Mafia's Devil part 33

KARINE

One bucket of ice cream later, my stomach has started to bulge while Luciano is still flat and fabulous. The only thing bulging out of him is his groin, which surfaced when I dropped a spoon and bent down to get it. That two-second maneuver was enough to get him hard. He tried to play it off, but I still noticed it.

We return to the motel after cleaning up the kitchen. I didn’t catch Luciano limping as much, so I’m glad to see signs of healing.

Bags await for me when I enter the room. I help Luciano to the bed, and go through the bags. Each contains clothing from department stores.

“How did these get in here?”

“Some of my men caught up to me and are tailing us for security. I know you’ve been needing clothes, so I asked them to get these. We need to load up the car and go.”

I check the tags, and I find everything but luxurious brands. I’m glad. I’ve never been one to spend thousands of dollars on clothes, preferring cotton over leather any day.

“Wow, I’m shocked. You didn’t go crazy shopping Gucci.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It nearly killed me asking them to get these rags, but I know that’s what you would like.”

It’s a nice touch. He’s paying attention to my needs and wants. Did he learn this by reading another blog written by a middle-aged woman?

I open the last bag and find a purse from a brand I can’t even pronounce.

I look at him questioningly, and he raises his hands. “I would have insulted my bank if I only spent cents in your cheap clothes.”

“Right,” I scoff and set the purse back in the bag. “You can wear it. I’m sure it will match your suits.”

“Come here.” He extends a hand.

I look at it like it holds an invisible grenade. I still don’t trust the guy. Not only because it has been an hour and his erection is still pointing at me, but because he stirs the unspeakable in me.

Then again, I hurt him, and he’s trying hard to impress me beside his pain.

With that in mind, I take his hand and let him tug me closer. I’m now standing between his legs. His head is nearly leveled with mine because of my vertical deficiency.

“Thank you for being a good girl today and not fighting me every step of the way.” He hugs my waist.

My hand combs into the back of his hair as if it’s second nature. With a roll of my eyes, I respond, “I’m not thankful for you being a bad boy.”

“I won’t apologize for that, baby. That’s me. I buy what I want, when I want it, and if it’s priceless, then I’ll just snatch it.” He tugs hard, and I fall to his lap. “Just like I did with you.”

The brawny bastard presses a close-mouthed kiss on my lips. And damn it, I like it.

We’re on the run from my murderous cousin, staying in this dusty motel room with our bellies full of junk food, but I’m happy.

Lately, I’ve felt like it’s okay to be small around Luciano. For so long, I’ve hated how my appearance neglects my backbone. I’m a strong woman, but I look like a clueless teenager. With Luciano… we just work. We banter and bicker, but instead of juicing bitterness from those conversations, there is just passion.

I’m dainty, tiny, and feminine beside this giant, but that doesn’t make me submissive. I’m still just as explosive as he is.

Very few men on this planet would put up with my mouth. They would feel intimidated by my constant brash challenges, or even turned off. Not Luciano. This dime in a dozen with millions of dimes to his name can handle me just fine.

Maybe that’s what I find so sexy. This king in his own right can take on everything and everyone— including my inner chihuahua.

“Alright.” He slaps a hand on my thigh. “Let’s get going. We’ve been here too long.”

We roll out, and I don’t miss the three cars that follow at a distance. Luciano’s men are never far behind.

The snow thickens, and we’re silent for most of the ride until Luciano speaks up.

“Do you want to play music?” He offers me his phone, which is unlocked. Again, I’m given a chance to escape. I could text my father, but I choose not to.

I open his music app, which has nothing downloaded and no browsing history.

“Don’t you listen to music?”

“I don’t have time for that,” he replies.

“What about when you’re working? Don’t you need something playing in the background?”

“No.”

“There’s no way. You have to listen to something, other than the sound of gunshots and tortured men.”

I play Adele. Everyone loves Adele, including hardened men.

“How do you like it?”

“It’s suppose it’s fine,” he replies while looking at the road.

That’s probably the closest thing to a compliment I’ll get out of him.

I turn my attention to the app and find something under the podcast section.

‘The Five Love Languages: How to make your partner feel loved.’

It looks like Luciano planned some homework. I’m tempted to play the podcast on the speakers to embarrass him, but I don’t want to discourage him. I close the app and set his phone down.

We ride into a larger Canadian town with more businesses. We book a room at the local motel. I try to carry the bags, but Luciano insists that one of his men will bring them up.

I’m convinced he only wanted my hands to be free so I can wrap them around his waist and help him up the stairs. He’s making the most out of his injury.

Once he’s lying on the bed, I catch him rubbing his stomach. He must be hungry and tired. We only had ice cream, and he drove for hours on icy roads so his leg must be aching.

I kneel in front of him and pick up his bad leg. “I’ll massage it for you.”

He tenses, but remains lying back. My eyes peek up, and sure enough, I find a semi-truck parked in his pants. I’m nerve wrecked by the sight of that thing, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t say I wasn’t curious, too.

His erection unnaturally large and unbothered, rising and falling as it pleases. It’s not apologetic, but callous, just like Luciano.

It’s a challenge.

And I love a good challenge.

I massage his knee and calf, but my attention is locked on the disruption in his pants. No matter how unwrinkled his pants are, no matter how tightly his belt is tied, that bulge won’t be tamed.

After minutes of rubbing his l leg, I let my twitching fingers roam. They go past his knee, past his thigh. My face is hotter than a kitchen, my breath coming harsher than the winter wind outside.

Once I reach mid thigh, Luciano reacts. He stiffens first, and then begins sits up. I know that if we make eye-contact I’ll pull back, so I lunge for his bulge and cup it.

I give him time to push me away. He’s sitting up now. Legs wide open, eyes wider.

Oh, fuck. I’m cupping my sworn enemy’s cock.

He doesn’t push me off; doesn’t speak.

Me? I squeeze gently, not sure what pressure will hurt him. I don’t know how to describe what fills my palm. It’s thick— full of strength, powered by youthful virility. Luciano has worked hard to get his abs, but the greatness of this dick is pure genetics, embedded into his being.

Finally, I look at him. I know there is vulnerability in my eyes when I say, “can I taste it?”

I want to make him feel good. Not only because I hurt him, but because I’m building enough trust to allow intimacy.

His chest is falling fast, but he’s unable to reply. I swear I can feel his warm breath hitting my face, or maybe that’s my own face overheating.

Does he want me to continue?

I reach for his zipper and pull it down. Before I can go for his belt, Luciano slaps a hand over my wrist and stands up.

“Your leg,” I gasp.

“Damn it. Fuck.” He paces the room without a limp. He runs one hand through his hair and pulls up his zipper up with the other.

“I was never injured. I lied to you.”

My jaw drops. Embarrassment and anger rush down my throat and into my guy.

I felt guilt over an injury that never happened? Why would he play me like that?

The stupid lie that brought little harm, but I still feel like an idiot for believing it.

With a strangled sound of anger, I dive for the bathroom and slam the door shut. I lock it just as he throws himself at it.

“Karine… open this.”

“Leave me alone!”

He jiggles the doorknob, so I hold it in place.

“Karine.” He tries again. “Let me hold you.”

“No!”

He continues speaking, so I open all the faucets in the bathroom at full throttle to wash away the sound of his voice.