by Sadie Black
Christ. What was he doing to her? Ciara didn’t think she’d ever been this aroused. “Luka, please…” She pleaded softly, not even knowing what she asked for. “Please…”
“Tell me what you want, Ciara.”
She could barely draw breath. Not when he was looking at her like that. “I need…” She tried, trying to find the wherewithal to speak. “I don’t know…” The statement came out on a moan of frustration and a chuckle rumbled against her jaw.
“This?” Luka’s fingers slid to the tip of her breast, tweaking the nipple there so the sharp sensation drew a gasp from her. It felt amazing, but it wasn’t what she needed; and so she shook her head wordlessly. At her answer, his hand swept southward, over her ribs and down her belly to stroke over her thigh firmly. The motion sends flutters of anxiousness through her stomach as he whispered against her neck. “This?” His thumb slid over the seam between her thigh and pelvis and Ciara moaned.
Since when had she been so sensitive there? She was tempted to have him repeat the action, but the ache between her legs demanded satisfaction. She shook her head.
Slowly – agonizingly slowly – Luka’s hand finally moved to cover her pubic bone before sliding lower to cup her pussy. The moment his fingers made contact, Ciara cried out, the bud of her clit perking up against his palm. “This.” She didn’t even need to tell him that he’d hit the jackpot.
Luka’s hand pressed tight against her, stroking back and forth so that her hips arched into him. When his fingers dipped between her swollen lower lips, Ciara bit her lip, whimpering in sensation. “Fuck…” Luka cursed lowly, all his propriety forgotten. “You’re so wet.”
As Luka thrust his fingers in and out of her wet entrance, Ciara writhed beneath him, clenching at his hair, his shoulders, anything to keep her grounded. The fingers within her curled upwards to hit a spot that made her see stars.
Stroking that spot, Ciara came apart with a wild cry, thrashing as pleasure tore almost violently through her. Luka controlled her orgasm, stroking that sweet spot inside her until her thighs quivered and she begged him to stop – before he eased her down with soft, lingering kisses to her jaw.
Ciara had to remind herself to breathe.
She blinked, trying to regain her senses as Luka’s fingers slipped from her and she limply fell to the bedspread. Though the ache between her legs had been somewhat quelled, she was still much too hot.
And she only grew hotter when Luka raised fingers glistening with her juices to his mouth to suck each one clean leisurely. The coil of her desire wound so tightly that it almost snapped. In a flash, Ciara sat up, tugging at Luka’s shirt as her mouth found his hungrily. She could taste herself on his lips and it was absolutely divine.
With his help, she quickly freed him of both his shirt and t-shirt before she was tugging at the zipper of his jeans. He wore no underwear, she noticed with wide eyes, and after taking in the thick, throbbing length of the breathtaking erection that bobbed against his flat stomach, her eyes moved higher.
There were no words.
Luka was like a figure carved from marble – shoulders roped with muscle and sinew, his torso tapered into a valley of defined strength. Reaching out, Ciara ran her hands over his chest, before her finger skimmed over his tight abdomen to the length of his cock.
It jumped the moment she wrapped her fingers around it. Her digits could barely encircle the girth of the organ. Ciara had certainly never been with a man so…blessed and she had to admit, as much as she wanted him, the prospect made her slightly nervous.
Luka groaned, taking hold of her wrist to jerk her hand away forcefully. “We’ll make sure you're ready for me.”
Before she could stop him, the man’s hands encircled her hips and he settled himself between her thighs, his mouth hovering over her pussy. Never had a man kissed her there and Ciara wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
Luka’s mouth closed over her lower lips, his tongue seeking out the swollen bud of her clit – and Ciara moaned passionately. Her hips might have left the bed completely if it weren’t for his solid grip on them. His tongue covered her in one long lap before circling the bud of her pleasure. Then, he suckled briefly making her cry out his name. “Luka! Stop! Stop, please!” Her frantic tone made him raise his head, and his mouth glistened with her juices, making her tremble.
