Page 65 of Sweet Prison

I watch him, this complicated man who turned my life upside down. As a young girl, I wrote to him, hoping he’d step into my big brother’s shoes. I wanted a confidant, a protector. Someone who’d tell me that everything would be alright. Regardless of how tough life got, I wanted him to paint a rosy picture.

He gave me none of those things.

He gave me everything I never knew I needed.

Purpose. Self-confidence. A sense of self-worth.

Without meaning to, he turned me into the person I am today. Strong. Resilient. Capable. The kind of woman I alwayswanted to be. Andthatwoman isn’t scared anymore. She’s willing to go after what she wants.Him. Even when it’s scaring the shit out of her.

With my whole body vibrating with need, I slowly sink to my knees on the carpet, right there between his legs.

Massimo’s frantic eyes follow my every movement. The tension in his upper body seems to pull tighter. Even in this low light, the pulse point on his neck draws my attention as a slight shiver makes its way through him.

My fingers are trembling as I grab ahold of the elastic of his sweats and carefully pull it down. Massimo’s cock springs free, enormous and ramrod-straight. So engorged, it looks almost purple. My hand shakes as I wrap my fingers around his tip and start stroking along his length.

Steel, encased in velvet.

“Zahara.” Massimo’s deep, rumbling growl breaks the silence. His head is bent, and he’s gripping both armrests with wood-splitting force. “No.”

“Why not?” I wet my lips. “I don’t see you as a brother, Massimo. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

His hand shoots out, fisting the hair at my nape. Fire rages inside his dark, smoldering eyes. They blaze through me, igniting my desire. Setting off an inferno neither one of us could escape. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.” I lean forward and press my tongue to the head of his cock.

A violent shudder overtakes Massimo’s body, jolting him as if he was struck by lightning. An intense gratification blooms inside me at the sense of victory I feel. I did that. Me. I may not be experienced, and I’m still feeling nervous that I mightdo something wrong, yet seeing his reaction to that one single touch, gives me the courage to continue.

I lick him from base to tip, just like I’ve seen in videos, enjoying the way he responds. Shallow, fast breaths as he nearly bows out of the seat. Tremors rack him while I circle the swollen head with my tongue, building up the tempo, then lick away the drops of salty pre-cum at the slit. Another proof that all his claims of not being attracted to me were nothing but lies. Why was he fighting this pull between us? How would something that feels so good be labeled as something bad? I lick his cock again, relishing having him come undone under my touch. I want more. I want the taste of him to be branded on my tongue, the same way he imprinted himself on my soul.

The tightness and ache between my legs is spiking. I’ve never felt this kind of overwhelming need as I do now. My panties are completely drenched. Is it the flavor of him, or the fact that I am finally experiencing what I yearned for so long? Getting to know him on a carnal level, having our bodies so in tune with each other.

The silky texture of his stone-hard length scorches my palm as I slide my hand down and gently cradle his balls. When I move closer and seal my lips around his tip, his dick twitches so fiercely that it almost slips out of my mouth. Slowly, I take more of him down my throat while letting my teeth lightly graze his sensitive flesh.

“Madonna Santa,” Massimo groans, tightening his hold on my hair.

Every muscle in his body is taut, so much so that he remains rigid like a fine marble statue. I let my lips languidly glide up his cock. Feasting on it. He is mine. Massimo Spada is finally mine. My heart nearly bursts from that though. I move my mouth to the tip of his cock and suck it, hollowing out my cheeks.

Massimo convulses, and a guttural roar fills the room. Warmth explodes down my throat as he comes in my mouth. I swallow every last drop of his cum. It’s a testament. Unequivocal proof. The truth he’s been hiding from me behind the facade of rejection.

Evidence of his feelings. For me. And not the sisterly kind.

Still feeling a bit anxious, I get to my feet and stand between his splayed knees. His chest is rising and falling at a galloping rate, while his fingers continue to clutch my hair.

“Massimo?” I caress the side of his tightly clenched jaw with my knuckles.

A low and deep rumble, like a lion’s growl, emanates from his throat. The shadows on his bare chest shift when he stands up. His hold on my hair intensifies while he towers over me, staring down at me like a magnificent king of beasts. His other arm snakes around my waist, locking me in a viselike grip and lifting me off the ground. My breath hitches as I marvel at the sensation of being pressed flush against him, and I lose myself in his sultry gaze.

“Are there needles or other sharp shit over there?” he croaks.

I blink, lightheaded and bewildered. “Where?”

He nods toward the antique work desk to the left of us where I’ve spread out the half-cut dress lining.

“Um… no. I don’t think so.”

That seems to satisfy him and he gives me another nod, then deposits me right on top of the silky fabric.

His eyes burn into mine as he trails his palms up my thighs, inch by arduous inch. There’s so much tension there, in his dark, unyielding gaze. His expression is set in hard lines, his stance so solid, it’s like he’s become a mountain, not a man.

---