Page 43 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Two to four weeks for my cycle, then another two for ovulation.” This wasn’t always true. Some women became fertile within days, others longer, after stopping birth control. But Giacomo didn’t know that. Besides, none of that mattered because I wasn’t on the pill.

And we weren’t having sex.

Head shaking, Giacomo stared at the floor. I could see his lips moving as he cursed quietly in Italian. “Stop taking them today, Emma. No more pills. And if I find out you are lying to me, I will punish you.”

He wouldn’t find out. Not to mention that I would do everything in my power to string it out as long as possible, too.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Prepare yourself, wife. I’m giving you three weeks. If we haven’t arrived at another solution to our problem by then we will have sex every day for a month. Your only job will be to milk every drop of come from my balls with your tight pussy.”

He made it sound like a threat. “Whether I like it or not? Was that what you were about to say?”

He walked around to my side of the bar and came to stand behind me. I started to turn, but he pressed close, his front sealing tight to my back. The heat from him sank into my skin through my clothes as his strong body surrounded me. My skin crawled with awareness, a rush of desire settling between my legs.

“Piccola bambina innocente.”Little innocent girl.His lips rested above my ear, his gruff voice penetrating deep into my bones. “When I fuck you, you will like it. Every. Single. Time.Te lo prometto.”

Then he was gone.

His footsteps retreated on the tile, then I heard the door slam. I gripped the marble counter, my fingertips clutching the polished stone like a lifeline. The only sound in the kitchen were my rapid exhalations as I tried to recover from whatever just happened.

The Italian, the endearment, the way his voice sounded like smoke and sex . . ..

Whew. I fanned my face with my hand. I wasn’t certain I could resist this version of Giacomo. The feeling of him against me, like I was both in danger and completely safe at the same time, thrilled some deep dark part of my animal brain. It was every naughty fantasy, every filthy desire brought to life.

Even now, after he left, my heart was racing and I craved more. I couldn’t escape these thoughts, these erotic feelings he elicited no matter how hard I tried. There was no hope for it.

Taking my phone, I left my cup on the island and crept out of the kitchen. I didn’t want Sal to know I was turned on and going upstairs to masturbate. Breakfast could wait.

At the top of the stairs, I paused. Hmm. I should head toward my wing, opposite from where myhusbandslept, but I hadn’t ventured into his space yet. I was curious. What did his bedroom look like? Would it smell like him? Was he neat? All the rooms in my wing were huge with ornate fixtures and loads of light. Somehow I couldn’t picture gold curtains in Giacomo’s room.

Screw it. I had to find out.

* * *

The opposite wing was much different than my end of the house. There were no ornate details or fixtures here. The cream-colored walls were dirty and bare, with the paint peeling in places. Old and frayed carpets. It was like the decorator hadn’t bothered to continue along this section of the house during the remodel. This vibe was utilitarian, more like a hospital room. A far cry from the Las Vegas strip I was sleeping in.

A single door stood open at the end of the hallway. Was this his bedroom?

I started forward, then paused. There might be cameras. Both of my brothers-in-law had security in almost every nook and cranny of their homes. So, was someone watching me snoop? I did a quick search of the ceiling and walls, but didn’t see any devices.

I was willing to risk it.

Besides, this was just a peek. I didn’t plan on stealing anything.

With a fingertip, I pushed the door wider to reveal a small bedroom. Straightaway I knew this was Giacomo’s domain. The scent of him—like wood and oranges—hung in the air. My eyes drifted to the bed immediately.

“When I fuck you, you will like it. Every. Single. Time.”

The bed was smaller than I expected, not even queen-sized. How was he comfortable in it? My bed was twice the size of this one, which made no sense.

On top rested a dark blue bedspread with matching sheets and a few pillows. Nothing fancy and perfectly made. He clearly wasn’t the type to leave it messy. In fact, the entire room was neat, with no clothes on the floor or discarded shoes. I hadn’t expected that. Most men, from what I gathered online, weren’t very tidy.

Maybe his bathroom was a mess.

Wrong. It was just as organized, just as sparse, as the bedroom. A toothbrush in a holder and hand soap—that was it. Two bottles were lined up perfectly in the shower, and a folded towel rested on the rack. The air was still humid from his morning shower.

As far as revelations went this was a big let down. If someone hoped to learn more about Giacomo Buscetta, it wouldn’t be here.

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