“Are you Ok?” His voice was rough with desire. “Did I hurt you?”
“N-no…” she managed, tremulously. “It’s just…that…that’s too much.” She felt as though she might actually lose consciousness if he continued for much longer. It was a pure sensory overload.
Luka’s eyes darkened as he stared up at her, his mouth still poised above her pussy. “Just one. One, Ciara. Let me taste that sweet nectar…” The man was gazing at the wet folds between her legs as if lost in them, and Ciara exhaled a shuddering breath. How was she supposed to deny his demands?
“…Ok” He barely let her give her permission before his head lowered once more, his grip on her hips like iron as he eagerly mouthed her between the legs. The feel of his tongue running over the seam of her lower lips, flicking at the most sensitive part of her – and finally sliding deep within her – was enough to bring Ciara to completion. With a ragged cry, she came again as his tongue wrung her pleasure from her. It left her gasping and she panted softly as she came down from her peak.
Then, he was looming over her, his shadow encompassing her completely as he kissed at her neck and shoulder hungrily. He parted her drenched thighs gently. At the feel of his heated cock against her folds, Ciara moaned almost deliriously. It seemed like she had wanted this for forever. When Luka’s mouth covered hers, he eased forward, filling her slowly – deliciously – inch by glorious inch.
She gasped against his mouth as he stretched her until the pleasure and pain blurred together and she had to remind herself to draw breath. And then, all at once, his hips rested against hers and he was completely inside. Any discomfort Ciara might have initially felt faded quickly into pleasure and she groaned softly, wiggling beneath him in an effort to have him even deeper.
Luka tensed above her with a short, strangled sound. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”
Feeling particularly naughty, filled with his impressive cock, Ciara disobeyed him. She bucked her hips once more, and Luka growled, withdrawing slightly to thrust sharply – a motion that drew a high pitched gasp from Ciara.
The sound had nothing do with pain and slowly lowered to a desirous moan. “Mmmm. Do that again.”
He didn’t hesitate, moving his hips against hers again – and again. Until Ciara was clinging to him, pushing back against every motion and all that mattered was being as close as she could to him – until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
* * *
Luka
V (8:21AM): watch the news this AM, Luka. the pieces are falling into place
Luka stared at the message on and off until his phone ran out of battery and died. One of the volunteers was sent out to get a charger, so he sat at his desk, thinking about all that happened in the past whirlwind of a week.
After his Friday night with Ciara, his encounter with Vittore had faded and fallen into the archives of his mind. For all the evil that came with his new associations with the mafia, Ciara was the counterbalance.
Beautiful, smart, and independent, he still had a hard time believing that he'd managed to land her. The sight of the slight curve of her mahogany hips against his white bed sheets was already a precious memory. What started out as wild lust had developed into something more during the chase, and he'd only realized it in the height of passion when his thoughts hadn't already moved on to the next girl.
It was the most serious he'd felt about anyone since his high school days. Back when his heart was easily opened by any pretty face. When he woke up, he'd pulled her into his arms and invited her for dinner at his folk's place the following week. Ciara had said yes, and he'd grinned, kissed her, and then reminded her what it was lik
e to be in bed with a Belmonte. If memory served him correctly, he'd reminded her twice.
Connections with the seedy underbelly of the city and budding affections for a stunning girl he thought he'd never dreamed possible — it was a week Luka would never forget. Life was quickly taking shape before him, and now Vittore promised his career would do the same. As much as he wanted to win and bring pride to his father, a sinking feeling in Luka's gut told him that what he'd done was wrong. Sure, it worked for his father, but as similar as they were, he was responsible for his own destiny. All he could hope for was that no one had been killed.
"Everyone," Mrs. Olsen burst into their headquarters; Luka could see her through his open office door, "word on the street is that something big is going down this morning. Someone get a stream of one of the local news stations on their laptop."
