Page 24 of Corrupting Lily

I have seen many men in suits throughout my life, but none have impacted me like this man. It's downright dangerous.

“Someone is going to die tonight.” His words carry a lethal undertone, and I want to ask who and why, but I don’t get the chance as Matteo walks out.

“I said the same thing,” Matteo grumbles. Under his breath, he mutters about my clutch and its contents. I assume he is alluding to the condoms placed there by Alison.

Dominico, fortunately, misses this moment as he concludes his conversation, his eyes fixed on me while Matteo opens the limo door.

I climb in as Dominico rounds the vehicle and slides in beside me.

Lucille must be late, I muse, recalling how she mentioned that Dominico hates tardy people. Good. Hopefully, she gets in trouble for it. Miss Perfect. Miss soon-to-be Dominico's wife. It makes me want to vomit, and the jealousy I thought I had under control flares up like a fire doused with gasoline.

But when the vehicle starts moving, I cannot suppress the surprise that flashes across my features.

“Is Lucille not joining us?” Dominico tilts his head to the side, his gaze assessing me as he observes my reactions.

“Do you want her to?” I avert my gaze, trying to hide my jealousy and disdain.

“Well, as your future wife, I thought she would join you at this event.” Dominico chuckles, and the sound draws my attention back to him.

“Are you jealous,il mio fiorellino?” I huff and look away, my hands balled into fists at my side.

“No. Of course not.” My cheeks flame with the lie, and there is nohiding behind my hair piled high in a ponytail.

I squeal as I feel his hands around my waist, and then I'm lifted onto his lap. His arm wraps around me, pinning me against him, so my back is pressed against his chest while his head dips into my neck.

“Your jealousy sits on your cheeks and is held in your fists.” I unclench my tightly balled hands, eliciting another chuckle that reverberates through me.

“Tell me you are jealous,” he demands, his mouth nipping my neck lightly as his hand starts bunching the material of my dress up, revealing my thigh. Slowly, he moves further up, his fingers blazing a trail against my skin as his hands edge further upward toward a spot that is now crying with want. Weeping for attention. Days of tension have built up into a need so strong that I grind shamelessly against the hard-on I can feel wedged between my ass cheeks.

“Take them off,” he whispers, his lips grazing my earlobe, sending shockwaves through my body.

I only hesitate briefly before my hands move and obey. I raise my ass slightly and then slip my panties down, letting them fall to my ankles before removing first one leg and then the other. Dominico takes the panties from me and then pushes me back down, grinding his cock into my ass while his hand slips between my legs.

Fuck, it is heavenly. His finger delves in, and I moan loudly, my inhibition disappearing as he works his finger in and out of me. When he adds another one, I nearly lose it, but he keeps the pace steady, bringing me to the edge and then stopping, torturing me, until I am panting and writhing on his lap. His hand circles my neck, and his thumb presses against my jaw, angling my head toward him.

“Do you want to come?” Dark desire flickers in his eyes, and his gaze matches mine. He wants me as much as I want him in this moment. The thought empowers me.

I nod in response, and then my eyes widen as his thumb grazes my clit, his two fingers curling inside me. I am so close—just a little more.

“Admit you were jealous, and I’ll let you come,il mio fiorellino.” Damn. His hands remain still as he raises an eyebrow, and I feel like crying from the frustration; the edge I am on feels like it dwells in the realm of the insane.

“Yes, Dominico, I was jealous.” With a wicked smile, his fingers start moving harder, faster, fucking into me with a pace that sees me fast approaching the orgasm that might destroy me. I am meeting his thrusts, knuckle deep as I fuck his fingers, riding him as I imagine I would his hard cock. When his thumb rubs against my clit and his hand slightly tightens around my neck, I fall over the edge, screaming out his name as I fall into a thousand sparkling pieces.

Sparkling pieces that shine brightest in the dark that holds me tight.

Chapter 16

Dominico

The club is packed—as it should be, requiring minimal effort. The waiting list for next year is already filled. It was like this at all my clubs. The patrons were high-profile, seeking discretion and anonymity, both of which I greatly appreciated and capitalized on. With everyone here looking for the same thing, very little left these walls, and what happened within these confines usually stayed here.

While Nero runs through the figures with me as we sit in the large private area in the restricted upper-level section, my attention drifts. Slips and slides like my fingers did in her sweet pussy.

Little Lily Valentine. Sitting innocently a few seats down from us as if I hadn’t just finger fucked her to orgasm a mere half hour ago. She has made me a perv, with her panties tucked away in my suit pocket for later. For the first time in years, I was as horny as I remember being in my teenage years. But only for her. With the added benefit of having years of skill and restraint under my belt, it made this whole experience even more fucking exquisite.

She annoyed me by sitting far away, but I would allow her this brief distance. I could sense her confusion, and since the whole Lucille situation wasn't verbally resolved, she probably thought I was toying with her. I should let her believe that. Let her wonder what was happening between us. God fucking only knows what it was. All I knew was that I wanted her close to me, especially given the looks she was getting. These men only liked the best, and anyone with eyes could see it in Lily.

As the head of the mafia, it was expected of me to fuck many beautiful women. The archaic idea that it somehow proves my mettle and girth to the rest of the alpha males was still as strong as ever. An idea that would not fast fade and one which I had perpetuated by having a different woman, or two, on my arm every other week and never the same one twice to an event. And while it was for show, as I rarely fucked any of them now, it was believed that I did just that. A belief I did not rectify. Only people who had sex on tap that my role and looks afforded me since I was seventeen years old would know how that could make the experience now so dull and boring. Coupled with the motive my position as head of the mafia instilled in these women, it was done on their part out of fear or hope. The latter of the two the worst. Women who hoped they were the one.

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