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Definitely not a night for driving in the countryside.
I figure that Rocco has a plan B on where to go if he suddenly leaves like he is.
And after a lengthy silence, and if only to stop him from hearing my stomach groaning, I ask him point-blank.
“Where are we going then, you have a plan on where we can hide out?” I ask, trying and failing to sound like someone who speaks the language of everyday gangster life.
I didn’t choose the gangster life. It kidnapped me and made me moan in the front seat of a car….
Maybe that’ll be on my tombstone if this plan of Rocco’s backfires.
I don’t imagine his father’s as meek and mild as he made out he was.
I’ve heard plenty of horror stories about both the Martinelli’s and Portello’s on the news over the years.
And if it wasn’t for Rocco being such an amazing man, I might be inclined to believe it applied to all of them.
But I believe him when he says he wants out, and it’s because deep down, I know he’s not like them at all.
Not like a Martinelli and definitely not like any Portello I’ve met.
And I’ve met a few today so far.
He’s something and someone he hasn’t even met yet. Like he’s waiting for a new life.
A new life that I’m pretty sure, a million percent, involves me from now on.
Wow.
Little old me, with Rocco Martinelli….
“I really didn’t think further ahead than my face in your pussy, to be honest,” Rocco drawls, breaking my reverie but making me blush a little at the same time.
If there was a way for him to driveand dowhat he was doing before, I’d line up for days to wait for that.
Smiling to himself and pulling me closer with his huge arm around me to keep me warm, he tells me we’ll stop soon.
“We’ll find somewhere,” he assures me. “Plus, you need to eat,” he adds with a dismissive tone.
“I don’t need you to tell me when to eat,” I challenge him, playfully batting at his rock-hard chest and abs.
But he doesn’t flinch.
“Don’t forget you’re still my prisoner, and that means doing what you’re told,” he says firmly.
Firm but fair, like there are rewards if I do what he says.
I can handle that.
I can definitely handle that.
I have the growing urge to squeal with delight once he gives me one of his trademark sultry looks.
Not something I’m sure I can handle much more of.
No more than the constant flow of wetness between my legs, begging for him to finish what he’s started.
My whole body craves him inside me, holding me as close as he can.
