I’m sitting behind him, and I take in the sight of his perfect ass, beautiful balls hanging below, and his cock, hard and wagging under his belly.
“It was a good dinner,” I say.
He rests his forehead on his arm. “It was.”
“But I’m not done eating for the day.”
I hear his sharp gasp and allow myself a smile. I guessed right. There are some guys who go crazy for what I’m about to do, and Howard Fincher Donovan the Third is one of them. “I don’t need any special spoons for this, do I?” I ask him, and slap his left asscheek, hard enough to leave a pink flush.
He moans at that. “N-no.”
How about that. A stutter. The way to shut Finch’s mouth for him is to eat his ass. I file that information away for future reference, and get down to it. His ass is like a giant candy apple, so I open my mouth wide and take a slow, wet bite on top of the mark left over from my slap. The noise he makes…God. If my cock was any closer, I’d give up and drive it home. I bite some more, shallow, tender, no sting at all, just close my teeth on his flesh and suck it up a little as I do. I work my way around in circles leading inevitably to that pretty pink hole of his, and then flick my tongue over it, just to see what he’ll do.
He goes perfectly still. “Please,” he says, when I don’t continue. “Please.”
“As long as you’re polite about it,” I murmur, my lips pressed against his ring. I nuzzle into his crack, spreading his cheeks wider, and give him a long, wide lick from taint to tailbone.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“You hold on tight, angel,” I remind him. “If I see those hands move, I stop.”
It doesn’t stop him from squirming against my mouth, trying to open himself up and let my tongue in. I don’t mind. It’s what I’m aiming for, after all. I want him relaxed and ready for my cock when I tire of this. I don’t think Finch would ever tire of it, though; and his words have returned with a vengeance, spilling out of him: pleading, begging, cursing, thanking me.
I stab the tip of my tongue right at his pucker and he groans and presses back. I get a hand under him to check his dick; he’s slippery with pre-cum, and I start to jack him with his own fluid as lube.
“I’ll shoot,” he babbles. “I’ll shoot, I will, I swear to God, if you keep doing that—”
“No,” I say calmly. “When I’m done fucking you, and only then, you will ask permission to come. And if you’ve been a very good boy, I’ll let you. But you must be good. Understand?”
“I understand. I’ll be good. Please.”
“Let go of the bars.”
It’s almost as if he doesn’t trust me, like if he lets go I’ll tell him he’s been bad. I plant one last kiss on his ring, openmouthed with lots of tongue, and then pat his ass. “Let go. I want you to turn over.”
He lets go, clenching his fingers to relieve the muscles, and I help him flip over once more, legs bent, splayed to either side of me where I kneel between them. His gorgeous cock is quivering in mid-air, fully unsheathed, dripping like a tap that hasn’t been turned off completely.
His face is unearthly in this soft light. He is a fucking Angel of the Lord sent down just to tempt this devil back to Heaven. He reaches out his hands to me, like a baby seeking blindly, and I stretch out over him, supporting myself on one arm and stroking my dick with the other. I’m so hard for him I’m starting to worry I’ll spill within three seconds of getting inside him, but one look in his eyes and I almost forget my own dick.
I’ve never seen Finch vulnerable. Not like this. Something flares inside me, some strange and savage instinct.
Mine.
Chapter Sixteen
FINCH
This husband of mine will be the death of me.
This beautiful, violent, tempestuous man is going to kill me if he doesn’t get his cock in me right goddamn now. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m never so needy, not with the hookups I used to have, not even when I was strung out and desperate for the high promised to me if I’d let a guy use my mouth for a minute or two in a club bathroom.
Those days are long gone, and I can’t help feeling an odd peacefulness about it. Maybe marriage really is a sacrament. Maybe it really is blessed by God, and once you’ve entered into it, you get to feel this thing I’m feeling.
Whatever it is that I’m feeling. I’m not entirely sure.
I do know it’s sexy, though. I want his flesh in my flesh, so we become one flesh, and I need it right fucking now.
