secured on either side of his body. And I was more surprised that a few kisses were enough to make me forget who he was, rather than seeing the guns on his person. I briefly wondered if this was what it was like for Frankie when Phoenix undressed for her.
Ciro must have noticed me gawking at his firearms because he lifted a brow. “Does this bother you?” he asked hesitantly.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Are you sure?” Before I could answer, he continued, “It’s very important that you tell me if my weapons bother you, Robbie.”
Why?
Instead of getting into to a debate about anti-guns/pro-guns, I just shook my head again. “They don’t bother me.”
“Good,” he remarked then started removing his guns from their little homes. I stood against the edge of the bed as I watched in heated fascination as Ciro set his guns and holster on the dresser adjacent to my bed. It was a small decorative dresser, so the guns looked huge sitting on top.
It wasn’t until I felt Ciro’s hand slide into my hair that my eyes flew back to his. He actually had a look on concern on his face, and that proved to be my undoing. I threw myself at the man like a bona fide floozy. And it was like I had no idea what the word ‘shame’ meant when I pushed his white dress shirt off his massive shoulders and was met with a sight that only belonged on airbrushed magazine covers and calendars.
Ciro Mancini was built like an ancient warrior. He was cut in a way that took a discipline not many people could commit to. He had tattoos on both biceps, and they looked to be symbols of some sort. I looked up at him, awe and appreciation written all over my face. “What are those?”
“They’re the fighting disciplines I’m proficient at,” he explained carelessly. He wasn’t interested in discussing his tattoos, and I didn’t blame him. I really wasn’t interested in them right now either. I just got caught up in how magnificent this man was.
I left bashfulness and timidity at the door. “I’m dying here, Ciro.”
He smirked in what could only be complete confidence. “What do you need, Robbie?”
Before he asked me that direct question, I wouldn’t have known where to begin. But with those five simple words, I knew exactly what I wanted.
I wanted Ciro Mancini.
I stared into his golden eyes and no longer cared what he thought about my sexual proclivities. “I want to taste you,” I told him honestly. Ciro closed his eyes and let out a deep moan. When he opened them, they were filled with a fire I was afraid I could get addicted to looking at.
Without another word, the hand in my hair tangled into a fist, and he pushed me to my knees.
It was the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done to me.
My hands flew to the front of his slack and I unbuttoned and unzipped him with a desperation that probably wasn’t healthy. Ciro kept my hand tangled in my hair as I freed him and, for a split-second, I feared I was in over my head. The man was thick and long, and the warm weapon, now in my hand, seemed too much to handle by a mere mortal.
I looked at him, questions clouding my up my eyes. “Ciro…”
“Open up that smartass mouth, Robbie,” he said superciliously, touching his dick to my lips “Suck my dick, baby.”
I looked back down and did as he asked. I opened to his warm steel and it barely fit inside my mouth. I circled the base with my hand and my fingers couldn’t touch. The anticipation of how wide he was going to stretch me was both thrilling and worrisome.
Ciro groaned and I disregarded all thoughts other than pleasing this man with my mouth. I took him as far back as I could and used my hand to encase what I couldn’t swallow. However, that still left an inch or two and the power of his size had my mouth going up and down like the goddamn stock exchange.
His other hand joined the one already in my hair, and he held fast as he pumped his hips and drove his cock into my mouth. “That’s it,” he breathed out. “Take that dick, baby.”
Time cease to exist as moans from both of us filled the silence and drops of his release started to hit my taste buds. I wasn’t sure how long I was on my knees