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“How would you like me to fuck you next, sweetheart?”
I didn’t reject the endearment. He could call me whatever he wanted when he made me come like that. “Like this.” I disentangled myself from his body and pressed my cheek into the bed, my ass straight to the ceiling. My head was close to my knees, deepening the angle in my back as far as I could.
His knees dipped the mattress as he scooted closer to me. His hand grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them against the small of my back. Then his big dick entered me like a wrecking ball against a building about to be demolished. “Good choice.”
* * *
The bed was so comfortable. I hadn’t slept on sheets like this for quite a while. Luxury used to be a basic part of my existence, but it’d been so long since I’d had nice things that I’d forgotten how wonderful it was to have them.
He lay beside me, the sheets down at his waist, his arm propped behind his head as he looked out at the view.
There was a foot of space between us, both of us hot and sweaty from the hours he’d spent buried deep inside me.
He reached for the nightstand, took a drink of his scotch, and then grabbed the cigar he’d set there. “You mind?”
“I like the way they smell.”
He grabbed the lighter and lit up. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Well, it looked like you were going to do it anyway, regardless of what I said.”
He smiled before he pulled a cloud of smoke into his mouth, letting the taste coat his tongue. After several seconds, he released, the smoke rising in the air and momentarily blocking our view of the lights.
We lay there in comfortable silence. The smell made me think of fonder memories, my dad smoking by the pool while my mother flipped through a magazine. I had a popsicle in my mouth. Lemon was my flavor.
He handed the cigar to me.
“No thanks.”
He brought it back to his lips and took another puff.
I pulled the sheets farther up my body and tried not to fall asleep. Wasn’t sure how I could be so comfortable with the biggest drug kingpin in France. It was easy to forget what he really was when he was everything else I’d ever wanted.
“Was it your father?”
My head turned to him, seeing him looking sexy as hell in the limited light. If I weren’t raw, I’d be on top of him right now. “Was what my father?”
“The one who smoked cigars.”
He was right on the money. “Yes.”
“So he wasn’t always an asshole…”
“Or I was just too young to realize it at the time.”
Silence trickled by for a while. “No chance you two will ever make up?”
“No.”
“Family is everything to Italians. May I ask what he did?”
I looked at the city lights as I considered my answer. “We don’t have to do the pillow talk thing.”
“That’s too bad because I enjoy your company.”
“Really?” I asked, finding that interesting.
He turned to look at me. “Why is that so surprising?”
