Chapter Seven
Penelope
I'M NOT SURE IF IT'S exhaustion or something else, but I was out like a log last night, and so the first thing I do when I wake up the next morning is to just look around and take things in.
Wow.
The bedroom they've given me is huge. It's about the same size as my entire classroom back in high school, and that's not counting the en-suite. The walls are the same darkly-stained wood used in the living room (or parlor, as everyone here in Boston seems to call it), and while I've never had a good eye for art, what little I know about mafia (or famiglia, as everyone here also insists on using) tells me that the painting across my bed likely costs a fortune.
A walk-in closet precedes the shower, with lining each side are open shelves that are chock-full of brand-new clothes that still have their price tags attached. Just looking at them makes me want to pinch myself. Wasn't it less than twenty-four hours ago that the only thing I owned were the clothes on my back and nothing else?
My body instinctively stiffens when I step into the shower, but instead of the usual trauma turning me into a sobbing mess, what I find myself recalling are memories of a certain mafia boss—-
Oh.
And so I end up crying again, but what my eyes are shedding are happy tears. Life has been so shitty over the past year...that I know it makes me seem foolish to believe so easily that I've been miraculously cleared of my trauma.
But I don't care.
Maybe it's because the shitty part of my life has finally come to an end, and it's God Himself deciding to instantly heal the wounds of my past. I know it seems equally stupid to believe that it's also God who wants me to belong to a man like Cesare Marchetti, but...
That's what my heart tells me, dammit.
Men like my foster dad can never hurt me again, now that I'm the property of Boston's most powerful and dangerous mafia boss. I'll always be safe and free, and while I know someone like Cesare can hurt me even more—-
I know it's never going to happen because I trust him.
I trust him with every beat of my heart, I trust him with every fiber of my being. And when I think about Cesare, it's not fear that grips my body but—-
Curiosity, I hastily tell myself.
It's the safest way to classify the emotions coursing through my blood, and so for the next half hour that's the only thing I allow my mind to focus on.
I'm curious about how things between Cesare and me will further progress.
I'm curious about what today will bring.
I'm just curious, that's all.
But excited?
" Nope ." I say the word out loud, in case it makes a difference. "I'm absolutely not excited—-"
"About what?"
Holy...freaking...shit!
Powerful strong arms slip around me from behind, and I can only gasp as my back falls against his chest, and I realize he's just as naked as I am.
Gaaah.
Self-denial is moot at this point, with how every inch of me has started to tingle in the most lewdly vivid way possible. I'm absolutely, shamelessly, and arousingly excited...and so is he, if the way his cock is throbbing so violently against my ass is anything to go by.
My heart skips a beat when Cesare's mouth nuzzles my ear, and another gasp spills past my lips as his hands slowly sweep up until they're able to start kneading my breasts like they're dough to be sensually molded for his consumption.
"Have you soaped yourself yet, tesoro ?" Cesare whispers.
The truthful answer to that would be 'yes', but instead I hear myself croak out, "Not yet?"
"Good."
My knees threaten to crumble at the purring tone of his voice, and when he spins me around, and I have my first eyeful of his masculinely nude form—-
Oh...boy.
My throat dries up as I slowly run my gaze over every chiseled edge of his figure. His whole body looks like it's steel encased in bronzed flesh, and he just looks so much bigger when he's nude like this. I've heard people say that size doesn't matter, but...how long did Cesare say his dick was again?
Because I think I'm going to beg to differ.
I think size does matter, and when I try eyeballing its length—-
One, two, three...oh, shit.
I stop counting as soon as I get past eight inches. My height and frame are average at best, and I have a hard time wrapping my head around the possibility that my body can accommodate anything longer than a banana. Or a Venti cold cup. Or—-
You're getting hysterical, dude!
I silently take in big gulps of air in an effort to calm myself. I'm definitely excited still, and turned on for certain, but the way I can see Cesare's boner actually still swelling in size is also making me feel just a wee bit...apprehensive.
"You're looking a little nervous."
Grrr.
It's that tone of his again. The one that's uniquely able to taunt and seduce me at the same time, and as much as it makes me want to throw a punch at his perfectly gorgeous face—-
The moment I see the sculpted muscles of his arms flex and bulge as he pumps out body wash into the palm of his hand, it's all over for me, too.
Shiiiiit.
A smirk curves over his lips as his gaze drifts down my trembling body, and I realize as soon as I look down that what he's staring at are the pouting pink tips of my breasts.
"May I begin, tesoro ?"
His hands have already claimed my breasts before he's even finished speaking, and my body starts writhing helplessly when he plays with them like they're his favorite toys to squeeze.
Aaaaaah.
I become a mindless slave to passion as he starts soaping every inch of my body, and the way his hands caress my flesh oh so slowly and thoroughly is an exquisite torment in itself.
His touch is as unbearable as it's addictive, and the water that's still cascading down my body has nothing to do with how my nether lips are getting wetter and wetter by the second.
My knees buckle for real when he finally inserts his hand between my trembling thighs, and Cesare's chuckle plays into my ear as I end up clutching the broad slope of his shoulders for balance.
My nipples scrape against his chest just as his fingers find my clit, and it's the beginning of the end.
"Cesare..."
I whimper his name without thinking as my hips start moving on its own, and I find myself riding his hand harder and faster like it's a five-fingered beast meant to sweep me off to paradise.
Every stroke of his finger on my clit makes me feel more delirious; I want and need more. I want both of us out of our minds with lust, and before I even know what I'm doing, I'm also reaching down between our bodies—-
"Fuck."
Cesare groans the word out the moment my fingers wrap around the huge girth of his boner. He's so, so much thicker than I imagined, and my pussy quivers even harder when I hear him groan anew as I start stroking his length.
The movement of my fingers soon matches his, and sex flavors the air as I feel my own clit start to tighten, and his own cock twitches even more violently in my fold.
I start to pant, and so does he, and the sound is just so maddeningly erotic—-
Aaaaah.
I wish I could make it last longer, but it's impossible. Pleasure bursts out of me the moment he pinches my clit, and Cesare growls my name out as my fingers squeeze his cock hard.
We cum at the same time, my creamy release coating his fingers as they slide down against my folds, and his own cum dripping all over my hand as his cock pulsates endlessly in my grip.
A faint cry tumbles past my lips as he suddenly pushes me up against the wall, and the next thing I know his other free hand is grabbing a fistful of my hair. He angles my face up, and my toes curl hard against the cold, wet tiles as his mouth hungrily ravages mine in a kiss so, so deep it ends up branding me all the way to my soul.
I own you , this kiss of his says.
And as I suck eagerly on his own tongue, and I hear him groan just as his big, strong body jerks against mine, this kiss just as clearly says—- I own him, too.