Page 66 of Working for the Mob

I thanked God that I still wore the pink silk bloomers he bought me from the night before. I’d die in embarrassment if I had changed into the hideous white ones from the day I arrived.

A garter belt covered them anyway, and neither stayed on long. Art tore them down to lay with my forgotten skirt, leaving my nude silk stockings still on.

His lips returned to mine, and he ran his hands along my legs to my inner thighs, sending an SOS to the neatly trimmed area just above. He played and played, as I pulsed in desire. It became too much and I bit his neck in frustration. He mercifully sent a finger where it belonged, and rubbed circles on my clit. Waves of pleasure washed out.

I found him through his boxers, and his thick cock flexed in my hand. He grunted, and increased the force behind his fingers; I quickly lost my grip from the power behind him. With his body holding me against the wall, I couldn’t move. He didn’t care what I tried to do. I could only submit to his desire.

His digits slid down and I moaned as he inserted one.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asked.

I wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face and sit on it at the same time.

“Yes,” I breathed.

The strength behind his finger as it pressed against the ceiling of my vagina was overwhelming. I opened more at each masterful stroke, wanting him––calling out for him to give me more.

“We’re going to the bed,” he said, and threw me like a rag doll onto the mattress. A loss echoed throughout my insides with his hand gone.

“Art!” I yelled, in deprivation. The two seconds our bodies were separated gave me time for one foreign thought. “Are we really doing this?”

“As long as it’s what you want,” he said, and flicked his boxers to the ground. His award-winning erection, illuminated by the sun streaming through the window, indicated exactly what he wanted.

I couldn’t turn back now. I was in too deep. Here’s the man who drove two strangers to a train station, let them stay in his house, gave them jobs, bought them clothes. Art Necci may work for the mob, but I had wanted him inside of me since the moment we met.

I met his eyes. “It is.”

He pinned me on the bed. I was helpless against him. His mouth started at my breasts and he tickled his tongue down to my pubic area.

He didn’t tease this time. He drove it in and lapped at it, while my hands grasped around for something to hold on to. He finally settled for my boobs and played with my attentive buds.

His lips sucked on my clit, massaged it with his tongue, and sent two fingers inside. The supernatural sensations threw pleasure jolts through me. I reflexively gyrated on his face, but instead of backing off he pulled me towards him. Art wanted me to ride his whole face.

The swells rocked me back and forth. I grabbed his hair and pulled him in. Finally, a large wave of pleasure erupted and I hoped that I didn’t get his beard too wet, because I experienced the most mind-rocking orgasm. He didn’t stop though. He rode the wave and held me on his mouth, refusing to let go while I let out a pleasure moan.

A few seconds later––a minute later, an hour later, I don’t know––he let go.He stood up. I curled into a ball, to enjoy the tremors that ran down my limbs. I could barely lift my head to see him. This was his actual sex suit, with every muscle in his toned body looming over me. This was the man who owned the town.

“Genevieve, you’re wet just for me. I want to be inside you now,” he said, but nothing could prepare me for his long, mob-boss of a dick to slide inside me.

I moaned again, once he was entirely inside. A new presence filled me, and I wondered how I had ever lived without it.

I opened my eyes to his own brown gaze. Their greed ballooned a ball of energy in my chest. It was one thing to enjoy myself. It became ecstasy knowing you are sharing the same experience with someone else. Goodness, I hope I’m not falling for him.

He flipped me onto my back without pulling out, and I caught the full implication of how big he was. I’m surprised he pushed the whole thing in at once.

“Genevieve,” he said, and he threw his arm onto the bed next to my head. He started out slow and pushed hard and deliberate thrusts. He filled me completely; I bit his lip to take every pelvic thrust.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked.

“For once, please shut up,” I said, and he grinned back at me.

He pounded a little harder and increased his speed. I grasped at anything to hold onto. I needed a rope. Or restraints tied to each arm. I settled for the headboard. The only thing left to do was to ride it out.

Faster and harder. Faster and harder. I grabbed his hair, and yelped, “Art!”

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Gen. You’re the most infuriatingly beautiful woman I have ever met,” he said, and increased the strength of each pump. He came at me hungry, as if I were the only one that could fulfill his need. I was the only one that could satisfy his hunger.

He seized my wrists in each hand and pinned me against the bed. He pulled on them for leverage, plunging himself in deeper with each thrust. His mouth found my nipples again and he tugged at them with his lips. The double sensation was too much to handle. I was helpless against his desire––my desire.

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