Page 92 of He Should Be Mine
“Yes, Boss.”
Riccardo’s grin is malevolent and unhinged. His attention snaps to Molly.
“You don’t mind an audience, do you, Baby?”
My guts twist. The motherfucker. He is also doing this as a power move against Molly. Reminding him of his place. Putting him down. Being cruel.
“Anything for my daddy,” Molly says softly.
His blue eyes meet mine for a moment. He looks nervous, but then I see a flash of something else. A flash that warms my belly.
Molly just let me know that this is going to be for me. It is Riccardo who is the audience. The hapless bystander. I’m the one Molly is going to be thinking of. This show is mine.
“Sit,” Riccardo says to me in much the same tone people use on dogs. He points to Molly’s spot on the sofa.
Silently, I sit down.
Molly uncoils himself from his cross-legged position. He lifts up onto his knees. Now he is kneeling on the floor. Kneeling in front of two dangerous men. Two mafia men who both think he belongs to them. But only one of us is right.
Molly pulls down the strappy sleeve of his romper. The material is stretchy and it moves easily. He frees both his shoulders. He slides the cloth down, revealing his nipples and then his stomach. He keeps going and I suck in a breath.
He slips the romper off his hips and pushes it all the way down to his knees. He is not wearing any underwear. I already knew that from how skintight his outfit was. But the shock of it is still profound.
I am looking at Molly’s cock.
For the very first time.
Okay, I’ve had glimpses. When Riccardo drugged him and he wandered out nude. When he was sick and I needed to dress him. But I didn’t look those times.
I’m looking now.
He doesn’t have any hair. I was right about that. He also doesn’t have a piercing, I was wrong about that. I thoughthe’d have one on the tip and that the color would match whatever jewelry he was wearing on his nipples and belly button.
He is uncut. Another thing I was right about. Although, with his age and being British, it was a pretty safe bet.
It’s a little bigger than I pictured. Fatter too. Although, he is soft at the moment, so it is hard to say for sure.
I lick my lips. I’m staring at Molly’s cock and I like it. A lot.
A giddying wave of relief washes over me. I am not confused by the way he dresses and the way he acts. My subconscious doesn’t think he is a girl. He is very definitely not a girl, and I still want him with a passion that burns.
Molly’s hand starts stroking his cock. Rhythmic, confident strokes that my heartbeat aligns to.
His cock swells. It grows in his hand. Slowly, but steadily.
I’m mesmerized. I have never seen a more hypnotic sight. I place my hands over my own growing cock. I’m pretty sure the gesture is the most obvious in the world and hides nothing, but I can’t think what else I can do. There is no way I can watch this and not get hard.
Molly’s nail polish is a glittery pale pink. It catches the light as his hand glides up and down the length of his cock. I love how pale he is. Almost snowy white. The rest of him is lightly tanned, a soft healthy golden glow. But his cock has never been kissed by the sun.
English people have such a milky complexion. Molly makes it look good. Really fucking good. I can’t wait to wrap my hand around his cock and see the contrast in the shades of our skin tones. My large, rough,olive-skinned hand is going to look exquisite on his cute, snow white cock.
“Use your bussy,” Riccardo orders with a tilt of his chin.
Molly flashes him a grin and a naughty wink. He keeps steadily working his cock, but his other hand lifts up to his mouth. He slides two fingers in and starts sucking. His pink lips stretch around his fingers. I cannot look away.
He sucks and sucks. Soft little moans spill out. His sapphire bright eyes flutter closed. He works his fingers like they are a cock. He fucks his own face with them.
The messy bunches of his blond hair are crying out to be undone. I need to run my hands through his hair. Silky strands that I would grip tight and hold.
