Page 52 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

No way could I say that. “You’re trying to embarrass me.”

“No, I want to teach you.”

The cool air was torture on my overheated flesh. My heart was pounding in my ears. Could I do this?

As if to convince me, he gave me one long swipe of his tongue from my entrance to my clit. I threw my head back, the bliss echoing in every cell, every pore.

But nothing followed.

I huffed, aggravated. “You suck.”

“Do it, piccola bambina innocente.” Then he began whispering in Sicilian, while kissing the insides of my thighs. I closed my eyes, floating on the incredible sensations, listening to his mostly dirty words and encouragement.

It was too much. I couldn’t hold out any longer.

“Please, Mo.” I dragged in a deep breath. “Please, lick me.”

“Say it all together.”

He flicked the tip of his tongue across my clit, and I shouted, “Please lick my pussy, Mo.”

“You forgot one word.”

God, why did it matter? He needed to hear me curse so badly? “Please fucking lick my pussy, Mo.”

“Va bene,” he crooned, then drew my clitoris into his mouth and sucked. It was like being plugged into an electric outlet. My back bowed, the muscles in my thighs quaking, and I let out a long moan as I instantly shot toward the peak.

His tongue lashed across my flesh in his mouth. It was too much. I held my breath and clutched at him, my fingers threading through his hair. My hips rocked upward, but Giacomo’s strong hands held onto my hips to keep me still. I didn’t hate the feeling. I was his to control, his to pleasure.

I was his.

“Oh, god!” I went over the edge, shaking, muscles contracting as the climax sent me flying. It was so, so good, a thousand times stronger than any orgasm I’d given myself. And it went on and on, his tongue and lips working me over, like he was wringing every drop of pleasure from my body.

It finally ebbed and my body sagged into the mattress, spent. I panted as I tried to catch my breath, my skin covered in sweat. I couldn’t move if I tried.

Giacomo didn’t have the same problem, apparently. Eyes locked on my naked crotch, he shot up to his knees and reached for his belt buckle. Before I could ask what he was doing, he reached inside his briefs and took out his very hard penis.

I was now staring directly at his erection. It was larger and thicker than I expected. I hadn’t seen many erections, but this seemed a prime example.

And it was impossible to miss the silver beads along the top and bottom of the head.

A piercing. He waspierced.

On his penis.

He ran his fingers lightly over the piercing, then began stroking his cock. I couldn’t look away. I had so many questions—about his piercing, about masturbating. But this was no time to ask. He gripped himself tightly, much tighter than I would’ve dared, and pumped feverishly with his fist.

“Innocente,” he mumbled, still looking at my exposed flesh. “Ero primo.”I was first.

With a grunt, he began orgasming and ropes of thick white liquid shot onto my thighs. It was warm and wet, and showed no sign of slowing down as the jets kept coming and coming. It coated his shaft and piercing, and ran down into his briefs. All the while his massive body twitched and shook, his large chest heaving as he sucked in air.

Wow, performing oral sex on me had really turned him on. I hadn’t expected a partner to enjoy it, too. I stared at his dick as he touched himself. Would I like having that in my mouth?

Finally, his shoulders relaxed and he let go of his shaft. It hung there, not fully erect but not soft, the skin coated in the same sticky fluid that was covering me. The room smelled like both of us, the air humid with bad decisions and irrevocable choices.

I pushed my glasses up on my nose to better see him. “You have a piercing.”

He blinked before reaching for the bedsheet. “An apadravya, sì.” Grabbing the silky fabric, he wiped his shaft, then his hands. He tucked himself into his briefs and refastened his jeans. “You will like it, don’t worry.”

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