Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Then he gives it to me. He tugs my torso down onto the bed, so I’m lying across one of his knees. The first few smacks he delivers to my ass are slow with squeezing and rubbing in between. I moan, pushing my ass out, dying for more. He responds by wrapping an arm around my waist and spanking me harder. I yelp, hating it at first, but I don’t tell him to stop. After a moment, I adjust to the sting. My flesh warms, and the shock goes away. The slaps become welcome. Pleasurable, even. The nerve endings between my legs register it all as sex. As foreplay. As stimulation.
I can’t stop the little gasps and cries from escaping my lips, and I don’t want him to stop. The pain increases—my butt heating, each new strike coming as a new sting. I start to wriggle, wanting more. Wanting less. The sensations taking over all my mental faculties.
Joey stops and rubs my ass. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
I wouldn’t think I’d love to hear those words from him, but they only further ignite my excitement. I grind my hips on his lap wantonly. I need release, desperately.
Joey runs his large, warm hand over my heated ass, sliding it down one thigh, then back up again, seemingly without agenda.
Well, I have an agenda. I slide off his lap onto my knees and reach for the button on his pants. His eyes darken with desire, passion evident in his expression. His cock thickens the moment I grip it, springing out of his boxer briefs as he slides forward on the bed to give me easy access. I flick my tongue over the head, circling the rim before taking his full length into my mouth.
He groans appreciatively.
I slide up and down, massaging his balls with one hand and squeezing the base of his cock with the other. When I pull off and blow on his moistened shaft to tease him, he groans again.
I take him back into my mouth, and he shudders. I turn my lips in over my teeth and hum as I slide up and down over his shaft. He grasps the back of my head, encouraging my movement. “God, yes!” he gasps.
I pull off again, flicking my tongue over the head, lapping the weeping slit. The next time I take him fully, he grasps my hair, pulling me in and out with an uncontrolled urgency. Just when I think he’s going to come, he pulls me all the way off.
“On your hands and knees.” His voice thick.
I drop to position, and he slides his fingers between my legs, testing my readiness, giving a growl of approval when he finds me dripping wet.
I wait, holding my tingling ass perfectly still for his taking. He lowers to his knees on the bed behind me and enters slowly, but soon begins plowing into me, bumping so hard I travel forward. He grasps my hips and tugs me back, only to repeat the dance.
The next time he pulls me back, he spins me around so my torso rests on the bed. Now, properly braced, he pounds into me.
I lose control at the sensation of his cock hitting my inner wall, the slap of his flesh against my burning ass, and the memory of what he just did to me. I jerk as an orgasm rips through me, and my knees slide out, only Joey’s strong hands at my hips hold me steady until he finds his release with a howl of pleasure.
He stays inside me until his orgasm is complete then pulls me down to the floor, where we both lie sprawled on our backs—my passion relieved, a sense of vulnerability creeps in. Remembering Sereva’s advice to ask for what I need, I say, “Joey?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you hold me?”
In a flash, he pulls me in his arms, wrapped so close to him I can’t distinguish where my body stops and his begins. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m still learning how to be your man.”
My heart flutters. Damn Joey LaTorre. I don’t want him to be my man, but he seems to be exactly what I’ve been missing my whole life. And even if I’m resisting, it’s a position he is clear about filling.
Chapter Eight
Joey
“Cutty and water for you, Mr. LaTorre.” Gina, the cocktail waitress at Swank, slides my drink in front of me. It’s poker night. We’re in the back room at Swank, cards in hand, cigars burning.
Once a week, the Made Men get together for poker. Money definitely changes hands, but these games aren’t for profit. Those kinds of games are run by capos in the organization every other night of the week but never at my club.
No, poker night at Swank is worse—recreational business.
A chance for Al to look every capo in the eye and take his measure. To conduct business and socialize at the same time. To keep his finger on the pulse of the business.