“Is there something you want, Scarlet?”
“Do you like how it tastes?”
The question bursts out of her, like she’s been dying to ask it. I laugh, taking a page from her book by flipping it around. “Do you?”
She shrugs, carefully reaching toward me, like she’s afraid I might bite. She unbuttons my pants and pulls down the zipper, her hand slipping inside. I groan as she palms my cock, stroking a few times in the confinement of my pants, before she pulls it out.
“Condom?” she asks.
I nod my head toward the bedside stand, and she pulls the small drawer open, looking in. She keeps one hand on my cock, stroking, as she searches through my stash with the other, grabbing a plain condom. Nothing special about it. She uses her teeth, tearing the packet, and pulls out the condom, promptly popping it in her mouth.
In her fucking mouth.
The condom.
The entire thing.
Before I can say anything, she goes down on me, wrapping her lips around my cock, starting at the tip, and takes the entirety of it down her throat in one deep stroke, not stopping as she gags.
“Goddamn, woman,” I groan, my hands grasping the back of her head, my gaze flickering to the ceiling fan above as tingles flow through me. Round and round it goes, as Scarlet’s mouth works up and down a few strokes.
She pulls away then, way too soon, and I look down at the condom rolled on my cock.
She put the fucking thing on with her mouth.
Her mouth.
“Witchcraft,” I say as she stands up, shoving against my chest, pushing me so she can climb onto my lap. She straddles me, as I lean back, propping up on my elbows on the bed.
She sinks down onto me—warm, and tight, and wet… so fucking wet. Where I’m sitting, she doesn’t have much room, but she doesn’t need it. She rolls her hips, arching her back, slowly moving, my cock sliding in and out just enough to drive me crazy. Parts of me are tingling that should never tingle as she teases me. Teases me.
The woman is giving me a lap dance while I’m balls-deep in her pussy.
I raise up a bit, reaching out, my fingertips brushing across a tit, circling a nipple. I’m about to pinch that son of a bitch when Scarlet slaps my hand. SMACK. “No touching.”
The sharp blow stings, catching me off guard. I pull my hand back, stalling mid-air. She hit me. Hit me. And not just some love tap... a full on fucking slap. “Hit me again. I dare you.”
“If you don’t keep your hands to yourself, I will.”
She sounds pretty damn sure of herself. I lower my hand, propping on my elbow again as I stare at her.
Look, let’s be real here. It takes a lot of balls to lay a hand on me. I’ll cut the damn thing off and beat you to death with it, let you die by your own hand, since you must be suicidal to try that shit. I’m not even going to sit here and pretend the urge to lash out didn’t strike me the second I felt the sting, but being as my balls are aching for a release, that’s not really in my best interest.
So I do some meditative woosah bullshit and calm the hell down, since I’m not into necrophilia, and I’d rather be fucking her than killing her at the moment. I might be a bit screwed up in the head, but I’m not that far gone.
“I’m not paying for this shit,” I tell her.
A smirk turns the corners of her lips as she says, “Didn’t think you would.”
Scarlet fucks around for a little while longer, tits tauntingly in my face, slowly riding me. She’s trying to get a rise out of me. Figuratively, that is. I’m already as hard as a rock, but it’s the rest of me she wants heated.
I’m going to tell you a secret.
A big secret.
It’s working.
What she’s doing, the way she moves? The way her body fits on top of mine, forming to me, warming me? It’s got me feeling some type of way. I want to throw her off and pin her down, fuck her until she can’t even walk and then make her crawl out of my goddamn house. But then I’d just want to drag her right back, because she’s under my skin, and what she’s doing? It’s hot.
I can think of a lot worse ways to spend my time.
So I wait her out.
Eventually, she sighs, leaning down over me, bringing her face just inches from mine, as she whispers, “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“At being a fucking jackass.”
Laughing, I grab her, yanking her off and throwing her over on the bed before she can stop me. She lets out a loud squeal, startled, before she starts giggling.
She’s fucking giggling.
I crawl on top of her, shoving my way between her legs, forcing her knees up to her chest with my weight pressing against them, pinning her there. She reaches for me, but I grab her wrists, holding them as she struggles. “Wait! This isn’t fair!”
“You want me to let you go?” I ask, leaning down, pausing just shy of her lips.
“Yes.”
“Ask nicely,” I tell her. “Say ‘Lorenzo Gambini, I beg of you, please, let me go and I’ll suck your dick.’”
She laughs again, harder. “You wish.”
“I do,” I say. “No doubt about it.”
Her struggling is pathetic. She could break free if she really wanted to, but she’s barely even fighting.
I close the rest of the distance, kissing her lips, as I grind my cock against her, the tip of it rubbing her clit. She moans into my mouth as she stops struggling, relaxing into the bed.
Surrendering.
“Lorenzo Gambini,” she whispers between kisses, “I beg of you, please... fuck me.”
I kiss her once more before pulling back, shifting position, smirking. “Well, since you asked so nicely...”
I thrust hard, sliding right in first goddamn try.
BAM.
Chapter Twenty-One
You know that dream people have where they’re out somewhere—school, work, somewhere—only to realize they forgot to put clothes on that morning and everybody is staring at them?
I think I might know what that feels like.
The kitchen is quiet, strangely so, considering there are five of us packed in the room. I’m sitting at a round table, in a matching wooden chair, across from Leo and Melody. She’s playing on a cell phone, cutting her eyes at me every now and then, her expression full of curiosity, while Leo isn’t even pretending to be interested in anything else. He’s just blatantly staring.
And he’s not the only one.
Seven stands across the room, leaning against the counter. I can feel his eyes watching me, too.
Yep, I showed up naked to class.
It’s funny, really, because I’ve been naked in public, around plenty of people, and it wasn’t always pleasant for me, but it rarely felt this awkward.
I’ve got clothes on, although they’re obviously not mine—black long sleeved shirt that could pass for a little dress with a pair of blue shorts underneath. Or well, okay, they’re really boxers. Boxers with alligators all over them. Florida Gators.
I didn’t know Lorenzo liked sports.
There’s a lot I didn’t know, I think, as I glance across the room at him, and it smacked me right in the face just a bit ago when I walked in here. Lorenzo’s facing away from me, barefoot, shirtless, dressed only in low-slung black pajama pants and a pair of glasses. Glasses. Black frames, square, thin—not showy, barely even noticeable, but I see them. He moves around, alternating between sorting through paperwork spread out along the counter and tending to whatever’s cooking on the stove.
Yes, you heard me right.
He’s cooking.
And I don’t mean Pop-Tart in the toaster level cooking. The man, who fed me half of a crappy sandwich and a juice pouch last night, has bacon sizzling as he flips pancakes and sips fresh-squeezed orange juice.
Seriously. I watched him squeeze it.
He even poured me some.
I glance down at the glass in my hand, at the pulpy juice, biting the inside of my cheek. No ninety-nine cent generic bodega juice for this family. They all keep looking at me like I’m peculiar, yet they’re acting as if that is normal.
Lorenzo turns around, and I look up as he steps toward the table, half-expecting him to give me weird looks, too, but no, he’s glaring at his brother. Swinging a spatula, he smacks Leo in the head, the loud thwack echoing through the kitchen.