Page 25 of Empire of Seduction (New York State of Mafia #2)

twelve

. . .

Maggie

No one had ever asked me to give them a lap dance before. I wasn’t sure what to do.

But Vito was sprawled on the sofa, his body sweaty and hard, with his thick cock resting on his stomach, and suddenly grinding all up against him sounded like a really, really good idea.

I could do this.

Adjusting my knees, I moved closer. “Should I play music?”

His dark gaze traveled from my face all the way down to between my legs. “If you need it, but I don’t care. All I want is your pussy rubbing on my dick and your tits in my face.”

I put my hands on his wide shoulders and started moving, light unsatisfying brushes. I knew it wasn’t what he wanted, but I asked innocently, “Like this?”

“Only if you want to get spanked for deliberately teasing me.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. I didn’t know how this man saw through me, deep into my head, but he did.

Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to get into it.

I undulated my hips and flipped my hair, making sure to drag my center directly over his shaft.

It actually felt really good. I hadn’t done much dry humping back in the day, but there was something to be said for grinding my clit directly on his cock.

Could I come again? There was a very good possibility the answer was yes.

I did what felt best for me, riding, swirling, my thigh and butt muscles getting a serious workout.

Those dancers must be in shape because this wasn’t easy.

But Vito was breathing hard, offering up a little grunt every time I swept over his tip.

His foreskin and my wetness ensured our bodies slid smoothly, and I quickly lost myself in the rhythm.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so sexy. Keep going, angelo.”

Vito kept his arms on the sofa, so I let my hands travel over my torso, cupping my breasts and pinching my nipples. A white-hot jolt went through me, like I’d touched an electric fence, and I moaned.

“Talk to me.” His breath warmed the skin of my throat. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“So good. The way your cock grazes over my clit . . . You feel amazing.”

“Keep playing with your breasts and squeezing your nipples. Get yourself off by using me.”

“Oh, god.” Why was that so appealing?

“I think about you, about this all the time. I want to keep you, trap you, chain you to my bed and never let you leave until you become addicted to this. I want to fill you with so much come that it trickles out of you while you’re outside working on your plants, soaking your panties and reminding you who you belong to. ”

Jesus, his dirty mouth. I loved it.

My hips picked up speed, chasing, climbing, the orgasm building in my toes. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed our foreheads together. His chest rose and fell, his rapid exhalations matching mine. “Are you close?” I whispered.

“So fucking close, baby.”

The English endearment, one he hadn’t used before the alley, caused my toes to curl. “Are you going to make a mess all over me?”

He groaned, his head falling back onto the sofa. “Hurry, diavoletta mia.”

“Kiss me, Vito.”

No idea why, but I needed it. I needed his mouth on mine.

Without complaint, he adjusted his head and his lips captured mine, plucking, melding, demanding as we stayed connected.

It did the trick. I gasped for breath, my fingers curling into his hair, and then sparks erupted inside me as fireworks exploded behind my eyelids.

I cursed to the ceiling, my brain losing all sense of space and time.

He was the only thing keeping me grounded as my body flew apart.

Suddenly, he held my hips and took over, guiding me down while pressing up, rocking, rocking—then he froze and buried his face in my neck, his low moan rattling through me. Thick, warm jets of fluid filled the space between us. When it was over we both sagged, drained.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, my forehead resting on his shoulder as I tried to recover. “Holy shit.”

His palms smoothed over my thighs, his lungs working like he’d just run a race. “Fuck, Maggie.”

We didn’t move for several minutes, neither of us speaking, lost in the silence as the sweat dried. I didn’t want to think about what any of this meant. For now, I wanted to let my body revel in three outstanding orgasms and call it a day.

There would be time for recriminations and regrets later.

“What does sono fottuto mean?” I heard myself ask.

“Why?”

I eased back to better see him, but his eyes were closed. “Because you said it about forty times in the alley.”

He grimaced. “It means I’m fucked .”

“In the figurative sense or the literal sense?”

“In the case of the alley, both.”

That didn’t make sense. “Why both? Because?—”

“ Basta , diavoletta.”

