Page 48 of A New Days Don

“Open those eyes, sweetheart.” His voice is a decadent silk, luring me out of the spiral I was headed on. I do as he tells me, those dark eyes still looking at me like I’m his next meal. I squirm, my thighs rubbing something that makes my head zing. It must have been all over my face because Massimo grins something devilish.

“Have you ever made yourself cum?” Alright, world, I’m ready. Open up and swallow me whole.

“No,” I grit out, trying to stop the embarrassment from creeping up my neck as I glare at him.

“Unbuckle yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand. I furrow my brows, but do as he says regardless, my sex addled brain can’t begin to decipher why, “Now, take your shorts off.”

My eyes widen, and I shake my head. There is no way I’m about to get naked with him. Did he not listen to what I just said?

“We are going to make you cum. This is about you and taking care of that little ache between your thighs. You can keep your panties on, but this will feel so much better for you if you strip those denim shorts.” Massimo explains, “If you don’t want to, then say so, but otherwise take those shorts off, get your needy little ass over here, and straddle my throbbing cock.”

Oh…

I stare at him, stunned by his words, “W-what?”

That is the intelligent response I give him. Way to go, Mila, gold star.

“Do you want to cum, beautiful?” He asks softly and when I nod, his lips pull back into a warm smile that makes my insides turn to goo, “Then come here. You’re safe with me. You can do this. You will cum.”

He seems so sure of himself, even though he doesn’t know my body or how truly messed up it is.

But I want this. I want to feel something good.

“And if I panic?”

“Then we stop. But you won’t panic. You will be in control of how far it goes.” I lick my lips. The liquid heat pooling in my panties must have them soaked by now. My suspicions are confirmed when I slide my shorts down enough to see the darkened wet spot against the pale pink cotton and the glistening on my inner thighs.

My eyes dart for Massimo, whose gaze is fixed on the rapidly expanding wetness between my legs, “Fuck… You’re soaked, sweetheart.”

The way he all but whimpers that like he’s the one being tortured gives me the confidence I needed to slide my shorts the rest of the way down my legs and kick my shoes off with them. He reclines the driver’s seat, putting plenty of space between him and the steering wheel. Then he does the same, unbuttoning his slacks and pushing them down his legs so he is sitting in his boxers. My eyes widen at the thick, dripping mushroom head of his cock sitting flush to his lower stomach. Silver glints in the darkness right below the tip, and my mouth falls slack.

Is that a piercing?

Massimo doesn’t give me too long to look at it before his shirt covers over the top of it, and all I am left with is the massive bulge between his thighs. “Whenever you’re ready, come straddle me.”

He doesn’t comment or draw attention to what I saw. His mind is clearly hyper-focused on my own pleasure rather than his. Somehow, he knows if we start talking about what I saw, I may just panic and change my mind.

As I shift over the centre console, his large hands guide me onto his lap. I stay hovering over him, staring down at the way the bulge throbs. Massimo opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak, but instead I drop myself, my wet panties pressing to his warmth, the ridge pressing right into the ache.

The moans we release in tandem are of pure relief. Like he has been waiting for this moment as long as I have, though I doubt he has, considering I have been waiting to experience this all my life.

“Is that good?” He asks, but I can barely think. It’s only when his hand dives into my hair again and tugs so I face him, do I make a sound. Not an answer, but a silent, whimpering plea for more.

“Words, Mila. Whether you are seeking your own pleasure or I’m pulling it from you, I want you to speak to me.” He growls, and I nod vigorously, “I. Can’t. Hear. You.” He punishes me by picking my hips off his, and my clit throbs, crying at the lack of friction.

“Y-yes,” I stammer.

“Yes, what?” He raises a brow, and I glare at him, which only elicits a chuckle from him, “Yes, you will use your words? Yes, it’s good? You may have the control to seek your pleasure on me, but I am still the one who decides whether you get to chase it or not. Now be a good fucking girl and answer my question.”

Desire pools and lashes against my core. My hips are shifting and rolling in his grip with a mind of their own, trying to find that pressure again.

“Yes, it’s good. Yes, I’ll use my words.” I whimper. I will do whatever he wants as long as he lets me press myself against him.

This time, he doesn’t let me drop. He pulls my hips to his, making my eyes cross at the licks of pleasure.

“Good fucking girl, now roll those hips. Give yourself the friction your clit needs.” I don’t understand what that means, but I shift my hips trying to do what he says. After a few attempts, his hands grip my hips tightly, almost bruisingly so, and he guides me down the length of him.

When my vision narrows, I focus on the little bites of pain tingling against me, keeping my mind here with Massimo. Whimpers and moans escape me, the teasing bites of pain mingling with the pleasure like an intoxicating drug that I want more of.