Page 96 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

I arched my back, desperate for his touch. “Please, marito.”

Another long drag of his tongue. “Don’t worry, bambina. We are going to make sure you come a lot. It improves the chances of conception.”

He wasn’t wrong, but how had he stumbled across this information? “How do you know that?”

“You aren’t the only one who does their research when it comes to anatomy.”

A rush of wetness flooded my pussy. Goodness, the idea of him doing this kind of research was so flipping hot. I groped for his head, desperate to get his mouth where I needed it. “Stop teasing me. I’m too turned on to take it.”

He chuckled and placed my hand on the back of his head. “Then tell me to eat you out, wife.”

“Eat me out, husband.”

Thank sweet baby Jesus, he didn’t make me wait. He used his lips and mouth to create the perfect suction, his tongue lashing my clit. Large hands slid under my buttocks to lift up my hips, holding me to his mouth like a feast, and I knew this had the added bonus of forcing all his semen into my uterus. The knowledge wound me tighter, my pleasure spiraling like a corkscrew, and I wrapped my fingers around his hair to hold on.

His thumb slid into my pussy, stretching me, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Sensation swallowed me, the orgasm like a freight train, and I shook uncontrollably on the bed until I finally crested. “My god,” I wheezed. “I don’t know how you do that to me.”

He rose up in a blink and I caught a glimpse of his rock-hard erection before I felt him slide inside me once more. My nerve endings sang out in pure bliss, and I closed my eyes, swept away on the tide of euphoria.

“I don’t know, either,” he said, driving deep. “But I’m about to do it again.”

* * *

It was sometime in the middle of the night when we took a break.

My husband went to the kitchen and brought back a whole tray of snacks. It included meats and cheeses, cold pasta, and Sal’s florentine cookies that I loved. As I reached for the pasta, he poured us glasses of sparkling water. “Drink,” he told me. “I need you to stay hydrated.”

Me? He’d already come twice. “I think you’re the one who needs to stay hydrated.”

The edge of his mouth lifted in a satisfied smirk as he stretched his long legs on the tiny mattress. “Don’t worry, Emmalina. I will always have enough come for you.”

I blushed at this version of my name, a form of endearment with Italians. “Even when your prostate is enlarged in your later years?”

He shook his head and popped an olive into his mouth. “Only my wife would be worried about my prostate after I’ve fucked her all night.”

“I didn’t say I was worried,” I hedged. “But I know the statistics. You shouldn’t neglect your prostate.”

“You can massage my prostate any time.”

Now that surprised me. “Really?” I searched his face. “I would think a big, strong Italian man like you would be squeamish about backdoor play.”

“No, I am not squeamish, as long as you don’t call it ‘backdoor play’ ever again.” He took a long drink of water. “If you want to finger or fuck my ass, it’s yours, bambina.”

Fuck his . . . .Oh. “Have you ever let someone do that?”

“Yes.”

My eyes went big. I needed every detail. I wasn’t jealous, only extremely curious. “When? How? What did it feel like? Was it a man or a woman?”

Groaning, he flopped back onto the bed and threw a forearm over his eyes. “I should have known better than to tell you this now. This is all you’ll want to talk about for the rest of the night.”

“You can’t drop a bomb on me like that then expect me to forget it.” I nudged his leg with my toe. “Start talking, babe.”

He sighed heavily and dropped his arm. “It was when I was twenty-two and traveling in Spain. I was in a boxing competition there. I met an older woman and she took me home one night. It was a dildo, and yes, I loved it.”

Fascinating. This man was like an onion. “And not since?”

“Theresa used a finger now and again.”

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