Page 13 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“I am doing what needs to be done. Unless you’d like to help me?”

He reached inside his briefs and pulled out a very thick penis. I saw a flash of silver before quickly averting my eyes. “Oh, my god! Warn a girl first.”

He muttered in Italian and I heard his clothing rustle. I didn’t look. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Was he . . . ?

Then he grunted softly, a soft erotic sound.

Holy smokes, yes he was. He was masturbating in the room with me. What in the world? Why? How was he even aroused?

Questions bombarded my brain at a rapid-fire pace. Gia always said I was too curious for my own good, but I was a proud science nerd. Curiosity came with the territory.

Then I thought about that smear of blood on the sheet. Buscetta was adding semen to the deception to make it believable. Doing what needed to be done, as he said, so Virga would think the marriage had been consummated.

Wow, that was actually pretty smart.

Another grunt sounded behind me. I’d seen men masturbate in videos before. I knew what it looked like, the stroking up and down, strong fingers swiping over the sensitive glans. Most Italian men weren’t circumcised, which meant Giacomo’s foreskin would offer a small amount of natural lubrication.

And now I was thinking about his foreskin. What was wrong with me? I should be repulsed. I should be running out of the room.

Instead, my skin was growing hot. I could hear his heavy breathing, the sound of skin rhythmically sliding on skin. His belt buckle jangled with the force of his movements, his fist tugging hard on his shaft. I could sense his arousal climbing, his pace increasing, and my mouth dried out. Were his muscles taut? His forearm veins popping?

I couldn’t help it. I peeked.

His heavy lidded eyes were locked on me. Not on my chest or my ass, but on my face. Like he knew I would sneak a glance at some point and he was waiting to catch me.

His lips curved in satisfaction, softening his features, and I felt an answering tug in my lower belly. Oh, this was wrong on so many levels.

I spun toward the wall, an apology stuck in my throat.

The mattress springs creaked, then his breath hitched. I didn’t move, didn’t blink, as the moment stretched, but I imagined what was happening. I pictured the semen leaving his shaft, his head thrown back in ecstasy, muscles clenched as he ejaculated. Hormones, organs and nerves all working together to produce the greatest high humans could ever experience.

My whole body tingled.

“You can turn around now.”

I spun slowly and found Buscetta buckling his belt. I wasn’t sure what to say. Good job?

With one hand, he ripped the stained bottom sheet off the bed. “Let’s go.” He started for the door, not waiting to see if I followed.

I hurried after him. I didn’t know where we were going, but no way was I staying in this hotel room. Besides, I had no phone, no money. I’d take my chances on the Palermo streets with Buscetta.

At the door he paused and looked me over. The displeasure in his expression made it clear I’d disappointed him somehow. “Try to look as if you’ve just had the fucking of a lifetime.”

“What does that mean?” I stared down at myself. What was I supposed to look like after sleeping with him? “Should I mess up my hair?”

He heaved yet another sigh, shook his head, and yanked open the door. Once we entered the other room, Buscetta tossed the sheet at Virga’s feet. “There’s your proof.”

Virga poked at the sheet with his toe. “That was fast. Too bad for your wife, eh, Don Buscetta?”

A stamina joke. Awesome. I guess we were checking all of the clichéd misogynist boxes today.

Buscetta and his man were already out the door, but I didn’t move. To Virga, I said softly, “You made me a promise. I expect you to honor it by bringing your men home from Toronto.”

“I don’t negotiate with wives,” Virga sneered, not even bothering to look at me. “You may bring this issue to your husband and he will discuss it with me. As is customary.”

I heard the elevator ding in the hall. Shoot. I needed to get out of this hotel room, away from this nightmare. “This conversation isn’t over.”

When I reached the hall the elevator doors were just closing. “Wait!” I sprinted down the hall. A hand shot out to keep the metal doors open and I dashed inside. The other man who came with Buscetta was holding the door. “Thank you,” I told him as the doors closed.

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