Page 110 of Dirty Mafia Torment

The air pulses, waiting for me to make up my mind.

Then he curls a finger.

Come here.

I step forward, his earlier promises still echoing; ride his face, then his dick, in that order.

He’s the one restrained. At my mercy.

Wickedly willing.

I’ve always envied how wild he is. His reckless adventures. His total refusal to be caged. While I … I’ve lived so little, so controlled, so muted. But not tonight.

All I want is freedom.

Why not start right now?

A wicked smile blooms. Little Red Riding Hood has nothing on me.

His gaze sharpens, locked on my mouth. He doesn’t realize it yet, who’s really in charge.

I kick off my heels, breasts swaying as I rise to my full height above him. He stills, pinned by my bold stare. His silence spurs me on as I step over his hips. From this vantage, I own him.

“How’s it feel being my fuckboy?” I murmur. I crave the scrape of his mouth, the filth of his tongue, his worship given because I demand it.

He blinks, then his laughter rumbles low and dirty. “It’ll feel a hell of a lot better when you’re on my face.”

His cock jerks hard, proof he means it. I’ve read most men dislike giving oral. Renzo? He worships the idea. The hunger in his eyes sends a jolt straight to my core.

I twist around slowly and unclasp my bra, letting it fall behind me. My fingers hook the delicate fabric of my thong, and I bend, shimmy, peel it down inch by inch, making sure he sees everything.

When I glance at him, he’s stroking himself. “You trying to kill me?”

“Give me time.”

His voice deepens, darkens. “Then let me die with your pussy on my tongue.”

Lust slams into me. I step forward, positioning myself above his face, my thighs trembling with anticipation.

“Stop stalling,” he orders.

I hush him with a finger to my lips. “I’m in charge.”

And then suddenly, he moves. With a quick shift, he sweeps my legs out from under me, taking full control.

I land on my shins, hips forward, arms back, his nose buried in my folds.

Any thoughts about who is in charge vanish when he grabs my hips and positions me just so before his hot tongue plunges inside me.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. Yes. This is what I needed.

“Miss me?” he demands.

He doesn’t wait for my yes.

Every filthy memory I’ve stored, every fantasy I’ve secretly fed, collides in a rush as he unleashes on me. Tongue plunging deep, swirling like a cyclone before flicking over my clit in sharp, taunting strokes. Bold one moment, featherlight the next. Then a teasing nip. A slow lick. Pleasure vibrating through me with every touch.

I match the rhythm he demands until my body learns the tempo he’s set.