Page 9 of Mafia King: Matteo
“Trust me, Mr. Grey, I’m no angel. Follow me.” She sashays like a model in her red-bottom stilettos and leads me to what I assume is a room. She pushes aside the beading hanging in the doorway.
I follow her into a room with dozens of candles burning. The wrought-iron bed takes up the entire room, and the scene reminds me of a shrine in a vampire movie.
She takes a few long sips of the martini before she sets the glass on the table. I toss back the rest of my drink and put my empty glass beside the bowl of condoms.
I slip my hand behind her neck and pull her into my chest. I cup her large tit, placing my hand between the fabric and her hard nipple.
My god, she’s heavenly.
Her arms wrap around my neck. Her hand slips inside my shirt, and her other hand begins to unbutton it. I shrug out of it to help her undress me. If it were up to me, I’d shuck everything, but to a woman dying of thirst, the first few drops of water are always the sweetest.
She runs her soft hand slowly over my chest as if memorizing the contour. I’m starting to relax when she surprises me by grabbing my nipple and pinching it until it’s hard.
My excitement is at an all-time high. She likes a bit of pain. So do I.
CHAPTER 4
ALENA
I love a dirty martini and could make a meal from the green olives stuffed with blue cheese. I enjoy sucking on each one and rolling them around in my mouth before chewing and swallowing. I close my eyes to savor the last one and listen to the smooth jazz playing in the background. I get a whiff of bourbon and tobacco and open my eyes to see a handsome devil handing me a drink. I swallow hard when he introduces himself as Mr. Grey.
I recognized him from earlier when I saw him speaking with Madame M. He’s not a regular and must be someone of importance to muscle his way in here. He’s not at all dressed for tonight’s Angels and Demons. It’s a theme evening.
His clothes fit him well. He’s handsome in the classic sense, with a strong jaw, piercing eyes, and sun-kissed skin. His tan is probably natural because he doesn’t impress me as one of those city slickers who go to a tanning salon. No, this man spends time outside and doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.
He’s older, possibly in his thirties. It may be time for me to change it up and stop picking men my own age. What do I have to lose? It’s a chilly night—nothing will change if I go home and wall myself off in my condo.
Mr. Grey impresses me as the serious type who doesn’t smile much. When I call him unconventional, I see the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
Once inside our room, that same mouth ravages mine. I love the fullness of his lips. Warmth spreads down my body. He holds me by the neck, limiting my movement, but I can still stroke his chest and nipples.
He has strong hands, and I gasp when he rakes his fingers down my back and grabs my ass. As he sucks hard on my neck, I yearn for him to take me. I reach down and grab his hard cock. It’s huge, and the thought of him inside me dampens my crotchless panties.
I can tell by the way he moves his fingers inside of me that he knows his way around a woman’s body. Between his sensual touch and the threat of the unknown, I’m left trembling and hanging in the balance. Lost in the euphoria of his fingers moving inside my wet pussy, I dig my nails into his back to remain standing.
Sensing my needs, he pulls his fingers out and licks the juice off each one, then scoops me up and tosses me onto the bed. I land on my back. He grabs my stocking-covered legs and pulls me to the edge of the mattress. Running his fingers over the pearls on my fishnet stockings, he lets out a low growl.
He quickly kicks off his shoes and removes the rest of his clothes. I grab his stiff cock and slowly stroke it while watching the light return to his eyes.
I can tell he’s about to explode when he roughly pulls my hand from his cock, grabs a condom and sheaths himself. He rubs the large head of his cock in my opening, and I moan.
“Do you like that?”
“Mm.”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
I shake my head. The tantric state I’m in has me feeling buzzed. He grabs my hands and pulls my arms over my head. He holds me immobile while his lips latch onto a nipple. He sucks hard, then releases it, flicking it with his tongue until my back arches off the mattress.
I squirm under him. Fuck, this is thrilling.
His free hand rips open the laces of the bustier, and my large breasts spill out. He grabs one and gives it a hearty squeeze. I pull my knees together and writhe under him.
“No! Legs apart.”
“I can’t,” I manage to choke out.
“You can and you will,” his deep voice fills the air between us.
