Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“I know.” I collar the back of her neck with my hand and spin her around, pressing her against the wall.
Bracing one hand above her head, I shield her body with mine as I fist the hem of her dress and pull it up between her thighs. Once her thong is bared to me, I slip my fingers beneath the material and shove two deep inside her pussy.
She releases a rough breath, her head lolling back against my chest as I fuck my fingers into her. We don’t have much time, but I can’t deny this clawing urge to reclaim her.
When our eyes clash, she sees the raw hunger in my gaze, and it takes all of a second before my restraint snaps. I crush my mouth against hers and brand her with my possession, swallowing her soft gasp.
That sound only fuels my insanity. I drag my teeth across her lip, biting at her until she moans, her pussy so fucking wet I can hear it as I finger her. When she relaxes her jaw, I sweep my tongue into her mouth and lick her, tasting the sweet amaretto on her breath.
Her body melts into mine as she starts to unravel, and I swallow every sound of pleasure that bleeds up her throat. I want to sink my dick inside her and brand her with my possession until she’s so thoroughly fucked, every man here will know exactly whose cum is dripping between her thighs.
Unfortunately, fuckface is starting to groan on the floor, and I don’t have the luxury of losing myself in Abella’s pussy when I have murder to commit.
“Come for me, dolcezza,” I growl against her lips. “Show me who owns you.”
My words wrench the sweetest sound of surrender I’ve ever heard from her as she arches her back and shudders against me. The orgasm rips through her, pussy clenching as she soaks my fingers with her cum.
It takes everything in me to soften the kiss and slow down, even after I’ve wrung every aftershock from her body. Now that I’ve started, I don’t want to stop kissing her, and that’s a fucking problem.
Reluctantly, I release her mouth and withdraw my hand from her thong. This time, I let her watch as I suck her cum from my fingers, tasting the sweetness I can’t get enough of. Her breath catches in her throat as she gives me fuck-me eyes, and I have to wipe the smile from my face.
I adjust her dress and turn her to face me, my forehead dipping against hers. She’s flushed and so fucking pretty I can’t stop staring at her.
“Are you okay?” I stroke her face.
It takes her a minute to realize I’m talking about what happened with Danny.
“I’m fine,” she says softly. “But that guy is a creep.”
“He won’t bother you again,” I promise her.
She nods and doesn’t ask me to elaborate. Abella knows who I am, and she’s never asked me to be anything else. She has the power to temper my violence—or unleash it with one wrong look from another man. Nobody else could ever bring out these dualities in me, or accept them the way she does.
A garbled string of nonsense spills out of Danny’s mouth, and I press my fingers to Abella’s jaw, keeping her gaze on me. He won’t get so much as another glimpse of my wife’s face.
“Go join your friends.” I brush my lips against her hair. “I’ll return shortly.”
“Okay.” She casts one more longing glance at my lips as I release her.
I watch her walk away, head held high, hips swaying gently—the picture of grace.
My Vitale queen.
Danny groans again, and I kick him in the teeth. Then I drag him down the hall and take ten minutes to make him regret he was ever born.
When I venture back outside to my guests, I pause at the head of the table and gesture for the other men.
“Let’s talk business.”
Chairs scrape, and muted conversations trail behind me as I lead the group to the gentleman’s den. It’s a space large enough to accommodate everyone and offers complete privacy. Once the doors are sealed shut, nobody will hear a thing through these walls.
An emerald green bar dominates the room where my father spent much of his life doing business. Over the years, he collected rare spirits and antique glassware that still line the shelves. The centerpiece is a gallery of framed photos that display the Vitale legacy—as well as our ancestral weapons. That includes a revolver my nonno used to put down several of the Stavros men during their bloody war.
My father designed the den to include everything one might need for business: dark leather armchairs, a humidor stacked with cigars, a fireplace, and a revolving bookcase that opens up a small chamber hidden within the wall.
At present, the chamber is open, and Danny Miller hangs from the hook bolted to the ceiling. The conversation around me dies as the men shift their attention to the bloody sack of meat in his piss-stained trousers.