than she’d probably ever had.
Huge spouts of my seed fired onto her tongue, and her cheeks swelled outward.
“Swallow,” I grunted out hoarsely.
Her nod nearly imperceptible, she did as told.
Another ripple coursed down her body as she ate my cum.
I only had more to give her.
Jet after jet until I bellowed and bent half over her body with my cock still hard and still in her mouth.
I pulled out with a groan, and Lucia swallowed one last time to ingest my load.
Afterward, she licked her lips in a dazzling display of total dirtiness.
“Blyad,” I muttered thickly.
Shucking off my shoes, socks, briefs and pants, I picked her up.
I maneuvered her fully onto the bed and flipped to my back beside her.
Heat still licked outward from my groin, and I wiped sweat off my forehead with my arm. Then I rolled my head lazily toward her.
“Dio mio . . .” She curled toward me, and her hand played lazily along the tats and the hair on my upper torso.
I grinned smugly. “You needed that.”
She rose to her elbows, her tits dangling distractingly down to the mattress. “I needed that? I got mine last night, mister.”
Her outburst reminded me of her spunky nature that simmered just below the surface of propriety.
“I gave you yours.” Sliding a hand from the indent of her waist to the swell of one breast, I toyed with her nipple.
“Yes, you did. But you wouldn’t let me suck you.” Her playful pout tugged at me in ways that should have been incorruptible.
Hand raising from her breast to slide up her back, I tweaked a tress of her hair. “Wanted to make sure you deserved it first.”
“You!” She tried to swat at me, but I caught her wrist, and she quickly found my grip intractable.
Just as I rolled her to her back, ready for another go, my phone rang.
During the past hour, I’d forgotten about all but Lucia.
The blaring sound dragged me immediately back to reality.
I hopped off the bed, fished out my phone, answered it with a swipe of my fingertip.
I listened, gaze staying on Lucia who sprawled so lusciously on my bed.
“Da,” I answered. “Two minutes.”
Turning off the phone, I knew my demeanor changed instantly because Lucia sat up straight and clutched a pillow over her nudity.
“What’s going on? Who was on the phone?”
No answer.
I dressed again. Clean briefs, fresh pants, shirt donned. I pushed my Sig Sauer into the back of my trousers then slipped on a jacket so I could pocket my boleadora too.
I only leaned over her after I palmed my phone. “Put some clothes on, Lucia.”
Those were the only words I spoke before leaving the room and locking her in.
Da. I left her alone again, but I wasn’t going far and I didn’t imagine this would take long at all.
After loping downstairs, I opened the front door like a gracious host when I was anything but.
Two Zolotov Bratva soldiers grimly escorted the don himself into my abode.
“I’ve been expecting you.” This was my domain, and I had Marco Leone’s last living child captive upstairs.
If Sabato and his men had figured out Lucia was under my keeping, surely they passed the information on to their Italian compatriot.
I only wondered why it took him so long to try to get her back.
“Sì. I see.” Lucia’s father shot a disdainful glance at the soldier escorts, and I got my first look at the man while the guards searched him only to come up clean.
The don had a sharp-featured face most notable for its hooked nose. The head of Lucia’s family and Boston’s failing Italian mob boss was perhaps as old as Yury, but he had much less padding.
Deep lines grooved into his face, and a silver mustache twitched above his thin lips.
Well-deserved arrogance spread across my expression. How could I not be smug? I had the scent of his precious daughter’s pussy all over my fingers and her taste still lingering in my mouth.
Yet he must have very big balls. Marco had shown up alone and unarmed. I’d afford him a little bit of respect for that at least.
Shadowed by the soldiers, Don Marco trailed after me to my den. With a glance, my men knew to remain outside.
Closing the door, I lifted a bottle of chilled vodka and poured a shot.
“Drink?” I offered.
Gracious host.
“I prefer wine.”
So I poured him a glass.
It was not an Italian vintage.
Standing near the fireplace, I motioned him to take a seat in one of the leather club chairs.
He declined the seat but