Mafia's Devil part 39

Long chapter!

I’m hopping like an injured puppy as I wait for Luciano’s goons to bring in the lingerie delivery. I’ve been dying to try it on.

I spent the whole day in the kitchen, because I didn’t want to miss the package. I baked enough cupcakes for forty men, and I made a new recipe that I asked Luciano to try. He wasn’t too happy that I asked him to be my lab rat, but he was even less amused to find me feeding his men treats. He argued I’m softening them up, but I know he was just jealous.

A kiss and a cupcake later, I had him tamed.

A tall suit walks in carrying a cardboard box. It’s my delivery.

I untie my apron and run to him. “Hey, that one’s mine. I’ll take care of it.”

He shifts the box aside, as if unable to see me from under it. Geez, am I really that short?

“Sorry miss, but I have to scan these for security.”

Fuck, if he opens that box, I’ll die of embarrassment and meet my maker.

I hesitate. How do I get this box away from this brawly man? Think Karine, think. If you can handle Luciano’s brute ass, then you can handle one of his employees.

“I’ll… uh, give you the last cupcake?”

He looks at me stoically, but then he glances over his shoulder. One deal later, I’m in Luciano’s bedroom, ripping open my package and digging out the lingerie. It feels like I’m fussing with tangled spaghetti. This thing has enough straps, buckles, and holes to restrain a wild bull.

After slipping my extremities into holes they don’t belong in, yanking out my hair, tripping, and panting, I’m so exhausted that I have no interest in sex anymore. This sexy little outfit was supposed to turn me on, but the only wet spot on my body is on my arm pits from how much I’ve sweated.

The doorknob jiggles.

“Why did you lock the door?” Luciano asks from outside.

Fuck. Why does he show up every time I’m up to no good? Doesn’t the asshole have thugs to shoot and money laundering to run?

“One second!” I yell as I wrestle with the straps.

I pull a dress on, but the bra is wrapped around my neck and determined to make me see stars… although not the yummy stars from an orgasm. No. This damn thing is trying to knock me out. It’s as if it’s angry at me for being flat-chested.

Over the sounds of my strangulation, I hear doorknob twist brutally. Luciano, like the drama-king he is, is breaking into the room.

I panic and push the delivery box off the bed.

The door opens just in time, and Luciano finds me standing with my hands gripping the bra around my neck.

His eyes are wider than his wallet. “Stop!”

He jumps and tackles me to the ground. My head hits the carpet, and I see the stars that the bra from hell desperately tried to make me see.

“What are you doing? Get off me!”

He sits up, straddles me, and looks confused. “You were trying to hurt yourself.”

“Why would I want to do that?” I push at his chest with one hand, still clutching the skimpy bra in a fist so he can’t make out what it is.

“Because there’s a rope around your neck!” he booms.

I roll my eyes and feel blood warm my face. “As crazy as you make me, I’m not suicidal just yet.”

“So what is this? Explain yourself.” He sits beside me, so I stand up to obscure his view of the bra, and pull my skirt down.

Think. Think. Think. How are you getting yourself out of this one? Neck… Rope… leash…

“I read this article about animal cruelty. I wanted to know what it was like for dogs to be on a leash, so I made one.”

His face blanks, and then he runs a palm down his face painfully slow. “You’re so obscure, woman. How have I survived you this long?”

I flick my wrist. “Shoo. Go back to work.”

He stands. “Fine. And stop feeding my men cupcakes! You’re fattening them up!”

– • –

One week later

It’s time. Time to have the ol’ eggs scrambled.

After trying out the lingerie twelve more times, I mastered the deathtrap. I swear my biceps feel more toned from how much of a workout I got this week.

Other than wrestling the straps, I hung out with my Manny on Tuesday, and I called my father. The call didn’t go well. My father didn’t beg me to come home. No, he demanded it. He was infuriated that I was “in the house of the enemy.”

Clearly, we need more time apart. I told him I missed him and hung up. I cooked the rest of the day, and Luciano picked up on my sour mood. The big guy picked me up and although I kicked and shrieked the whole time, he took me to bed and snuggled me. I cried into his chest like a weakling, but he never commented on it. All he did was stroke my hair, and when I was done, he led me downstairs and never spoke of it again.

He’s more caring than he would like to admit. With every gesture, every look, every kiss, I fall more for him.

Tonight, I sit on his bed with my ovaries and body strapped up. I look sexy— at least I hope so. I touch my lips, wondering if it’s too late to apply apple red lipstick. My hands move to my hair. Should I tie it? What about this stupid outfit? What if he laughs at me?

The doorknob turns, and so does my gut.

Luciano steps in. “You won’t believe…”

All exhaustion from a long day evaporates from his face. I’ve never seen him this shocked before.

He slams the door shut behind him, as if afraid someone would pass by, although this floor is restricted to only him. He takes one faltering step, and then another.

I remain in my sitting position with my back stiff, but excitement loosens me up with every step he takes.

