Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Mercy
Cisco tilts my jaw up and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is chaste, soft, and brief.
“You have earned a little more, but first—” He takes my hands and holds my palms before my face. “Spit.”
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
There’s no going back for me, so I wet both palms. He kisses the top of my head and returns to standing. His cock is now glistening, angry, and so hard it almost curves to his belly.
“More,” he grunts, pointing at my hands. “Molto wet.”
I gather saliva in my mouth and coat my palms with a thick, clear ribbon, never breaking eye contact. He watches, then drags my joined prayer hands up to the height of my mouth. There, he creates a tunnel by pressing the heels of my palms together and curling my fingers.
“Keep them tight.” He pushes his shaft through my palms, inch by inch, until the edge of my hands bumps against my lips, and the head of his cock slips into my mouth.
I groan at the taste.
He cups my hands with his and presses, increasing the tactile pressure on his shaft. He releases a sharp exhale through his nose and mutters, “Sì, così.”
Yes, like that.
Cisco starts rocking his hips back and forth, cock sliding in and out of my mouth, using my prayer pose as guard rails to avoid choking me.
“You have no idea,” he says, “how much I have wanted you like this.”
The friction is perfect. The weight of him, the wet glide of heat, the pulse. He uses my hands and my lips as a vise, slowly thrusting through them. Never too deep. Never too much. Just slow, steady, relentless.
“I think you have wanted this too,” he groans out.
My jaw is killing me, but I don’t care. I want more and growl my muffled complaint.
Sweat breaks on his temple, running down to his jaw. “Is this still too slow for you, piccola?”
If I say yes, he might go slower.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
We’re running out of time. One of my hands jerks out of prayer position, hikes my dress up, and dives between my thighs. I rub my clit through my panties, slick and responsive. Pleasure shoots through me, and tiny, helpless noises slip out.
“Hands back up.” He yanks free of my mouth, brows slamming down. “You want to try me?”
I glare, refusing to stop touching myself. “You’re being soft. Break me. I can take it.”
He jerks my hands back to my lips and feeds me his cock in a single push. I relax for the intrusion, loving the stretch, the ache, the humiliation.
He fucks my mouth with short, controlled thrusts, still using my hands and lips as a bumper. It drives me insane.
The next time he thrusts in, I grab his hips and force him deep into my throat. I don’t stop until my lips hit his pubic bone and he gasps, “Cazzo!”
The muscles in his abdomen go rigid, and he lets out a strangled grunt. A gasp. His body spasms. Another muttered curse releases as his fingers flex in my hair and his cock floods my throat with pre-cum. I want to keep him there forever.
I hold him there, flex my throat, and look up with watery, defiant eyes. I finally let his cock pop out, and he stumbles back, a string of saliva connecting us.
“Six minutes, twenty-seven seconds.” I pant to hide my desperation. “That’s my record for holding my breath.”
He stares at me, jaw slack, and lips parted.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Noise outside the dining room draws our attention. Clatter in the kitchen.
We will clear the dishes and bring out dessert.
My pulse gallops hard. We’re almost out of time, and I’m still so fucking wound up, I’m going to burst.
“You want to be used, piccola? You want to lose yourself so you don’t have to feel? Fine. You win.” Cisco bends down low and bares his teeth, eyes rapidly darkening. “But you make one sound, and my family hears, then I leave you starving all night. Capito?”
My cunt clenches so hard it hurts.
“Finally,” I growl, eyes flashing.
He cradles my face with his hands and sweeps his thumbs over my forehead. Something like remorse flashes in his eyes, and I don’t understand it. Not until his voice deepens and he says, “When I say breathe, you don’t wait. You breathe.”
Holding my head, he aims his jutting cock at my open mouth, and then drives in deep and hard.
This time, I choke. Gag. Spittle runs everywhere, but he rides it.
He pulls out and slams back in. The force has me bracing myself on his thighs, but I don’t break eye contact.
I let him see it: the pride, the surrender, the raw need.
I want him to use me, and I want him to know it.