“Come on,” I beg.
He reaches over to the nightstand, where someone—I presume him, because God I fucking hope it wasn’t Tino, and Nunzio would be even worse—has stashed a tub of Boy Butter. Usually I like this part over and done with fast, so I can get that dick in me, but Luca does everything with a purpose. I’m starting to find that out about him. He massages fingerfuls of the stuff onto my asshole, then inside, his clever fingers fucking me just like his tongue was a minute ago.
I’m lost. The only thing I can do is lie here and take it. Lie here and let this panther prowl around my nether regions. After a few seconds, I’m moving with him, trying to get his hand up in me so he can hit my buttons, but he sees exactly what I’m doing. He gives a knowing smile.
“Tonight, angel, you only have the pleasure I choose to give you,” he says. “I’m your husband, and you’re going to honor me. Your focus will be on me. You understand?”
I nod, but it’s like I’m in a dream. I’ve never felt this way before with any other guy.
Once. Once I felt like this. When I was five years younger and choking on the thick cock of a guy I’d picked up at a club and almost took a bullet for.
“I only want to make you happy,” I tell him, my words dripping out like honey, like my own pre-cum. It’s true. I want to blast, but I want Luca to have his pleasure more than I want my own.
“Are you ready for me?” he asks. He’s put the lube aside and he’s leaning over me, his blue eyes pinning me to the bed like I’m a butterfly with a fucking spike through my chest.
“I’m ready,” I whisper. He looks down to line up his dick, and his hair falls forward, brushes against my lips, moves gently when I breathe out. I feel hot flesh against my hole, and then he’s pushing in, slow like molasses.
Fuck, I say, or mouth, or maybe just think. He lifts his head, and his eyes find mine. He keeps my gaze as he pushes in, his head opening me up, breaching those barricades, burrowing into me. He’s big. I knew he was big, because I’ve had that dick in me before, and I’ve seen it flaccid and I’ve seen it erect, but knowing he’s big is another thing entirely from feeling it.
His cockhead pops all the way in and my hole clamps around it, sucking him in further, encouraging his dick deeper in. I want him so deep inside me that he’s part of me from now on. “Please,” I say, staring into his face, even though I don’t really know what I’m asking for, except for more of him inside me.
But it’s not just about his cock. Not this time.
Even though his cock is absolutely amazing.
I shift my hips, trying to get more of it without seeming like I’m trying, but he moves with me, and I end up with less dick rather than more. He shakes his head, smirking at my frustration. “What did I say, angel?”
“Tonight I focus on you.” I flutter my lashes as I say it; it’s something that usually gets me my own way.
“That’s right.”
“Then take your pleasure,” I tell him. “However you want it.” My words have the desired effect. He might pretend to have complete mastery of himself, but his clenching jaw and the thin thread of sweat that slides out from the hair at his temple shows me that he’s on edge. He’s seconds away from breaking, from just ramming home and fucking me till kingdom come.
I hold my breath, studying his face, and wait for the inevitable.
It doesn’t come. Oh, he begins to slide in, just not in one driving thrust.
It’s fucking torture. I’ve never felt every go
ddamn ridge and vein on a cock going into my ass before, and yet here we are. I guess I’ve never had a bare cock in me before, either. Maybe that’s what makes the difference.
He’s far enough in that he can lean on his elbow now, his face close, his lips a whisper away from my lips. “You’re a glutton,” he tells me. “You need to learn restraint.”
A sob wells up in me and I clutch at his arm, at the finch tattoo standing on the scar I gave him with my shitty sewing skills. “Is that what you’re teaching me?” I ask, when I can ask something.
“I’m almost in, angel. You like my cock?”
“Fuck.” It’s all I can say. He’s splitting me open but I want more. I want all of him in all of me. Doesn’t he see how perfectly we fit together?
Am I the only one having an epiphany right now?
