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I grip my shaft and pump it in hard, swift strokes, still holding Deirdre’s panties with my other hand. The worn leather of my glove is raw-yet-smooth friction gliding up and down. I don’t take my time or try to draw the act out. This isn’t about sensual pleasure. It’s about quick release so that I can get my fucking head on straight.
I throb and lean back against my chair, groaning when the pressure on my shoulder adds pain to the flurry of sensation inside me. The tip of my dick is wet already. I’m close.
I want to shoot my load into Deirdre’s panties. Completely soak the slippery fabric, stain it with myself the way I stained her skin with my blood last night. But even more than that, I want to preserve the garment exactly as it is now. I don’t want to fuck up that perfect scent.
At the last second, I grab some tissues from my desk, wadding them up against my slick tip. I glance at the laptop where the feed to Deirdre’s rooms is still displayed, and my hips jerk involuntarily when I see her. She’s in her bathroom in those tiny pyjama shorts and tank top, bent over at the sink, washing her face. The view of her sweetly rounded ass in those shorts is fucking glorious. The arched sway of her back as her tank top rides up is a goddamn revelation. I’ve never really been a back guy. I like big tits, open mouths, and wet pussy. The finer, subtler points of the female form are generally lost on me.
Not lost on me now. Because all I want to do right now is splay my black gloved hand across Deirdre’s lower back. Press my thumb into one of the pretty little indents above her hipbones. Admire the artistry of her spine.
Deirdre stands and dries her face with a towel, then piles her hair on top of her head, twisting it and tying it there. Even the flex of her exposed shoulders as she ties up her hair turns me the fuck on, blood pounding through my groin as I stroke. I can see her reflection in the mirror. Her raised arms make her breasts move, the small but delicious curves bouncing each time she tightens her hairstyle. I remember what it was like to palm her breasts, and for the first time in a long time, the first time I can remember, I wish I hadn’t been wearing gloves. The scars on my hands are usually pretty numb to sensation though. I wouldn’t have been able to feel her too much anyway.
Unless I’d used my mouth.
That thought has me closer than ever. One last long, deep inhale of Deirdre’s scent throws me over the edge. I explode, dick spasming, balls tightening. I completely drench the tissues and part of my glove.
After my breathing has somewhat returned to normal, I strip off my gloves and toss them in the trash along with the tissues, then head for the bathroom that’s attached to my office. I wash and dry my hands without looking at them, because I never look at them, then fish out a new pair of leather gloves from a drawer and slide them on. These ones are stiff, not as broken-in as the pair I just tossed. The tough leather reminds me of my own scarred skin. It’s taken multiple surgeries just for me to be able to use my hands mostly normally, to ease all the tightness.
When I return to my office, my gaze goes first to the laptop, where I see that Deirdre is now dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. She’s pacing the room like a caged animal. I wonder if she’ll try to leave through my room. I’ve told the soldiers stationed all over this house that she can roam if she wants to, as long as they keep her under constant supervision and don’t let her go outside. I haven’t explicitly told her she can leave the room, though, and I watch her to see if she’s brave enough to do it anyway.
The sound of my phone buzzing distracts me, and I pick it up. It’s a text from Valentina.
Don’t forget the gala. 8pm. Are you bringing Natalia with you? She’s on the guest list.
Natalia Rizzo. She’s not my girlfriend or my mistress but she’s good for a quick fuck and she loves attending snazzy shit like Valentina’s galas. I have a feeling she wants to be more to me than what she currently is, though, and that thought makes me want to put a knife through my eye. I don’t particularly like her, nor her me, but we get what we need from each other. Sex. Status.
Maybe I should bring her. The rushed jerk-off session at this very desk proves I need to fuck someone. Get this out of my system. Natalia would enjoy it, too, especially after the gala. Being around all that glitz, glamour, and cold, hard cash always makes her horny.
But the thought of Natalia, with her gorgeous curves and long, bleached-blonde hair does nothing for me now. Not even the slightest hint of desire stirs through me, and I know it’s not because I just came. Because when I think of someone else, someone with freckles and blue eyes and red hair, hair that I normally hate, the desire comes roaring back.
I use voice-to-text to reply, No. My phone has a resistive screen, so technically I can type on it wearing the gloves, but it’s a pain in the ass.
Thank God, my cousin replies. Valentina gets along with Natalia about as well as I get along with her outside of the bedroom. Which is to say, she doesn’t. Are you bringing someone else?
I’m about to reply, No, again when I freeze. A slow smirk unfurls on my face. Because I am bringing someone. Someone who will make the night a lot more bearable, maybe even interesting.
Deirdre, I reply. Get here a few hours early to help her get ready. Nice dress, shoes. Jewellery. The works. Use my credit card. I want her flawless.
She looks flawless in her fucking T-shirt and jeans, to be honest, but that’s not what I’m telling Valentina. There’s a long pause without response, and I know it’s because she’s absorbing what I just said. Absorbing the fact I want Valentina to dress Deirdre like she’s one of us.
I want her to look like a fucking principessa.
It’s the perfect opportunity. The perfect, public place to put Deirdre up on display and to let everyone in this city know she’s mine. I’ll give Severu his money, and even if no Irish are there, no doubt word will filter back to Darragh quickly that Deirdre belongs to Elio Titone now.
And Elio Titone keeps what’s fucking his.
I’ll have her at my side, dripping with diamonds and pearls, just within reach and yet completely untouchable.
Untouchable to everyone but me.
Valentina’s reply flashes across my phone. I’ll be there.
I send one last reply before sliding my phone into my pocket and letting my gaze once again land on Deirdre in her room.
Good.
Chapter 15
Deirdre
