Page 23 of The Vow

And her father had thought this police sergeant, Carmelo, was just the man for the job. Hmm, she begrudgingly agreed that Carmelo would look good in a suit. A tailored, expensive, black suit. A crisp white shirt over that bronzed, meaty torso of his. Sharp tailoring to skim down him thighs, hiding the huge, pierced-

She cleared her throat and flicked her hair over her shoulder. God she should not be thinking like this. Lusting over the bozo cop she definitely was not going to marry. Not even going to see again. Certainly not going to message at all. No siree. She slipped her phone back into her bag and zipped it up with a flourish.

No fantasizing over that man again, she told herself firmly, biting her lip and wishing she wasn’t now thinking of the way he had sounded when he’d shot his cum into her mouth and down her throat not an hour beforehand.

Carmelo

Carmelo bit his lip and tried to restrain his hands. It was late. Cal, Carmelo’s big, retired police sniffer Alsatian dog, was snoring in his basket. They’d gone out for a run. Carmelo felt angsty, restless. He felt a million things swirling in his brain and body. He didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want to marry a stuck up little mafia princess. An entitled, bratty, criminal, at the end of the day. A pretty criminal, he’d grant her that. More than pretty. Hot. With a mouth that could keep him satisfied for a lifetime. Yeah. A neat, curvy little body that drove his heart rate sky high. And a fiery spirit that he wanted to play with, watch and tease…Yeah. Fuck.

It wasn’t just a one-off hook up to him. He knew it. He felt it. He had tried to run it out of his system. He had jogged within his breathing, staying in control, breathing in for two steps, breathing out for two steps, with Cal bounding along beside him, panting slightly, but not overexerted. He’d jogged as the sun had set, hoping it would take this strange fluttery feeling with it. It hadn’t worked. He’d come back to his dull apartment, showered, eaten something, fed Cal. It was dark, Carmelo had finished his beer and nothing was on TV. He needed something to take the edge off.

His phone sat on the arm of the couch, calling to him silently. No messages. He’d checked all day, glancing at it, holding it when he otherwise would have left it lying about forgotten. She hadn’t messaged him. She wouldn’t, she had said she wouldn’t. He had said he wouldn’t. But he wanted to. So bad. Earlier had been…

He tipped his head back on the couch with a sigh. He started getting hard thinking about it. Her face when she saw his piercing. Her lips, her hot mouth. All that wet saliva. And then how her core had felt under his fingers, under his tongue.

Fuck it.

He grabbed his phone and typed quickly before he chickened out.

“You make it back for your tennis match?” he typed, and hit send on the message app. It was a banal message, he hadn’t given it too much thought. He just had to break the ice somehow.

He took a breath of air in and put the phone down. Now, if she didn’t respond, it wasn’t a big deal, it was probably for the better, it was just a bit of fun, she was everything he’d vowed to fight, she represented crime and disorder, and fuck she was a spoilt, stuck up-

His phone lit up. One new message. From Wifey.

With his throat suddenly feeling tight, he snatched up his phone and read her response.

“Not in time, managed to negotiate a rematch for next week.”

He nodded, bit his lip. Her response was minimal. Perfunctory. Fine. Carmelo pursed his lips and nodded. Okay, that was fine. He typed a response with a smiley face at the end, “Of course you did.” There, polite, friendly, he knew she was safely back. He didn’t want to get mixed up in any of this anyway, it was good she was keeping him at arm’s length-

“I can’t stop thinking about what we did earlier.” The words from her lit up his phone. Lit up his world.

He let his fingers dance over the keyboard to type the first thing that crossed his mind. This was spontaneous, impulsive. Not like him, and yet, he felt more like himself than he had in a while. His blood was pounding suddenly in his ears. His dull evening was suddenly already so much better.

“Me, too. Fuck, it was hot.”

“Yessss,” she replied. “I’m supposed to be studying but I can’t focus…”

He pushed a hand down his pants and grabbed his cock. He was hard, his cock head was instantly wet where his ring went into his slit. He caught some of the precum with his thumb and massaged it into his cock.

He messaged back with the other hand. “I’m supposed to be protecting society from you and your family but I’m jacking myself off right now thinking about what we did earlier.” He knew it wasn’t classy, he knew it wasn’t right, but fuck it, he didn’t care in that moment. “What are you wearing?”

Her response was immediate. “I’m lying on my bed, in my pajamas…”

“Tell me more.” He messaged tersely.

“Oh, just some silky little shorts and a spaghetti strap top…” She added a playful emoji to the end. She knew what she was doing, the little minx. She was adding fuel to the fire. And fuck it, he’d happily go down in flames for this. For her.

“Underwear?”

“No.”

“Fuck, I’d do a lot of unholy things to see your nipples poking out of that silk, Princess, I bet your tits are fantastic…”

She didn’t type back.

He put his phone down like he’d been burnt by it. He had gone too far. He sunk his head back into the sofa, his hand froze beneath his pants, cursing himself. He was a grown man, salivating over a college student, who happened to be the daughter of a notorious Armenian mafia criminal. He needed to-

---