I can’t be. I look into his eyes and I can see the same wonder that I feel, just hidden away a little better under his dominant act. Not that it’s an act. I can see that need he has: to be respected, feared.
Loved.
“Fuck,” I say again, surprised, and he looks wary then, like I’ve seen too much.
“Yeah,” he says, like he’s answering a question. His thick shaft slides right up into me, my ass opening up in welcome, and he hits home before I can blink.
“You’re really fucking big,” I whisper, while he takes a moment to catch his breath.
“You’re really fucking talkative.”
“Better fuck that smart-mouth tendency right outta me.” I grin while I say it, but he takes it as a challenge, and with one pull of his hips, his dick is almost all the way out again, just the head of it working back and forth in my ring, and I can’t help moaning, dropping my head down. “Please. I’ve wanted you for so long.” I sound more plaintive than I meant to, but it seems to work. He slides his way back in, not as slow this time, but still much slower than I want.
I want him to screw the living daylights out of me. I want him to screw me so hard I forget my name, my father’s name, my entire familial history. His hand is on top of mine and I splay my fingers so his weave into mine, and hold tight. “Please,” I say again, and goddamn, I sound so serious. Not like me at all, whoever that is.
I’m not sure what all this means.
I do know I like it.
And finally, finally Luca seems to be willing to listen to my pleading, stops teasing, and gets down to it. It’s not hard, not like I expected, but it’s exactly how I need it. It’s deep, the deepest dicking of my life maybe, his cock reaching up and stretching inside me and rubbing over and over my most sensitive place as he works in me. He pulls out as far as he can on the way out without breaking our connection, the crown of his cock making my ring bulge and my mouth moan. I guess he likes that noise, because he drives deep back in and then does it again, pulls all the way out only not quite; and then he does again and does it slower this time, maybe to see if that changes the squeals coming out of me.
This guy fucks like he’s got nothing else to do but perfect the art. I try to pull my hand out from under his so I can jack myself, but he shakes his head, a drop of sweat landing on my cheek as he does. “No, angel. You’re doing this for me. Taking it how I want to give it to you.”
I groan and give up, letting my head fall back. “Then give it to me,” I mumble. Hey, if he wants me to lie here and take a fucking, I can do that.
He begins to thrust, finding the best angle for him to get all the way in, deep as he can, and hallelujah, it’s exactly the same angle my prostate needs, too. He keeps it up until my cock is leaking so much it’s like a river between us. He likes it, I can tell, looking alternately smug and hot for it.
“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he croons. “You going to spill soon?”
I’m about to groan that yes, yes I am, when I figure out what he actually wants to hear. “Only—when you—let me,” I huff out, in time with his thrusts. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him further in. “Only—with your—permission, husband—”
He lets out this savage noise and his pace picks up in a way that tells me he’s close. He grabs a handful of my hair and tips my throat back to graze his teeth along my jugular. But the pain only sweetens the bliss, and I let out a moan. I’ve had plenty of guys who like to play rough, but this guy? He knows how to do it right.
Or else we’re just made for each other, like I’ve thought for the last five years.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Fill me up.”
He leans down to my ear and pants, “Take it, angel.” Three more thrusts and he lets out a long, low groan, his cock pulsing in my ass, spilling out his hot cum and filling me up so far I think I can taste it at the back of my throat.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I pant. “Do I get my turn now?”
I’m expecting a perfunctory hand job. But he does the strangest thing. He pulls out, and gets up on his knees to look down at me. His blue eyes are darkening, and I think to myself, I might know this man, but I’ll never know this man. His cock is still drooling with the last of his cum, but he ignores it, and instead taps one finger on the head of my dick, making it bounce in mid-air.
“Please, baby,” I say, and I’m starting to shiver. “Let me come.”
Most guys I’ve been with, once they spill, they’re not interested in teasing out my pleasure any longer. But my husband is not most men, and that is something I need to remember.