I did this to this man who owns the world. I rendered him speechless.

“I did something bad,” I say coyly.

He stands before me, tall like the skyscrapers he owns, and gawks at me. The bra I wear doesn’t cover much. It’s transparent, while the panties have a hole at the crotch that give instant access.

“What did you do?” he rumbles, the voice stirring my core, making it warm and leak for him. With nothing to hold it back, my wetness saturates my thighs as it searches for Luciano’s tongue.

“I got my birth control shot last wee—”

He doesn’t allow me to finish. It seems like the conversation has ended, and now it’s time for punishment because I’m laid over his lap.

He brings his palm down on my right cheek, and then on the left.

“That’s dangerous. You should have consulted me and let me take you to a specialist.” With every word, he strikes me, although not hard enough to make me squirm in pain.

There’s no time to argue with him over his patronizing ways, because one minute I’m over his lap and the next I’m on my back, getting kissed into the mattress. My knees melt apart, making space for him, but Luciano keeps his groin away from me.

I grip his biceps and squeeze, hungry for his strength. I’ve daydreamt for seven torturous days about him plowing his power into me. His muscles are so taunt that it’s impossible for me to circle them with my fingers. I’m drowning in a sea of Luciano’s flesh, and I couldn’t be happier.

“I’m ready,” I pant as he dives for my neck to lick and nip his scent onto me. “Go in raw.”

“No,” Luciano counters.

“Huh?!”

Maybe I misheard him. Maybe all the dopamine he’s pumping into me is clouding my hearing.

He pulls his lips away and looks down at me. His eyes trail from my chest to my eyes, and he grunts as if I have a pair of double D tits. Leaning in, he kisses the middle of my chest, and then sweeps in to suck my right nipple through the cloth of the bra.

“Luciano,” I moan, and I don’t care how needy I sound. I’ll be shameless if that will get his dick in me.

His lips find my bare belly. He peppers a dozen kisses, which are sweet at first but quickly become bitter because he’s not moving south, where I want him. I need that infuriating mouth of his that makes me boil with anger to boil my pussy, too.

“Baby, please,” I plead.

It’s as if that’s what he was waiting for. He goes lower, ducking under, and engulfing my pussy with his hot, wet tongue.

I tense, but melt apart as that experienced tongue massages every nook and cranny between my spread legs. He stays away from my rear hole, but I know that soon, he’ll claim what’s his.

He knows exactly what to do to me. I can’t see anything other than the top of his head, but I know that his pink lips are glistening and dripping with my wetness. I know it’s messy down there, but Luciano doesn’t care. Like a true man, he sucks hard to make sure I feel and hear the lewd things he’s doing to me.

I love the sounds the most. They come and go, unexpected, short, and abrupt. It doesn’t matter that I’ve wet half his face and beard. Luciano keeps making music, using my pussy lips as his instrument.

He knows he can’t be touching me because I’m an unmarried mafia princess. He isn’t supposed to be digging his tongue into my virgin pussy, signing his name onto my sensitive flesh.

A finger probes at my entrance, circling like a vulture desperate to devour. The suspension is sexy as fuck.

His tongue flicks my clit, but he doesn’t keep his attention there. He suctions on and off, circles my entirety with his tongue, learning what patterns make me moan louder. His finger presses into me, the tip entering my hole.

“So wet,” he murmurs, before slurping around his finger and licking mess I’ve made.

I’m impossibly tight, but that doesn’t stop Luciano. He pushes slowly, stopping the two times I tense. He sets the limit and pumps his finger inside of me.

The familiar ebbing of release begins to thorn within me— spreading, reaching, braiding my nerves to make a solid connection for flowers to bloom from.

The sounds of my own moaning and the wet things he’s doing to me pull me higher. My pleasure spreads from my pussy and claims more of my body, but I don’t want to orgasm yet.

“W— wait,” I choke. If he keeps licking my pussy like that and curling his finger into me, then…

“Come!” he demands.

I don’t want to come yet. I want his cock in me, but alas, the owner of my pussy has spoken, and I’m powerless against his word.

I’m unable to stop my unraveling. The flowers bloom from the thorns, and the wetness that rushes out of me waters them.

“Fuck!” I scream the ugly word while in the middle of something beautiful.

Luciano kisses the top of my pussy, as if awarding me.

I’m defeated, but eager for more. I’ll always want more.

“Put it in?” I request with hooded eyes.

“I need to stretch you. It will take time.”

I have no more time to give. It has been two decades. I’m ready.

“But—”

He sits up, so he’s on his knees. “Come here. We’re sixty-nine-ing.”

It takes me a second to put the picture together. He wants me to straddle his face and suck his dick at the same time?

“Um…”

He takes my hesitancy for the worst. “Do you want to stop?”

Before I answer, he reaches for a blanket to cover me.

I take his hand. “No. I want you to watch me.”

“Watch you what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

Fuck, I’m going to die of embarrassment.

“Watch me suck your dick?”