Page 28 of Mafia King: Matteo
My hand clenches the hair on the back of his head. The other hand grabs his suit lapel like a vice grip.
His cock strokes the walls of my pussy, and I moan and groan with each thrust. My clit is shredded by the sheer size of him, and I wonder if I’ll bleed afterward, like the last time.
One of his hands moves to my lower back as I arch and climax. I bite his neck to keep my screams from entering the stale air encapsulating us. He groans into my neck as he fills me with his cum. His forehead briefly rests on my shoulder.
He pulls out and gently eases me to the floor. I’m unsteady on my heels as I try to stand. I’m dizzy from the head rush. My leg muscles are fatigued. He holds me to him, sensing my predicament. I’m still getting my balance and recovering from the head rush when I hear him zip up his pants. I guess we’re done.
“I’m very possessive. If you value your friend, keep him at a safe distance from you. I protect what’s mine,” he threatens, then he’s gone.
Fuck!
That was hot, and all my senses were reeling. I make my way to the women’s room and enter a stall where I ball up toilet paper and clean up all his denied children running down my leg. I toss it into the toilet and press the flush button. I pull my dress down and walk like I’ve just been fucked.
After I splash cold water on my face, I grab a paper towel and dry my face, blotting it so my makeup won’t run. I use my fingers to fluff my hair into place and hope Kirill doesn’t notice.
Dammit. I should have insisted Mr. Grey give me his real name tonight. Next time he wants me, I’ll demand information first. It’s unfair that he knows more about me than I do about him.
Maybe Izzy is right. I need a guard. Mr. Grey is a dangerous man. He’s not the type to show emotion, judging from his detached style of fucking me at will and then leaving as if it was nothing. He’s not one for cuddles or handholding. I know that much. His hands are strong but smooth. I wonder what he does for a living.
I quickly return to the table to make up for the time I’ve been gone and find Kirill pouring me another vodka.
“There was such a line,” I lie my ass off.
“I would have sent a search party, but I know you can hold your own.”
“Yes, I can,” I say as I sit and promptly down the vodka.
His gaze lingers on my face longer than usual, watching me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine. Just a bit nervous about a job interview tomorrow. I’m sure that’s all it is. I can’t stay out too late.”
“Okay.” He finishes the bottle.
“The noise is getting to me. I’m ready to go,” I say. It’s true. The noise is making my ears ring.
“No problem,” he says, holding two hundred dollars and tossing them on the table.
“Did you get her number?” I tease.
“Wouldn’t you love to know,” he replies as he escorts me to his Lamborghini, which the valet has brought to the front door for us. He helps me get in.
Kirill drives me home as we chit-chat, and then he waits for me to enter my building before leaving. Inside my condo, I slump against the door, dropping my purse and taking off my heels. More cum trickles out of me. I slip my dress off and use it to wipe away the cum as I walk naked into the bathroom.
I take a long, hot shower to wash off the smoke and smells of the nightclub. Once I’m dried off and in my pajamas, I turn off the light in my room and look at the city below.
Where are you, Mr. Grey?
I take a cab to my interview. There’s no way I’m walking ten city blocks in heels. I’m wearing my new outfit and hope I’m not overdressed. I was surprised to find the address is a huge building. I make my way to the security man standing at the front desk. It’s not unusual after 9/11.
I look at the electronic screen on the marble counter, which displays company names. The guard at the desk asks what floor and lifts the phone. He nods to me, saying twelfth floor, and I step toward the metal detectors—the man in uniform motions for me to walk through. I put my purse in the container to my left and walked through the scanner. He looks in my purse to check for weapons and hands it back. I make my way to the elevator. When I step off the twelfth floor, I discover that Elementi Decor takes up the entire floor. That costs a fortune in rent. I wonder what else this company does.
I give my name to the receptionist, who instructs me to take a seat. She’s pretty and answers the phone in Italian. It’s such a pretty language. I wish I knew how to speak it, but that will only happen if I have someone to speak it with. Izzy is half-Italian, but she knows more Russian words than Italian ones.