He hunkers down on the bed, mouths at my balls, and then slides his hand under my ass to roll my hips up. “Hold your legs up,” he tells me, and I grab my ankles and hold on like I’m hanging from a cliff. He works his way down my taint to my sore hole and gives it a wide, warm lick.
No one has ever done this to me before, treated my asshole with the respect it deserves. Who would have thought some mobster would be the first to do it? I wriggle against his mouth as he tongue-kisses my hole, my dick straining and leaking and making a goddamn spectacle of itself.
“You like that?” Luca rumbles, after he seems to have licked out all the cream he put inside me.
“I love that,” I gasp, wriggling around more.
“You want more, or you want to come?”
“I wanna shoot,” I say, because I don’t like to think I’m keeping him down there too long. He might get bored or something.
But he smirks. “I wanna do this some more,” he says. “And since we’re doing what I want, I guess you’ll just have to lie there and put up with it.”
I can’t stop the low, approving moan that forces its way out of my lungs. He’s a giver, not just a taker, this man of mine. So I do as I’m told and I let him eat me out as long as he likes. I stretch my legs wide to make sure he has access, watch his dark head working away between my thighs, and I wonder what exactly I did in this life or a former one to make me so goddamn lucky right now.
He introduces an edge again, pinching the softest parts of my thighs even as he keeps up the tongue work. It has me cursing him, pleading with him, begging him to stop, begging him to give me more…
Finally, when even the slightest twitch of his tongue has me squeaking and quivering, he pulls his mouth off my ass and turns his attention back to my cock. It’s run a river over my abs, and he licks that up while he wraps a hand around my shaft and gives it a few slow, torturous strokes.
He catches my eye as he lowers his mouth on my cock, and presses the head of it into the ring of his lips, his tongue flicking into my slit. At another time, when I haven’t been kept on edge for what feels like hours, I’d like to find out exactly how talented that mouth of his can be on my dick as well as my ass, but right now I’ve reached my limit.
“Please let me—” I gasp, and God, I hope he says yes, because there’s no stopping the geyser right now.
“Let me taste you,” he says, and sucks my cock back down. I’ll have to take that as permission because I’m already spilling, shooting, thrusting into his mouth, and he’s taking it all, swallowing and humming his approval.
; He keeps sucking and teasing until I’m finally spasming dry, and crying out from sensitivity rather than pleasure.
“Was it everything you dreamed of for a wedding night?” he asks later, the irony dripping from his tongue as much as pre-cum does from my cock.
We’re wrapped up in the blankets, and apparently I’m allowed to sleep here tonight, although he told me it was just so he could keep an eye on me.
Whatever. I know a snuggle-slut when I see one.
“Everything and more,” I yawn. “I’ll be glad to report our marital consummation to anyone who asks, in detail, with no need for embellishment.”
He stiffens, and I don’t mean his cock. And then he’s leaning over me, frowning, his face dangerous. “You don’t tell anyone anything about us,” he snaps. “Ever. You hear me? No gossiping with the girlfriends.”
I raise an eyebrow and fake insouciance, even though my heart’s leapt into my throat. Fucker is scary when he wants to be. “I’m not stupid, husband. I won’t give ’em any ammunition.”
He glares some more, and then says, “We’re married now and that means your loyalty lies with me. Not your father, not your family, not even your new Famiglia. Me alone.”
“You,” I assure him. “And Brother Frank.”
He sniffs at that, but I can tell it pleases him. He lies down and settles back into the comfy cuddle we had going before I triggered the mobster inside.
I trail my fingers over his scar, over his tattoo. “I do love you, you know,” I say softly. “I know it’s crazy, and I know you’ll say I don’t really know you, but I do. And I love you.”
He goes rigid in the bed. “You need to stop saying that.”
“But—”
“You’re a good fuck,” he says, rolling away from me. “We can come to some arrangement for our physical needs.”
And not long after that, he subsides into gentle snores. But that last comment of his has opened up something dark inside me, like everything was healing back together nicely, but that one casual line ripped open the stitches.
Married to the Mobster Page 11
