Page 12 of Captured Fantasy

“You okay, Barone? You’ve been off since the funeral.” Amadeo’s brows drew together.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said shortly.

Amadeo pushed his hands in his pockets and looked out over the fence surrounding the pool, his eyes fixing on something far away. “Sure this doesn’t have something to do with the glorious Mrs. Lorenza Russo.”

“You know, you’re a bastard for pulling up on me like that with her in your car,” I said, not bothering to deny his words. “She looked like she never wanted to see me again. Although, Jesus, she looked so fucking good.”

Amadeo released a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but she’s clearly gotten under your skin, so why don’t you go for it. You don’t have to marry her, just give her a good time.”

“There’s the old Mads, right there,” I said. “I doubt she wants me after how I came onto her at her husband’s funeral.”

“I don’t get the feeling she’s all that cut up about her husband’s death. It was a marriage of convenience and judging by how tight she’s wound, Mrs. Russo has never…had anyone do any unwinding.”

“You can just say she’s never had a good fuck. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Carolina says I need to stop being so vulgar,” Amadeo said with a slight smile playing around his mouth. “I’m being a good husband and making an effort. Not that you’re the best influence.”

I flipped on my back, floating on the water beneath the cloudless sky. “I don’t see how Mrs. Russo fits into my life right now.”

“Bet you could fit into her though.” Amadeo’s eyes glinted.

“I’m not fucking her,” I said.

“Makes me think you could feel something for her, Barone,” said Amadeo, turning to head back into the clubhouse. “Better watch yourself.”

Our conversation agitated me enough that I gave up trying to relax and went back into the clubhouse and got dressed. I was restless today and nothing seemed to fill the driving need to keep moving. Maybe I should go to the ports and go over my inventory from last night to make sure everything was set before the loaders arrived. But I’d already been over it twice and I knew it was all accounted for and my reports were sent in.

I didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. Maybe being efficient wasn’t always a good thing.

After another drink at the bar, I went back to my condo overlooking the river. It was a beautiful, expensive space with a view that stretched for miles. Even if it did make me feel like an entitled douchebag sometimes, I liked some of the perks of being from one of the outfit’s more affluent families.

I showered, closing my eyes beneath the hot spray and remembered the sensation of putting my fingers between Mrs. Russo’s thighs. God, she was such a sweet, little thing. Without realizing it, I’d wrapped my hand around my hard cock and started jerking myself to the memory.

Everything about her turned me on. Her perfect house that smelled like fresh linen and lilacs, her fluttering curtains, and her scrubbed floors. The way her slender ankles rose up from her heels, the way her skirt shifted as she walked, just showing the curve of her ass. The confidence in her steady, blue-violet stare had surprised me, but then I’d never been involved with a woman older than myself.

A wave of arousal moved down my spine as I thought about the gap between our ages. Seven years wasn’t a big difference, but when it was her that was older, it felt different. All of the couples in the outfit with an age gap were made up of older men with younger women.

The thought that surely her husband, who was fifty years her senior, hadn’t satisfied her aroused me even further. I wanted to be the one to make her come, to feel the shudder run through her hips, to watch her head fall back as she moaned.

Jerking off wasn’t going to fix this. I stepped out of the shower and, despite my better judgement, texted Elsa that a car would be over to pick her up when her shift ended. She was always ready for a good time and she was a decent lay. Perhaps she could ride Mrs. Russo right out of my brain.

Elsa arrived in the early evening. She always wore preppy clothes—lots of bright colors, monogrammed t-shirts, and white sneakers that contrasted with her smooth, tanned legs. I took the steak off the grill and she stood watching me cut it up as she pulled her blonde hair free of its braid.

“I had a bite on the way over,” she said. “Mind if I shower?”

“Make it quick,” I said, slapping her across the ass.

By the time I was done and had laid the steak aside to rest, Elsa was on my bed. She always kept her skin tanned, except for the three little triangles where her bikini covered her, and her pussy was waxed. I stripped my boxers off and climbed onto the bed on my hands and knees, knocking her thighs open with my jaw. Her back arced as I grazed my lips over her entrance, tasting a little hint of musky sweetness.

“Want me to make you come, sweetheart?” I murmured.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers curling in my hair. “Make me come, daddy.”

I liked it when she called me that, it made me feel powerful and dirty, both things I enjoyed feeling during sex. She moaned, closing her eyes, as I circled my tongue over her entrance, warming her to my touch. When I moved my fingers up, pinching her clit just a little, she swore under her breath.

“This is why I can’t stop hooking up with you,” she breathed.

Her pussy pulsed beneath my fingers, jerking as her muscles contracted. Bending my head, I pulled her clit into my mouth and began licking it in short, soft strokes until her fingers tightened in my hair.

---