Page 36 of Dirty Mafia King
He’s dirty. And the picture he paints has me shaking with need.
A finger glides across my folds.
“Fucking hell, you’re soaking wet. You like this, don’t you?”
I nod.
He withdraws his finger with a sexy smirk. Then, with a shove, pushes me back onto my elbows.
My hips lift as he drags the same digit between my lips. “Say my name,” he rasps.
“Sebastiano.”
“Bastian. Say it again.”
“Bastian … ahhh!”
He feeds his finger inside me until it bottoms out. Doing exactly what he promised yet still surprising me.
I feel full.
It feels strange.
But as he begins to thrust, mostly what I feel is bliss.
“Look at the pretty little virgin getting fucked by her first finger.”
I begin panting in rhythm with his movements.
“That’s right. Your greedy cunt knows what you need. Milk it, baby.”
Every emotion—fear, worry, panic, confusion, excitement, anger—converges into one until the tension becomes so intense I combust.
I shatter hard, and cry out his name. “Bastian. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes.”
His name on my lips is the last thing I remember as I pass out.
I’m disoriented when I recover, and embarrassed. Who faints from an orgasm? Me, evidently. But when I catch my breath, harsh, cruel reality is there to greet me.
“You’ll move into the casita tomorrow. I’ll call Don Lucchese and invite him to the engagement party.” He stands before me, already a troublesome memory. All business, with little mercy. “Don’t fuck this up, or you’ll regret it.”
His back’s to me.
Like nothing happened.
Like I’m a discarded toy he’s already forgotten.
I roll to sit.
His final command is a slap in the face.
“Get out.”
CHAPTER12
ALESSIA
I’ve been trapped, in one form or another, since my mother’s death. A bird in flight, passing from one not-so-gilded cage to another. But my new prison is pure gold, a place you’d find inArchitectural Digest.
