairs wall that was no doubt worth a small fortune. Grasping one of the black hand-railings, I climbed up to the split-level area, where I presumed his bedroom and bathroom awaited.

I was right.

His bedroom was massive, with a sitting area at the far end of his king sized bed, a walk in robe with barn-style sliding doors that were presently shut, and an adjoining bathroom with gray-streaked-with cream tiles inside the shower, an old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub sitting under a large window at the other end.

I sighed, imagining having a deep bubble bath while drinking champagne and reading a novel. Real estate in New York was super expensive, which meant space was precious and apartments tended to be tiny.

Unlike Serafino’s expansive living space.

He reached into the shower and hot water sprayed down. Though he had two shower heads, he selected just one. He clearly wanted to share. We stripped one another and stepped under the hot shower, my skin zinging as sweat and probably bodily fluids ran off me in the rivulets of water.

He reached for the liquid soap and rubbed it between his hands, making it lather. I sighed blissfully when he caressed my shoulders, my back, my breasts and my belly, massaging away my aches along with my anxiety.

Then he bent and washed each of my legs, starting with my thighs and then down to my calves. When he reached for one foot and pushed his thumbs into my soles, I was as boneless as jelly, my entire body relaxed even as heat built deep within me.

He straightened then and I thought he was done. He wasn’t. He emptied a blob of shampoo in his hand, then drew my front against his back as he massaged the foamy apple-scented shampoo through my wet hair.

How could hands that killed so easily also be so tender and restrained? He was a maestro with his soft touch, a magician with his deeper, massaging strokes. He moved fully back under the spray and ensured every bit of shampoo was rinsed out before he proceeded conditioning my hair.

I loved being looked after like this, except, he was paying me for the privilege of my company and my expertise. I should be looking after him, not the other way around.

It wasn’t until he’d rinsed my conditioner from out of my hair, that I ran a long-nailed hand along his shoulder and down his arm and said, “Let me look after you now.”

His eyes darkened, his voice smoky. “What do you—“

His voice ended on a strangled note as I dropped to my knees, then took his cock in my hand and did a long, leisurely lick along the head. His flesh was warm and silken, his cock long and thick and rippling with veins.

He was perfect.

I sucked the tip of his shaft into my mouth, tonguing his slit then sucking him deeper. He jerked even further into my mouth, groaning as I cupped his heavy balls and skillfully stroked, before I pushed his length to the back of my throat.

My eyes watering, I retreated then advanced, my head bobbing faster and faster, a primal rhythm that brought a man to his knees as easily as I’d dropped onto mine.

Serafino was no different.

He was a man in his prime, someone who’d probably never been deprived of sex. That I wanted to wipe his memory of every other woman he’d been with made me pause for just one second. Hadn’t he wanted to do the same with all the men in my past?

He used my stillness to withdraw from my mouth. “Stand up,” he said thickly. When I did what he asked, he said, “Now turn around bend over, and touch the floor with your hands.”

I tensed. Was he about to claim me where few men had been allowed? He was way too big. The very idea both electrified and petrified me.

My palms had barely touched the floor when he plunged into my pussy from behind, filling me to the hilt. His grunt echoed with my pained gasp. Was I ever going to get used to his size? Then his hands were on my hips, using them as leverage as he pushed in and out, his deep, hard strokes increasing in pace and intensity.

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