He says nothing, just breathes heavily through his nose, vein popping in his forehead, face red with strain. His biceps bulge as he forces me to meet every thrust.
Time is lost to a staccato beat of wet suction and slaps, choking squelches, and deep, grunting sounds of male desire.
And then suddenly he’s out, panting hard. “Breathe,” he says.
I gasp for air, one lungful, and then he’s in me again, fucking my mouth with a brutal pace that brings tears to my eyes. It’s all I can do to keep up. Damn me for boasting about my breath-holding record. That was years ago. I almost tap out, but refuse to fold first.
“Breathe.”
I’m allowed one lungful, and then his cock invades my throat. In and out. In and out.
“Breathe.”
In and out. In and out. My vision blurs. My head swims. His thighs tremble, muscles in his stomach contracting as if he’s trying to hold back. “Dio, Mercy—just like that—so good—brava, piccola—”
His praise sends a rush of heat to my clit. I suck harder, deliberately tightening my throat around him when he pushes deep, and the broken Italian curse it earns me is worth the burning in my lungs and jaw.
“Going to come,” he warns, voice strangled. “Swallow for me.”
Hot jets fill my mouth, thick and salty, and so much that I can barely take it. He holds my head so hard that I have to fight not to choke, to make myself swallow around him as he empties down my throat.
Finally, he releases me, and I collapse back on my heels, spit everywhere, throat burning, brain blanked out by endorphins. My body is jelly, but the need between my legs is stronger than ever.
He quietly tucks himself back in, zips up, and buckles his belt with big, ragged breaths. His gaze never leaves my face. For the first time in a while, he almost looks shy, like he can’t believe that just happened.
It reminds me of how he looked at me when we first met. All those times I taunted him with crude language or brazenly flashed my body. He still feels the same. Nothing I’ve done has scared him away.
“Cisco . . .”
He leans down, grabs my jaw, and kisses me hard. His tongue sweeps in deep, even though I’m filthy, even though I’m a mess.
I let out an embarrassing whimper. I barely care that I’m still kneeling in a private dining room with his family in the kitchen outside.
By some miracle, the timer still ticks.
My fingers dart for the hem of my dress, hiking it up, but Cisco is faster. He hauls me to my feet, spins me, and bends me over the table with a force that leaves me breathless.
“Wha-at?” I gasp.
“You thought it was your turn?” he growls into my ear. “You did not earn it.”
I buck and twist, but he’s too strong.
He folds over me, keeping me trapped with his weight, and seizes my wrists. He moves my hands above my head and pins them flat, fingers over fingers.
He keeps me smashed there, utterly helpless, every nerve ending screaming. My head faces the window, and I see the moonlit piazza outside. People stroll past, couples laugh, life keeps moving. If anyone looked in right now, I’d be screwed.
I’m kidding. I’d probably love it.
“Maybe I gave in too early.” He moves my wrists to one hand so he can fumble in his pocket with the other. His hand appears before my face, holding something small. “Maybe you think you still have a backup plan with these in my bag.”
The silhouette is hard to make out in the dim light, but it looks familiar.
“Is that my plug?”
He brings it closer. Black, silicone, and with beads. It’s the vibrating one with a twist jewel cap.
“It’s mine now,” he announces.
“You can’t just—”
He shoves it in my mouth and snarls, “If you want to use me like your plastic, then I will be the one to use it on you. Me.”
His forehead lands heavily between my shoulder blades, and he releases a muffled, pained groan—almost a whimper of defeat.
I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to do.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
“Miserere mei,” he murmurs. “Mea culpa. Maybe I was not clear about your reward, and this is why you punish me.”
I spit the plug out. “Me! Punish you?”
He eases off me, but says nothing. I remain there, too afraid to move. Have I broken him? Is he done with me?
Already?
“I have not seen my family in a decade, and my uncle is coming to kill them.” The anguish in his voice makes my eyes close.
“I have left my team behind. I have failed my God, lost my way with the Church, lost control of my curse and killed, and yet . . .” His palm grazes my left buttocks, squeezing the flesh.
