Page 34 of Mafia King: Matteo
I’m in a tantric state, teetering on the cusp of my pleasure, not knowing which way I should fall. Do I come now? Or hold out for a more incredible rush?
“Don’t come yet,” he murmurs as his lips brush my neck. “I’m going to choke you, and you’ll love it.”
Choke?
With his hand on my throat, I can’t protest. I can’t speak. It’s as if I’ve been given an injection to paralyze me.
What the fuck?
Men have tried this move before, but it never did anything special.
His fingers ravage my pussy, pumping me faster and faster. My nub turns hard, as do my nipples inside my bra. I long for him to rip off my clothing and grab my breasts. I want to tug at them and make them hurt, but it isn’t easy to breathe.
Oh my God, will I die?
“Come now, Angel,” he says as he finishes me. I’m overcome by an intense wave of euphoria that leaves me reeling. I come again and again. These are the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had.
How did he know that would happen?
He hits the button to release the emergency stop. In my post-coital bliss, I lean against the wall and watch the elevator door open. The doors open and shut—he’s gone.
I take a deep breath.
Fuck, that was intense.
I’m powerless against him. I can’t hold out for answers. I’m a victim of falling under the spell of Mr. Grey.
I press the number 10 and pull my skirt down. I fluff my hair, smooth my modest skirt with the palms of my hands, and pick up my purse off the floor as the elevator door opens.
When I stand upright, I find myself face-to-face with Dima. He’s a Russian wall, standing tall before me. There’s no getting around a confrontation.
“What the hell happened?” he asks in Russian.
“I’m flustered. I was stuck. I don’t know what happened. It jerked, and I kept hitting the buttons, and then it started to move. So here I am!”
“Your cheeks are flushed. Are you okay? Was anyone in there with you? I saw it stopped before the eighth floor.”
I say, “No,” and hope there is no video feed of the inside elevator.
“Well, I reported it to maintenance. I was in a panic. Did you see him?” He asks in Russian.
“No. I’m sorry if I worried you. I’ll wait for you next time,” I offer in an attempt to console him. I have to throw him off Mr. Grey’s scent as quickly as possible.
“I think that’s best. I don’t trust this situation with your mystery man. Every day that passes is a reason for concern. You should have never let it get out of control,” he adds as he gruffly takes me by the arm and leads me to the office like a child.
“Fine,” I snap as he opens the glass doors to the office. I sail through it, and my face is still pink with the afterglow of my sexual encounter.
I walk toward the sound of muffled voices and find myself in a huge conference room surrounded by glass. This feels like a fishbowl.
“You must be the new girl,” a chipper voice says behind me. When I turn, I see a woman a few years older than me. She’s wearing an argyle sweater, black slacks, and brown ankle boots.
“Yes, I’m Alena Pasnov. I was hired yesterday.”
“I’m Penny. I’m Sophia’s assistant. She’s our boss. Follow me. I’ll introduce you.” She’s shorter than I but walks faster, and I practically jog to keep up.
“Thank you,” I reply as I follow her. We pass three partitions that each house a chair and a laptop. I notice a main printer in an office station to the left with shelving for supplies. There is a room with fabrics and color scheme templates.
The office concept is an open work environment to facilitate collaboration. The overstuffed floor pillows and spa music playing in the background help to stimulate creativity. There’s no need for artificial lighting because a wall of windows allows plenty of natural light. I’m surprised at how comfortable I feel already in this new environment.
