Page 14
Chapter Fourteen
CRUE
I ’m in the lion’s den. So close to the monster who took away the only person I truly cared for, and I have to sit on my hands and pretend I’m interested in the bullshit these two are talking.
You’re a real piece of work, you know that? The dark voice is screaming in my head. It’s grown louder with every passing second that I’ve been in this house and haven’t cut Lorenzo’s tongue out of his fat mouth.
And no matter how I’ve reasoned my actions up to this point, I can’t now. The deafening scream inside my head is what I deserve. If I wanted to think clearly, I should’ve finished my mission as quickly as I could. I should be done with this and should have moved on from Matteo Baronne, long before he brought me here to torment me.
You can’t hide anything from me. I know you’re getting angrier having to sit in front of that balding rat, Tomas, rather than the real poison at the table. For what? This piece of ass .
What a fine piece of ass she is, though. Her dress isn’t nearly revealing enough for me to fully see the curvature of her body. But why would it be, when Fiametta believed she was spending the afternoon with her father and his rival? Still, I’ve seen enough for my imagination to run rampant. I know the outline of her body, and I can trace it through the green material clinging to her skin.
“You shouldn’t talk to Father that way, you know. He won’t be pleased,” Fiametta says, as she leads me through the house.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I don’t have to hide myself from her. She knows the truth. She recognized me the moment her eyes saw my face.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing.” I cut her off. Intriguing as I find her, I’m not going to allow her to lecture me.
I can’t even wrap my head around why she isn’t cowering away from me or alerting Lorenzo’s men to take my head.
Fiametta stops next to a door and pushes it open to reveal an enormous barroom. “Like he said, the bathroom’s all the way at the end of the hall and to the rig—”
I snap my hand around her mouth before she can say the last word and push her into the room. I kick it shut with my heel and start walking to the far end of the room with her in tow. Next to the bar she’s supposed to be pouring drinks at, I slam her back against the wall and pin her to it.
Fiametta lets out a muffled scream against my palm. Her eyes widen as my grip tightens around her delicate face, and I can’t help but wonder what’s running through that pretty little head of hers. Clearly, she’s smart enough to know that I’m not going to kill her here. It wouldn’t do either of us any good. But I presume she also didn’t expect me to make any moves while I was under Lorenzo’s roof.
“Don’t need it. I just had to get away from them,” I tell her honestly. It’s the same principle as the men I bring to my kill chamber, I suppose. Dead men tell no tales, and someday soon, Fiametta will join them.
But I have to admit, there isn’t a single part of me that isn’t happy that prick ordered her to fetch drinks. As much as I want to make Tomas suffer for what he did to Fiametta, he deserves my thanks for this one.
“What are you doing?” She speaks very clearly for someone who has her mouth squeezed shut. Huh, has she had practice with a gag before?
Fucking pathetic. If my inner voice had eyes, I’m sure they’d be rolling to the back of its skull.
It’s easy to ignore it with a different head leading this charge.
“Taking.” There isn’t much more to add. She might not understand yet, but I’m not going to keep her in the dark for long.
I slide my hand off Fiametta’s mouth and lazily trail it down her face. I stop moving when I reach her chest, just above her breasts. As much as I want to grab for them, I’m taking my time on purpose. Pressing buttons to see what makes Fiametta tick. So far, she’s met everything I’ve done with her own sick sense of satisfaction. The fact that she is speaking to me like a normal person, instead of her assassin, is sign enough that I’m losing control of her.
It's time to take it back.
Using my forearm, I press her body to the wall again. This time, I squeeze hard. So that she exhales the air in her lungs with a guttural sigh. I grab a bundle of her dress in my free hand and start yanking it upward. All the while my gaze remains fixed on her saucer-sized hazel eyes, analyzing them intently to find answers to questions her words could never answer.
First and foremost. Is she enjoying this?
Lorenzo should’ve castrated me the moment I set foot in his home. Since I’m rock hard, and about to burst inside my pants if I’m not careful, I take it she still hasn’t told them much about me. Maybe a whisper here and there. A general outline of my size, or other features that wouldn’t help much in their investigations.
Or maybe I’m overanalyzing this. She could’ve told them everything she knows about me, but the Napoli crew is so busy hunting in the shadows that they wouldn’t dream of pointing fingers at Matteo’s latest hire.
