Chapter 28
Carlo looks like he’s just won the shit sandwich.
He takes me downstairs. His sapphire-blue Bentley convertible is waiting, with the top down and both of the doors open.
Like an old-school true gentleman, he seats me and closes the door for me before he strides around the beast of a car and swings into the driver’s seat. The engine makes an almost silent, threatening rumble and the car moves smoothly, like a force of nature. A sure-footed jungle cat.
The ride is majestic, but Carlo’s stony silence scrapes the shine off the drive.
I try saying, “Seems like you weren’t ready to leave the party.”
A hollow laugh accompanies his disparaging tone and the slight, sarcastic stretch of his beautifully manicured eyebrow. He doesn’t look at all like the don. Or like either of his brothers. Carlo’s face has a natural, almost aristocratic perfection, like an Italian Renaissance marble statue.
With the perfect proportions of his face, and his clear, sad eyes, he could be the hero of an ancient Roman myth.
“Party?” An empty smile stretches his lips thin, and he shakes his head. “Up until those punks came in with their pop-guns, it was all the riotous fun of a wake. One where all the guests were jonesing to get back to their daytime TV.” I feel a warm glow as he looks at me, watching for my reaction. There’s something exciting about having his attention. About being the thing that he’s studying. Even if it’s only for a moment. “No,” he says, “I just wanted to find out what really happened.”
He throws the car into a fast turn. Almost like it was just for the hell of it.
Eventually, he says, “You showed yourself well in there.”
“Your father didn’t seem to think so.”
There’s an odd look in Carlo’s eye as he says, “The don walks his own path. Sometimes it’s impossible to know what’s driving him.”
“My daddy’s like that sometimes, too.”
There’s that look again. He says, “But you were smart back there. Decisive and bold, without being reckless.”
“I was thinking the same about you three. You in particular.”
He blinks. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass, little Princess. Especially not because I’m paying you a compliment. If you get to know me, you’ll appreciate the appreciation more.”
I tell him, “You mean that you’re not generous with praise.”
“I’d sooner put it more like, if I say I’m impressed, believe I mean it.”
A man of few words. When he does say something, it’s deliberate. And it’s meaningful.
He says, “I feel like I’ve been exiled.” Then he looks across to me and says, almost as an afterthought, “No offense.”
“None taken. Welcome to the club of exiles. It’s my second time today.” He turns to look at me again. So I add, “No offense.”
He laughs. The effect it has on me is a bright shock out of nowhere. Like a wave breaking in the desert. The cascade of bursting, tingling explosions his playful ripple of laughter sets off inside me takes me totally by surprise.
He sounds like a light-hearted killer. Innocent, playful, filthy and dark, all at the same time.
He takes another hard turn.
“This isn’t the way we came.”
Now the low chuckle reaches his lips.
He says, “What ways would you like to come?”
His hand drops onto my leg, and fireworks start to fizz in my stomach. And lower. I pull the skirt of my dress up from under his hand, so his palm lays hot and heavy on my bare thigh. I’m shocked by my own boldness.
I know he won’t let on, but I think he’s shocked too when I drop my hand onto the top of his thigh.
In the lowest voice, I tell him, “Simultaneously is always appealing.”
He’s heading the car out into the mountains. And driving faster. His strong hand slides up, between my legs.
“Did you ever come at a hundred miles an hour?”
My hips tilt and my wanton pussy presses my wet panties into his hand.
I say, “You think you can make me come, just like that?”
He laughs. “Boy, are you in for a surprise.”
I shrug and tell him, “Ask me after. I’ll tell you if the feeling is familiar.”
He laughs again.
Under my hand, his hot throb swells and stiffens his straightening rod. A gasp of air fills my chest. As I stroke his length, the way he thickens up makes me shudder and buzz.
He says, “You don’t kid around, do you,” as his fingers move straight into my panties. He starts by pushing up, back, between the cheeks of my ass. Teasing and testing. Snaking and circling.
I need to keep control. Of the situation, as well as myself. But I need to get across to reach with both hands into his crotch. I have to get his pants open. I need his raw, naked cock in my hands. And for that, I need to pull myself up from melting back into the supple thickness of the seat.
He presses his fingers, sliding through the wet fabric.
“I don’t need to do this,” his voice is hard, “but if I start, you’ll have to go all the way.”
I never wanted it as much. The need is like a cry from deep down.
The car is speeding up, pressing me even deeper into the chair. His middle finger drags up my cleft, casually splitting me open. Carelessly flattening my fattening lips. Idly spreading the uncontrollable leak of my juices as he nonchalantly flicks his finger across my opening to shove under the soreness of my stalk.
While the hundred mile an hour wind shoves me back into the seat and whips my hair around, I’m fighting to get my weight forward and get some control. My fingers fumble at his belt.
He just laughs and shoves the throttle down harder as he flips me with the slightest, lightest shake of his finger. He sends me spinning higher and pushes into me, just enough, as if to say, I own you now… Inside, I’m clenching and collapsing, fighting for breath. But as soon as this rattle of spasms is through, I’m going to get his cock in my fingers. Then he is not going to know what hit him.
I hope this beast of a car has extra powerful airbags, because I’m going to blow his head off. Just as soon as the little burst is over and I’m through the aftershocks.
His fingers splatter me with electric neon blasts from my core up, but I’m coming right back. Even though he’s got my pussy stretching after him.
I can hardly breathe enough to control my hands, but I’ve got his belt open. I’ve got a hand inside his pants, over the top of his soft silky boxers. The nearer I get to him, the hotter and harder he gets. Good thing his pants are loose, because he’s already got them standing up like a circus tent.
Men have all the advantages. This one you wouldn’t even think of. It’s one heck of a task, stretching the waistband up and over the length — well, now I guess you’d say the height, of his firm, fat cock.