“The only time I truly feared was when I thought you went to a demon rather than wait for me.”
“I told you—”
“I know. Mea culpa.” He once again crowds me with his body, smoothing his hands over my arms. “What I am not saying right, Mercy, is that I was jealous. Angry. Insane. It made me realize there is nothing in this world I want more than you. Nothing. But I am afraid, too. I don’t want you to see my monster and run.
” He collects the plug and twirls it before my eyes.
“Even the thought of this plastic replacing me is unbearable. I don’t want to lose you, and I think that I will.
Maybe not today, maybe not for years. But eventually, I will. ”
My eyes sting, and I soften. Didn’t I just think the same thing earlier?
“I won’t leave you,” I whisper. “I promise.”
“Bene.” He nibbles on my earlobe. “Because when I say ‘whatever you want,’ I am telling you the same thing. I will give you my body.” He drags in a shuddering breath, exhaling across my sweat-damp upper back.
“I will give you my blood.” He trails kisses down my spine. “I will give you my collar, anima mia.”
My soul.
“Cisco . . .”
“I am yours,” he croaks, knees thudding to the ground behind me. “And you are mine.”
He braces my hips from behind me and drops his forehead to my bottom. It feels like a submission, even if I don’t fully understand it yet. I think I trust him. I think I’m falling in love with him.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I hear him breathing, short, sharp breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
“This means yes?” he tentatively asks.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
“Yes.”
I feel his exhale of relief through my skirt and stifle a moan.
“How much time left?” I ask.
“Not enough, piccola.”
Shaky hands hike up my dress, pushing the silk over my ass. My thong is wet, and the air feels cool.
“You still need to learn to wait,” he adds.
I laugh. Shake my head. “You—ah!”
His mouth lands on my crack, slick tongue probing along the thong’s string. He licks lower and deeper, hunting for access to my pussy. I release a long, husky groan as he slips past the barrier of fabric and his tongue finds my clit. Just a flick, a flutter, and sparks riot in my body.
He slides my underwear down my hips and to my knees.
“Dio mio, you are beautiful here, too.” The words rush from his lips in a growl.
He kisses down my thighs and swirls his tongue on the tender flesh of my cilice wounds.
“Here, too, except . . .” His teeth press into the flesh, and I gasp.
“Except I am jealous of these, too. I want to make my own marks here.” He nips.
“I want to cover you so that I can protect you from the pain.” Another nip. “Make new reasons for them.”
Without warning, he stuffs two fingers inside my pussy. He pumps the slick out and rubs it over the plug. At least I think that’s what he’s doing from the way his fingers and cool silicone bump over me. He takes his time, coating it, making me shake.
I whimper. “Please.”
He grunts his approval and then rims the tip around my tight hole. “You will wear this for the next fifty-one minutes. If you’re good, I will let you come at the next devotion. If not—” He removes the plug. “Then we start over.”
The timer dings obnoxiously.
He pulls off from me, removing his heat.
“No! Don’t stop.” I shove back for more. Don’t give up on me yet.
“Life is suffering, anima mia.” But he works the slicked plug into my ass, bit by bit, twirling and pushing until the jewel’s cold base rests flush with my anus.
I feel myself clenching, adjusting to the sensation.
It’s warm from being in his hands, and it stretches me with the most delicious sensitivity.
“Bene.” He gives my rump a gentle pat, tugs my thong back up so the string holds the plug in, and then pulls my dress down and smooths it over my hips.
“No vibration?” I ask, accepting his help to stand straight.
“Not this time.” He fixes my hair and then grazes his knuckles over my cheek, smiling softly. “Bellissima. Now you sit with me and listen to the stories. You will act like nothing is wrong until the next devotion, and you will get your reward.”
“Which is?” I have to ask to test him.
He kisses me, hard and deep, then says against my lips. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s my reward?” I pant. “I thought I got—”
“Whatever you want.” He grins. “Let’s go. Nonna’s cannelloni is getting cold.”