His hands slid underneath me and he pushed to his feet while still holding me. I yelped and wrapped myself around him. “Where are we going?”

“To get clean so I can dirty you up all over again.”

As he started for the stairs, my eyes landed on the wet spot left behind on my furniture. “Now I need to replace that sofa.”

“Don’t worry, I planned to buy a new one anyway.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the furniture in here.”

Vito grunted and began going up the steps. “I will make this cottage better, te lo prometto.”

As he’d promised to do with the winery.

I wasn’t sure what to say. We were now in unchartered waters. My instinct was to argue with him, to fight him against change of any kind, but my body couldn’t muster the energy. He’d fucked the fight right out of me.

Maybe that was his intention, to keep me drunk on orgasms so he could run roughshod over this place.

I rested my head on my arm and played with the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “This doesn’t change anything, you know.”

He reached the top of the stairs and kept walking in the direction of the bedrooms. “Wrong, bella. This means you belong to me until I say otherwise.”

I chuckled. “Oh, Vito. You’re such a delusional, handsome man.”

“You are the deluded one if you think I’ll go on as before. But feel free to test me. In fact, I pray that you do—because nothing gets me harder than fighting with you.”

We walked into the bedroom—which was now unusually huge. And there was a king-sized bed that definitely hadn’t been here before. “You have a lot of nerve knocking down that wall.”

He carried me to the master bathroom and set me on my feet. Then he reached into the shower and turned on the water. “You have to admit, it’s better, no? Not a tiny closet anymore.”

I would admit that only under extreme bouts of physical torture. “You’re lucky you’re decent in bed. Otherwise, you’d be too much to put up with.”

“Decent?” He stalked over to crowd me into the stone countertop with his big, naked frame. I rested my hands on his chest as he dipped in to press hot open-mouthed kisses to my neck. “Is that why you begged me to fuck you so sweetly, angelo mio? Because I’m decent? ”

“Yes,” I answered instantly.

Vito sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh where my neck met my shoulder. It straddled the line between pleasure and pain and I let out a moan. He pulled back and kissed the abused skin. “Get that smart mouth into the shower before I prove you a liar.”

He pulled open the glass door and I went into the steam.

During the construction, we hadn’t skimped on the bathroom and I was very glad for it at the moment.

This was far nicer than my shower on the other side of the vineyard.

Vito followed me inside and closed us in.

I hadn’t showered with a man before the casino, but it was strangely easy with Vito.

No doubt he’d showered with many women over the years.

He turned away to grab the soap, while I leaned against the tile, questions building up in my head. “So, you’ve never been married and you visit strip clubs during the day.”

“Does this bother you?”

A vague answer. I was coming to realize Vito was very good at evading questions. “What bothers me is how slippery you are.”

He faced me, lathering soap between his hands. “A habit of the life I live, I’m afraid. What do you want to know?”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“Not since I was a boy.” I must’ve looked surprised, because he said, “It’s difficult to expect a woman to accept who I am and what I do, to trust her completely, without a wedding ring.

I know others do, but I can’t. And a marriage in my world is for business, not pleasure.

It will be strategic, not impulsive or romantic. ”

“You called yourself a monster in the alley. Do you really believe that?”

“I’m certain of it. You’ve called me every name you can think of—and you’re not wrong. I can’t afford to be nice. My world doesn’t work that way.”

I couldn’t explain the sudden sourness in my stomach. Dipping into the spray, I chalked my feelings up to pity. Yes, I felt sorry for him. And that was all.

“Come here,” he said, and then his soapy hands were on me, cleaning my skin with a tender thoroughness that should’ve been impossible from such a violent man.

His palms swept my shoulders and arms, then underneath.

The sides of my breasts, up my neck. His eyes were lighter blue in the steam and he paid close attention to what he was doing, like he was enjoying this more than I was.

I waited as he retrieved more soap, my limbs heavy and useless, and then he started again, first on my breasts. He swirled and massaged, plucked at my nipples, molded them over and over with his wet hands. “I think they’re clean,” I whispered drunkenly, my eyelids weighted down.

Humming in his throat, his thumbs pressed over my ribs, his large hands spanning my waist. “So tiny, yet so strong,” he murmured.