From the very second she entered the room, she commanded respect and attention. As a young boy at his father's side, Luka remembered her energy and passion. It had been a no-brainer to bring her back to work for him now that he was running for office. This time around, as equals, she'd asked him to call her Lisa, but habits formed from youth were hard to break. Mrs. Olsen was always Mrs. Olsen in his eyes, and right now she meant business.
"I've got a stream up," one of the campaign employees chirped.
"Full screen that sucker and crank up the volume. Everybody else, quiet. I said Quiet!" Her demand instantly hushed the room into silence.
Luka stopped spinning his phone, palming it instead. With a kick of his heels he wheeled back on his office chair from the desk and got up. The staff gathered around the laptop, and by the time he joined, all of the best vantage points were gone. Luka watched from the side, colors slightly distorted, as the news opened.
"Good morning, and welcome to NYTV news," the anchor said, the script well rehearsed. "Our top news story this Monday morning follows the shocking leaked footage of top mayoral candidate, George McMillan. The footage allegedly reveals McMillan seeking out the services of a prostitute, and captures the exchange of services that follows. McMillan, forty-six years old and married, has been a longstanding supporter of abstinence based sex education courses and a vocal supporter of traditional American family values. A press conference is set to air immediately; we join our field correspondent, Heather Graham, on scene."
A shocked gasp ran like a ripple through those watching the television. Luka's lips tightened, his eyes glued to the screen. The picture cut from the news studio to live footage at a conference room in one of New York's posh hotels. Heather Graham with her perfectly bobbed blonde hair, stood before a camera with a crowd and stage behind her.
"Thank you, Erika. I'm here at the Harriot hotel where mayoral candidate George McMillan is set to address New York following the reveal of the scandalous video footage involving him and a young, unidentified woman believed to be a prostitute. The atmosphere here is thick — McMillan was the front runner for New York's approaching mayoral election, and people are shocked and looking for answers. You couldn't have pulled the rug out from beneath the city's feet harder. In just a few seconds Mr. McMillan will be—" a jostling from the crowd drew Heather's attention to the stage, and her shoulders tensed. Luka could see the excitement running through her; the media and those who watched it fed off of the embarrassments and mistakes of others like parasites of despair. How disgusting they all were.
"—and here he is. Mr. McMillan and his wife, Sarah McMillan, are taking the stage. Let's hear what they have to say."
"Luka!" Lisa called from the front of the crowd, twisting around to look toward his office.
"Already here," Luka replied from her left. The crowd around him jumped, and several employees parted way to give him better access to the laptop. Luka wove between them to join Lisa at the front. This was his moment, and yet he felt no joy from it at all.
George McMillan took to the stage and stood behind the podium, wife at his side. Dark bags like black eyes painted his face with exhaustion; how long ago was it now since Luka had looked the same?
"It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today," McMillan said. The cameraman had zoomed in, and Luka could feel his opponent's regret seeping through the screen. "Unforgivable acts that I've committed have come to the surface, and there is no use in denying my involvement. These revelations have not just affected my professional life, but they have jeopardized the relationship I have with my wife, Sarah. I will not offer any excuses, nor will I attempt to defend myself — what I did was wrong on every level. I am ashamed."
The overhead lighting at the venue caught the tears that were forming in McMillan's eyes. At his side his wife was already crying, makeup smudged and eyes red.
"Due to the damage I've done, professionally and personally, I regret to inform all of my loyal supporters that I see no other option than to withdraw my candidacy from the race.” A loud rush of excitement rippled through the mob of reporters, destroying the pin-drop silence. “The importance of my relationship with Sarah far exceeds the value of my career, and at this time I need to put her first.” George continued, his voice straining to finish his resignation before the vultures picked the meat off his bones. “To those of you who continue to support me, thank you. All of your thoughts and prayers are appreciated at this time."
George tucked Sarah beneath his arm, and the pair left the stage with bowed heads. The audience went wild, barking questions in their wake, but neither McMillan stopped to acknowledge any of them. In unison, Luka's team cried out in victory; without McMillan in the race, Luka was a shoe-in. The newest scandal would smooth over memories of Luka's flop on air with Ryan Breece, and the rest of the election would be smooth sailing.
