Page 68 of Sin & Sapphire

My fingers clenched against Valentin’s scalp. I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare drag Angelo closer by his hair or hold Valentin’s hand in place on my breasts, equally afraid of punishment and admitting how much I liked what they did to me. Instead, I dug my nails into his nape, and finally, begged.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please, sir, please,maître.”

“She’s begging,” Valentin breathed. “Incredible.”

I’d lost track of how many fingers Angelo had inside me, but he slid another in, stretching me so much it hurt. “It’s too much,” I complained. He ignored me, turning and twisting his fingers inside me until he brushed up against that magical spot that sent me soaring.

He fucked me roughly while Valentin kissed my shoulders, my neck, my collarbone, and abused my aching nipples. Angelo took his other hand and pressed against my abdomen as he curled his fingers inside of me.

“No, stop, please,” I gasped, the pressure building in my center until I was certain I was about to piss all over him. I squirmed, trying to escape, only for the men to double their efforts.

“Angelo, no!” I shouted as I came, bliss volleying outward from my center, my body seizing and arching, every muscle tense for a single, shaking moment as liquid gushed out of me, before I collapsed backward, boneless, replete, and utterly humiliated at Angelo’s soaked face.

He continued to fuck me with his fingers as aftershocks of my climax shuddered through me, lapping up every drop as euphoria competed with my misery.

When Angelo surged to capture my lips in his, he stopped at the tears on my face. “Angel?”

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, embarrassed. I lifted a hand and traced it over his cheek, shiny with the evidence that I’d lost control.

“Because you squirted?”

Squirted? That’s what?—

“Angel,” he said firmly, taking my hands in his and holding them to his cheeks, “you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.”

“And now that he knows that it humiliates you, he’s going to do it over and over again,” Valentin said with a dark laugh.

26

VALENTIN

Angelo,the besotted bastard, rose up to nuzzle Ana’s face, smearing her juices over her skin, then tugged my face toward his to kiss me. Her salty-tart taste combined with the whiskey on his lips drew a groan out of me as she looked on, eyes widening before glazing over with lust.

Angelo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Reluctantly, I lifted Ana off my lap and settled her beside me on the couch. Unsettled by how much I enjoyed the feel of her limbs draped over mine as the evidence of her pleasure dripped down her legs, the interruption afforded me an opportunity to compose myself.

And Ana’s masochism combined with how hard she fought against it was a fucking delight.

“What the fuck do you want, Russo?” Angelo snapped, clearly displeased at the interruption. Ana stiffened, her face melting into blankness, posture straightening, giving away nothing—a return to the perfect mafia princess I’d delighted in breaking down over the last few days. Before I could delve into that thought, Angelo’s face turned grim, and he thumbed it to speakerphone.

“They fucking burned down the Costa compound,” the Russo whelp said, his ice-cold voice communicating his disgust even over the phone.

Ana’s sharp intake of breath was the only sign of her surprise. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hauling her close, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that screamed not to comfort her, that told me to hold her at arm’s length.

“Who burned it down, Luca?” she said, her voice just as cold, then looked up at me with fear in her eyes. She knew she’d spoken out of turn. My lips curled up with delight. Ana was learning.

“Ana?” Russo’s voice turned gentle. “Are you okay?”

She looked up at me, her eyes unreadable, but her hands trembled where she worried them in her lap. “Please,maître, may I …?” she whispered, softly enough that Luca wouldn’t pick up on the question.

“Yes, princess,” I told her, fighting the urge to gather her back in my arms and protect her from whatever news he was about to impart. Angelo had no such compunctions, moving onto the couch and sweeping her into his lap before draping her calves over my thighs. I curled my hands over them, stroking gently, as if my touch could reassure her.

“Who burned it down, Luca?” she asked again.

“Boris Tchérnov’s men,” Luca answered. “He’s taking over Costa territory, block by block, as revenge for murdering his son, while you fuckers are galivanting around Europe instead.”

Merde.

“Galivanting?” Ana’s sharp retort surprised me. “Fuck you, Luca,” she snarled. “Why aren’t my father’s men defending the territory?”

---