That title is starting to piss me off more than I thought it would. And I’m also starting to think that Matteo actually believes I want to be a part of his gang, the more he talks about it. The balls on that guy to tell me I have to find the weaknesses in Lorenzo’s security around his house…
I’m not a dog he can order on a whim. He’s getting too comfortable around me, and it may be time to do something to remind him of our relationship.
It’s this burning fury that makes me hoist Fiametta’s dress up so far that half of her belly is exposed by the time I come back down to earth. And with it, I see, she chose not to wear panties for this meeting.
“Naughty, naughty.” I swallow hard at the sight of her bare cunt. I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing it twice now, but every time feels like the first. My mouth starts to water, and my eyes are locked onto its silky perfection. All I can think about is shoving my cock inside it.
I would too. Right here, right now. I would feel her warm cunt suffocate my dick until I flooded her with my seed. But I can’t. It would mean our game has to end, and she would need to meet my knife.
“Wait, stop,” she whispers softly, no doubt watching my eyes flicker with the burning desire to destroy the wet slit between her legs.
“What?” I ask in a foreign-sounding, husky voice.
“Is this where you do it? Where you…?” She’s nervous. If her words aren’t enough to express it, her thumping heart against my forearm sure is.
I don’t answer. She doesn’t need to know I’ve already made up my mind of what’s going to happen here. I want to see where her panicked mind carries her.
Her hands finally move up from her side, and latch onto my forearm. She starts stroking it through the suit.
“What’s this?” This is all unfamiliar territory for me, but whatever Fiametta’s trying to accomplish by stroking my arm isn’t doing what she thinks it is.
“I could be doing this…” She pauses to swallow, though I don’t see why since when she does, she chokes on the dryness in her mouth. “To your cock instead.”
“In what world do you think a hand-job is equal to or greater than the feeling of your wet pussy?” I finish my question by releasing her dress, but I slip my hand under it before it sinks to the floor. My fingers meet her belly first, and I’m torn between moving up to her tits or down to my real prize.
I’ll let her answer guide my decision.
“It isn’t, but it’ll still feel good.” Heat rushes to her cheeks and her otherwise tanned skin turns a few shades darker red.
Pussy it is.
I slide my calloused fingertips down her body. Fiametta shivers at the sensation, but she doesn’t fight against me. Her stroking is, however, replaced by a firm grip on my elbow and wrist, bracing for what’s about to come.
There’s no surprise that Fiametta’s dripping when my hand slots between her legs. Whatever reason she has for declining sex, hasn’t stopped her from enjoying my touch in the past. Why should it be different now? Other than the fact that we’re in her dad’s house.
But although that may be a mood killer for her, it’s stiffening my cock to immeasurable proportions. Defiling the Napoli jewel in Lorenzo’s abode is a wickedly tantalizing thought.
“Fine,” I grumble, and slip two fingers over her mound. What starts as a way for me to wet my fingers, has an unexpected side effect that forces a shiver throughout my entire body.
It’s a short, explosive sensation against my fingertips, that somehow feels like a bolt of electricity coursing through my bloodstream before it settles precariously at the tip of my cock. It gets more pronounced as my fingers linger against her wetness. Each subtle movement drives another bolt to my tip, making me so sensitive that even rubbing against my underpants forces my eyes to roll with pleasure.
What is she doing to you? The voice isn’t screaming anymore. It’s just as stunned as I am.
Maybe I’d have understood this foreign reaction the first time I touched her. Even the second, when she was my plaything in the darkness of her bedroom. But here and now, I should be used to this… right?
“F… fine?” She stares up at me, shocked that I’m willing to go accept her terms, but nibbling her lip as my hand finds its way to her core. I smirk at the sight. Fiametta believes she’s won me over with her pitiful attempt at seduction.
“Get on your knees, Fiametta,” I order and take a step back, removing my arm from her chest, but leaving the other lodged firmly between her thighs.
“What?” Her brow furrows, as if debating whether to protest or obey.
“I’m taking a hole. And if you won’t let me have this one…,” I thrust my middle finger inside her to the knuckle, and she squeaks out a noise trying to keep as quiet as she can so no one outside can hear. “…then your mouth will take its place.”