I raised him with the morals my father forgot to instill in me.
He won’t ever raise his hand to a woman, but he sure as fuck will when it comes to defending her. He only turned three two months ago, however, he had no issue putting a bully double his age and size on his ass at the playground last week when he pushed a little girl off the swing.
That punk-ass weasel should consider himself lucky. If he had treated Fien as he did the girl on the swing next to her, Matteo would have choked him out with the swing chains. That’s how fearless he is when it comes to protecting those he loves. He’s as ruthless and unhinged as his father.
I would have suggested he cool it a little if I hadn’t seen the gaga eyes his rescuee was giving him. She was smitten with him just as quickly as I was when I spotted Roxanne with black smears under her eyes and chunky, Goth-approved boots. It reminded me that not every story needs a hero. Sometimes the villain gets a lead role as well.
As I pace back to Roxanne’s side of the bathroom, I remove my belt from my trousers. Unlike the time where my anger got the better of me, she doesn’t tremble in fear that I’m going to beat her with it.
I’ve studied every inch of her body the past almost four years. I know every pore, every goosebump, and every imperfect flaw, so I’m more than aware the widening of her pupils now has nothing to do with fear. She’s turned on at the idea of being dominated, and I’m more than capable of fulfilling her every demand.
“Scoot forward. Ass to the edge of the counter.”
When Roxanne does as requested, I pull her hands in front of her thrusting chest, secure them with my belt, then raise them above her head. Since she’s as tiny as a fairy, the bumps in her spine are stretched to their limits when I secure the loose end of my belt around the dual light shade perched above the vanity mirrors.
I grab at my dick while taking a step back to admire the view. The change-up in position means Roxanne’s tits sit high on her chest. Even nursing our son hasn’t weakened their sultriness. The symmetry between her tits and hips are perfect. Meaty enough to grip but small enough gravity won’t take hold for years to come—if ever.
“I don’t know what to devour first. Your candy-flavored mouth or your cunt that’s so fucking hungry for my attention, it’s sucking at your panties.” Precum leaks into my trunks when a brilliant idea pops into my head. “Perhaps I should have both.”
Disappointment isn’t something Roxanne displays while being fucked, but I’m fairly confident that’s what blisters out of her eyes when I slip her panties to the side before notching a finger inside of her. She isn’t pissed I kept the greediness of my stuff to only one finger, she’s stunned I haven’t fallen to my knees and devoured her cunt for dessert like I do anytime it’s in front of me.
Our fuck this afternoon was hard and fast, but it still only occurred after Roxanne rode my face like I was a bull and she only needed to hold on for eight seconds. I need her wet enough to take me without pain, and screaming my name loud enough the frantic calls men in my industry never stop hearing drown out my wish to kill for another twenty-four hours.
Clawing your way back from nothing is already hard, but when you toss in all the shit my father shrouded our name in, I should have drowned years ago. The only reason I’ve stayed afloat is because the people around me are stronger than the man who tried to hold my head under the water.
It took me a long time to realize that. The delay didn’t weaken the truth of it, though. Roxanne, Rocco, Smith, and perhaps even Clover have kept this train on the tracks, and it continues steaming forward at a rate so fast I’m confident Matteo’s bid to be the boss of all bosses won’t incur a single protest. If it does... you don’t want me to answer that, especially not if it shifts the focus off my wife for a second longer than it already has.
Needing to get my head back into game mode, I swivel my index finger around Roxanne’s cunt, growling at how it sucks at my finger. “Forever fucking begging.”
Roxanne doesn’t deny my claims. She knows what happens to people who lie to me, so she’d never be stupid enough to test the theory.
I pump in and out of her slick slit until the sound of her wetness comes close to overtaking her hearty moans, then I withdraw all contact. I was born a prick, I am still a prick, but that isn’t what this is about. I want to sample Roxanne’s mouth and cunt at the same time, and this is the only way I can achieve that.
Roxanne’s deep exhale dries some of her arousal on my knuckles when I pop my index and middle finger into her mouth. I could have kept it to one digit as I did her cunt, but what can I say, I’m a greedy fucker who loves watching my wife gag on my fingers as if they are my cock.
“Oh...” Roxanne murmurs on a moan, not only turned on by how good she tastes, but also moaning in response to my tongue getting in on the action. I swipe it across the lips curled around my fingers before dueling it with hers.
We kiss for several long minutes, biting, licking, and mouth-fucking each other like we don’t need air in our lungs to live. Our pace only slows when Roxanne’s impatience gets the better of her. After yanking one of her hands out of the restraint that’s extra slippery due to the humidity in the bathroom, she slides it into my trousers.
When her thumb rolls over the bead of precum on the top of my shaft, she breathes heavily into my mouth. “I swear you get thicker every time we fuck,” she confesses, her strokes quickening when my fingers find their way back to her drenched cunt.
After yanking off her panties, I pound into her pussy with my fingers like my cock is dying to do. While moaning like she’s possessed, Roxanne slides the waistband of my trousers over my ass before yanking down my trunks. Once her hand circles my shaft, she pulls her mouth away from mine, desperate to take in the image of my cock sliding in and out of her tiny hand.
I swear she loves stroking me as much as she does watching me do it on her behalf. She’s so fucking obsessed with me bringing myself to climax, she’s asked me to do it numerous times the past almost four years. She’s even sketched me stroking my cock on more than one occasion.
Her drawings are erotic pieces of art I value as much as the alteration of light that forever occurs when she spots my cock. Whether deflating after a recent fuck session or hardening at the thought of her lips wrapping around the tip while showering, she forever stares at my cock like a hungry little minx who hasn’t had it inside of her a minimum once a day for the past four years.
Even having Matteo didn’t slow us down. We didn’t fuck the three weeks she was out of commission, but Roxanne sure as hell did take my dick between her lips as often as possible. Rocco said I should ‘cut the poor girl some slack,’ unaware that holding Roxanne back is the equivalent of me issuing mercy to someone who hurt her. Not fucking possible. I’m a man not a saint.
Besides, Roxanne doesn’t want a man. She wants a bastard, a killer, a man who’d rather slay her than ever see her with anyone but him, and I’m giving her exactly what she wants.
Roxanne smashes her head into the mirror with a moan when I fall to my knees before delving my head between her legs. “Oh, God.”
I drag my tongue up her slick cunt before swiveling it around her clit. It’s buzzing with so much energy, I’m confident it will only take two tugs of my teeth to send her freefalling over the edge.
“Look at me,” I demand, needing her eyes on me.
The reasoning behind her fascination with sketching her mother’s exchanges when she was a child made sense the first time I saw the light in her eyes shift. It wasn’t as bright as the gleam in her eyes when Matteo was placed on her chest after a thirteen-hour long labor, but it’s had me riveted with voyeurism ever since. Except, I don’t want to watch the shift in anyone’s eyes. I only want to see it in hers—my wife’s.
