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Niccolo moves his hand in a figure-eight pattern, rotating his fingers ever so slightly as he glides up and down my slit. His movements are maddeningly slow, sending jolts of pleasure through every inch of me. With each stroke, I can feel all the tension melting away until I am nothing but a ball of desire for him.
“Tell me what the frat boys can do that I can’t,” he growls in my ear.
And I become a puddle of need that can barely make a sound, let alone answer his question.
Chapter 6
Niccolo
Nobody is looking at us; nobody cares who we are. They don’t notice my hand moving beneath Christine’s dress or her fingers digging into my arm wrapped around her waist. In a crowded college bar, we are all but invisible.
I toy with her clit through the fabric of her panties before dipping my fingers inside, strumming my thumb across her tight bud of pleasure until she bucks against my touch. “Tell me what the frat boys can do that I can’t,” I growl in her ear.
She moans in reply, her body rolling against mine in response to the stimuli. “They’ll last all night,” Christine says between gritted teeth, trying to hold back her moans of pleasure. “They’re young, and they’ve got stamina.”
As if. I was a college boy once. It takes a lot of fucking to get good at it and learn how to keep yourself from shooting your load in the first two minutes. “You want whiskey dick, little girl?” Her panties dampen as I zero in on her clit. “Because that’s all these drunk boys are good for. They’ll thrust all night because they can’t get hard, and when they finally do, they can’t get off.”
Christine leans her head back, letting it rest on my shoulder. She tattoos half-moons into my arm with her nails, teeth gripping her bottom lip in sensuality. “Maybe I want to get fucked all night long,” she moans, keeping up the charade that she’d rather be with some nineteen-year-old prick than me.
Frustration and jealousy erupt in my chest like a volcano, spewing their ugly emotions through every extremity. Christine’s soft mews pull me back to reality, and I delight in her breathy moans. I want her to feel as frustrated as I am. I want her to know what it’s like not to get what she wants. It’s how I’ve felt every day since she turned eighteen.
Her body trembles with anticipation, and instead of letting her climax, I hold her on the edge of orgasm, slowing my strokes until her grip tightens with anger. “Niccolo!” Christine begs. “Please!”
“Just say the word,dolcezza. I’ll fuck you from dusk ’til dawn. I’ll fill your pussy with so much cum you’ll be a walking, talking Twinkie.” If I don’t get any satisfaction, neither does she. Funny how that works.
“You’re disgusting,” she breathes, but her words are that of a woman angry that someone brought her tantalizingly close to finishing and then denied her orgasm.
“And it turns you on,” I accuse before starting the slow, cruel movement of my thumb on her clit again, working it back and forth until she’s panting with barely concealed desire. As I coax her closer to orgasm, I switch up the rhythm before she comes. “What else can these frat boys give you that you think I can’t?”
Christine nearly screams in exasperation, but I begin to caress her once more. Her eyelids flutter shut as the sensations electrifyher senses. “They uh,” she groans, trying to think through a cloud of arousal, “they’ll get me off.” If she wants to keep up the façade that she’d rather have an inexperienced college boy than me, I’ll play her game all day.
“They won’t care about getting you off. They’ll leave you on the edge, desperate for a man that knows how to lick your pussy and treat you right.” They’ll do exactly what I’m doing, but unintentionally. I can get Christine off with just a few flicks of my tongue if I want. Unfortunately for her, she isn’t going to find out until she gets down on her knees and begs for it.
Christine tries to angle her hips and get more friction from my fingers, but I won’t give her what she’s looking for. Call it cruel, call it punishment, call it payback for running out of my classroom the other day. Christine deserves to be held on the edge until she’s willing to beg, plead, and apologize for lying about not wanting me. We both know the truth and until she’s ready to admit it, I’m going to make her suffer.
“I can do everything those frat boys can do,dolcezza.” I force myself to strum her clit slower, bringing her down from the third apex she was about to reach. “And I can do it better. Just tell me you want me.”
The song seamlessly transitions from one melody to another. Christine tightens her grip on my arm and shoves it away, driving my hand out from under her dress. As she turns to face me, her eyes burn with crazed lust and anger. “I don’t want you, Niccolo,” she spits vehemently.
The scent of her arousal conveys the opposite is true. I bring my fingers to my mouth and suck on them, licking her excitement off my fingers. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. Buteventually, you’re going to realize that I’m the only man that can satisfy your desires.”
“I’d rather fuck a hundred college boys than you,” she hisses, putting another foot of space between us.
If she fucked a hundred college boys, I’d kill every one of them. I’d rip them limb from limb and set them on fire. I have never been my father’s son, never wanted to commit a crime against someone to get what I want, but Christine drives me to my darkest self. She makes me embrace the Terlizzi traditions without remorse.
“If you fuck even one of those self-obsessed, douchey assholes, I’ll make you regret it, Christine.”
“Don’t threaten me,” she narrows her eyes and huffs.
“It’s not a threat,dolcezza, it’s a promise. I don’t care about your past becauseI’myour future. I’m the only man you’ll fuck from now on; I promise you that.”
Chapter 7
Christine
Irun from Niccolo, and when I make it back to Kaye, she’s as ready to leave as I am. “The nerve of that man,” she yells as she drags me out of the bar.
It takes me a couple of minutes to catch up, but I’m not the only one who received a visit from the ghost of step family past tonight.
