Page 69 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Her eyes drifted to my crotch. I could see her thinking, wondering. That was the thing about my wife: she was curious about everything, especially when it related to the human body.

That curiosity was making my dick hard.

Blood pooled in my groin and I began thickening in my jeans. She sucked in a breath. “Are you . . . ?”

“Getting hard? Yes. When a beautiful woman stares at my dick that is generally what happens.”

“Can I watch?”

She didn’t need to ask twice. I grabbed the end of my belt and unbuckled, then unzipped my jeans. Instead of just pulling my cock out, I shoved my jeans and briefs lower on my hips, exposing my cock and balls to my wife’s innocent gaze. I was only half-hard, my dick resting on my thigh, but it was growing thicker by the second.

“Wow, that is amazing. You’re getting harder. What does it feel like?”

I licked my lips. “Amazing. Like I need to fuck.”

“I’m serious. Tell me what it’s like.”

“It’s throbbing and tingling. More and more pressure. Like I need to fuck.”

“I get it,” she said with a laugh—and the sound sank into my bones. This girl, she was curious and happy and bold. A wave of contentment went through me, something I hadn’t experienced in this house for ages.

This girl, she was dangerous.

My wife sank to her knees on the floor. “Can I touch you?”

“Are you still drunk?”

“I was never drunk. Slightly buzzed, maybe. But do you not want me to touch you?”

Of course I did. I craved it like a junkie craved a fix.

Except I was the one who was in control between us, keeping her complacent with orgasms. “Why don’t you finger yourself on the desk while I jerk off?”

“Maybe later. I’d rather do this first.”

“Wait—”

It was too late. Her small fist wrapped around my shaft and tugged. She stroked me up and down with a stronger grip than I would’ve thought a virgin capable of. Merda, that was nice.

I should’ve discouraged her, but what came out of my mouth was, “Va bene, bambina. Keep going.”

“Like this?”

“Mmm, sì. È perfetto.”

I rested my head on the back of the chair, but kept watching her hand. I was fully hard now, and her fingers were unable to meet around my girth. She was so sexy, kneeling at my feet and working my dick. She still wore her glasses and her hair was pulled up on top of her head. I reached and took out the hair band, freeing the long brown strands to drape over her shoulders.

“It’s easier than I thought,” she said. “Slippery almost. Because of your foreskin.”

She sounded breathless, the words rushed. Was she turned on? Dio, I hoped so. “Play with the piercing. Drag your fingers over it as you stroke.” Lightly, she brought her fingers up to the head and brushed the metal. “Again,” I ordered.

She complied, squeezing the head more forcefully this time. The bar shifted in my skin as she moved it back and forth. “Does that feel good?”

“I like seeing you touch it. I’ve never had a woman so fascinated by it.”

“Really?” Her head tilted up and she looked at me. “I find that hard to believe.”

It was true. Most women just wanted to feel the metal against their g-spot during fucking. They weren’t interested in the piercing beyond that.

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