Page 23 of The Don

So, Iwantto go slow, but I practically launch my mouth onto his dick.

“Merde,” he screams as I inhale half his length with a happy gasp.

I grip him around the base and suck him as I lift my mouth.

“Shae. Fuck,” he moans.

I’m not sure if he’s asking me to stop or slow down or what, but I’m not particularly worried about that because I plan to do it all. I didn’t spend hot, sweaty nights on that lumpy ass couch with my fingers buried in my pussy, straining my neck to lick my nipples, dreaming about swallowing Salvatore’s dick for nothing.

I swirl my tongue around the head, dipping into the soft slit, tasting his precome with an excitement that I can only express with a happy wiggle and then a yelp when his palm smacks against my ass.

I try to tell him I like that, but I’m too busy shoving my mouth down his length again. I use my mouth and hand on him now. It takes a while to find the right rhythm, to pull my fist and lips together and apart slow enough to make him groan and then scream. But I get there.

And while I work on that pacing, his long fingers explore my opening, massage my clit, and even tease my ass. I’m panting almost as hard as he is.

But when we find our rhythm, it’s even better. He curses me and the air and God, I think, and I join him when he hauls me on top of him, my pussy right over his screaming mouth.

I fall asleep knowing what Salvatore’s orgasm tastes like on my tongue, feels like dripping down my chin, and how good it is to let him press my face into the covers and fuck me from behind.

He thinks I’m young and beautiful, and I think he’s old and experienced.

We’re a perfect match if you ask me.

11SHAE

I wakeup feeling like Polly-fucking-anna. Everything is beautiful. Life is amazing. I have never been so deliciously sore in my life.

When I open my eyes, no shit, the first thing I see is a rainbow reflecting on the wall from the window next to the bed. I only saw the bedroom briefly last night, but this morning, I take in the calm gray walls, the neutral-colored oatmeal carpet and white shutters. It looks as unlike the apartment in Naples as I can imagine. That place looked like an elderly woman’s home, and this place is clearly a luxury condo.

But neither of them feel like Salvatore’s home.

I can’t imagine him decorating any place, and so I have to wonder, unfortunately, if his wife decorated this apartment. If she bought the bed we fucked each other in last night. If she picked out these sheets I clutched while he was fucking me doggy style. If she chose the pillows I slept on. Actually, no, I don’t think my head ever touched any of the pillows because I wake up with my cheek on Salvatore’s slowly rising chest, my head moving as he fills his lungs and releases. I’m almost certain I dreamed about the rhythm of his heartbeat.

So, there’s that, for whatever it’s worth.

I feel rested, really rested, for the first time in a long time, even before I chose to sleep on that lumpy ass couch. I ache all over and reluctantly roll off Salvatore’s body. I finally touch one of the pillows his wife may or may not have bought, throw my arms over my head, and stretch my limbs, yawning loudly into the quiet room.

Salvatore stirs and turns automatically toward me. He gathers me in his arms again and cuddles me into his side.

“Buongiorno,” he says in a hoarse voice, his breath rustling my hair.

“Morning,” I reply, sounding just as hoarse as him. Maybe even a little more so. I spent a lot of yesterday moaning and screaming, and the memories make me smile wide as hell. I press my face into the crook of his neck. Not really to hide my smile, just to feel him.

“Did you sleep well?”

“So good,” I mumble.

“Are you still tired?”

I wrap my arms around his torso, my palms smoothing over his skin, thinking. “No, I think I’m okay.”

His palm covers my stomach. “Still,” he says, pressing his mouth against my ear through the tangle of my hair. “You should rest.”

I nod and scoot forward against him, throwing a leg over his stomach. I’d do damn near anything he told me to do right now, but I’m not foolish enough to tell him that. “Are you going to rest with me?” I ask instead.

That hand on my stomach begins to move south. His chest is rising faster now. My heart is racing.

A loud knock on the front door ruins this moment and I let out a string of frustrated curses.

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