Page 83 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

“What else?”

“Because I went out with Thaddeus?”

The next clap of my hand makes her gasp, cracking through the bedroom like a shot.

“Don’t you dare say his fucking name while you’re dripping for me.”

She moans.

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers. The words go straight to my cock. I didn’t even prompt her to say it. The girl is just sinking into the moment on her own, plunging deep into her own twisted wants.

“Count,” I demand, when she forgets.

“Um...t-ten,” she gasps, barely able to remember.

“Good girl,” I whisper, and spank her again. She makes it to thirteen solid hits on that pink backside—but thirteen is theunlucky number, and she unfurls the ribbon again with a twitch of her wrist.

She curses bitterly, half a sob.

“Nico, I—”

She tries to cut herself off, walk back the thought, but I order her to say it.

“I’m close,” she admits, even with tears of pain stinging in her eyes. Fuck, that’s hot.

“I don’t even have to touch your cunt, do I? That’s how badly you want me.”

I scrub my hand over her backside, where soft welts are already forming. She flinches on instinct, waiting for the next blow, but I roll her over onto her back and kiss the whimpers out of her mouth. Her bound wrists lock around my neck, keeping me on top of her as she gasps in sweet relief.

I let her ass cool off, but I keep the rest of her hot, tapping my fingers rapidly against her clit.

“Nico, please,” she gasps, the sensation rattling in her teeth. “Please, fuck me. Fuck me. That’s all I want. I want you to be my birthday present, please, please—”

“God, I love it when you beg,” I whisper, then drag my tongue between her teeth as we kiss. “But begging me isn’t going to get you out of this one, baby girl.”

Her thighs shudder, her face pinching in pleasure.

Just my words set off a tiny peak inside her.

“I need to touch my clit,” she sobs.

“Be a good girl,” I whisper. “You barely even made it halfway. You were almostclose.”

Her breathing turns ragged and hungry as I push her back and fasten the ribbon again. Determination blazes in her face. We start over, this time with Ava on her back, her legs spread.

“Keep up,” I order her, and smack my hand against her pussy, fast and shallow, building the sting quickly so she has no time to adjust. Her legs flail, her ability to count briefly stuttering as she’s rendered breathless. She’s about to orgasm as I hammer my hand against her pussy.

“One, two, three, four,” Her pitch becomes a pathetic squeak. “Five, six, seven!”

“Don’t come,” I whisper.

“Eight,” she sobs, tears glistening in her eyes and her eyebrows pinched. “Nine, ten!”

Her words become pitched with yelps.

I increase the pace until she’s tripping over the numbers, shaking hard. Her arms are completely still, almost numb, as if she’s forgotten they’re there, as if she only exists from the waist down, the only sensation the pleasure popping against her abused little clit and blushing cunt.

She’s stumbling, losing count, her thighs shaking as she arches her hips up into my hand.

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