With all the cries of delight and words of congratulations, Luka could no longer hear what was on the television. But no amount of pats on the back or friendly punches to the shoulder could draw his eyes away.
After a wrap-up from Heather Graham, the story cut back to the news room, where the anchor, Erika, showed television appropriate stills from the photo. A beautiful young woman was caught on tape, her face blurred out for privacy. The video was shot from a unit in the corner of a room, but the camera was not hidden. McMillan and the girl stood before the lens, grinning. The girl held up her hand, fingers raised in the peace sign.
* * *
Luka
"Luka, whatever deity you prayed to to make this happen, keep praying to it," Mrs. Olsen said, grinning ear to ear. "We've got this in the bag. This election is as good as yours, provided you don't slip up anymore. So for the love of God, boy, keep to yourself, kiss some babies, and do your best to be boring for the next couple of months. You must have a horseshoe lodged firmly you-know-where for this kind of luck."
"I'm not going to do anything to mess this up. Not anymore. Not after what I've put into it."
The words meant more than Mrs. Olsen would ever know. She grinned wide, clapped him on the shoulder with affection, then turned towards the crowd gathered around the laptop.
"Who here has a flask of something alcoholic stashed at their desk? It may be nine in the morning, but it's time to celebrate! I won't even reprimand you for having hidden booze on the job if you agree to share."
Laughter rippled through his team, but all Luka could think about was the beautiful girl and her cocky peace sign. An innocuous gesture that meant a world more than most would ever know. The message was for him as much as it had been for Vittore: look what we can do.
Luka felt like burying his head in the sand until it all went away. He'd always wanted to be like his father, making the old man proud was one of those hang-overs from childhood he'd never quite shaken, but that was before he understood what kind of a man his father really was. This campaign was supposed to prove he was his own man, and that he wasn't some kid playing dress-up in his daddy's clothes. So far, all the campaign had proved was that he was still his father's child, incapable of taking care of himself.
As the crowd dissipated and returned to work,
Luka turned his back on the joyous atmosphere and secluded himself in his office. There had to be a way to break free from his father's shadow and strengthen his own name, and yet he struggled to find the methods that would bring him there.
"Excuse me." The voice was unexpected, and Luka jumped in his seat. He'd been staring at the wood grain of his desk, running over the same dead end thoughts in hopes of finding the way forward cleared for him. A young man stood in the doorway, looking sheepish. "I um, I got your charger for you, Mr. Belmonte. Where shall I put it?"
The phone charger. Luka shook his head to draw himself back into reality and stood.
"I'll take it right now. Thanks. I really appreciate all that trouble."
Luka approached the door and took the charger from his volunteer. The young man bowed his head, visibly star struck, and backed away. In moments, Luka was alone once more.
Should he message Vittore back with his appreciation? Luka pondered the question as he made it back to his desk and plugged his phone into the socket just behind it. The wire stretched so the phone could rest on the desk's surface, and Luka watched as it booted through the different loading screens.
As the desktop loaded, the phone buzzed to indicate a notification. Then buzzed again. And again. During his party days, Luka's phone had gone off next to non-stop, but since he'd turned over a new leaf, things had been silent. At not even an hour without juice, the number of notifications waiting for him was strange. He tapped the history bar at the top of the phone to discover three missed calls over a five minute time frame and a voicemail. Luka summoned the recording and lifted his phone to his ear.
"Luka, bro, ah shit, Luka, it's Gino." Even without the introduction, Luka would recognize his best friend's voice from anywhere. The way he spoke was truncated by sharp, shallow inhalations as though he were out of breath. Dread sank in Luka's stomach. Something was wrong. "I know you said not to call, that you we’re done 'cause you were on your way to better things, but... But fuck man, I'm so scared, Luka. I'm fucking terrified, and I didn't know who else to turn to. There isn't much time, and... And shit, I don't know how much time you have to call me back."
