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I whisper in his ear the same filth that I love when he says it to me. How fucking good he feels, how hard he is, how much I need his cock at any moment of the day. And as I do, I start to build again, the feeling in my belly curling in on itself.
“Jesus, you’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” I moan in his neck in confirmation and he growls my name. I can’t decide if it’s in lust or appreciation or what, but either way, the sound has me building higher, bucking just a bit.
“Yeah, like that,” he says then moves, looking down, watching himself disappear into me, pinned against a wall in the bathroom of a club. “Fuck, just look at that. Look at you take me like you were made for it. Never seen anything so fuckin’ beautiful, Delilah.”
“Dante,” I moan.
“Now. Come for me right fucking now while I fill this cunt with my cum. Fuck, Lilah, it’s gonna be dripping out of you the rest of the fucking night, isn’t it?” he says, and that’s it. I scream, convulsing around him as he groans, and I feel him pulsing deep inside of me, coming.
And he’s right.
For the next two hours, I can feel him in me until he finally, finally takes me home and climbs into my bed with me.
The perfect bachelorette party.
TWENTY-SEVEN
-Dante-
Lilah is fully gone by the time we’re finally driving home. Marco and Tino took the other girls home, and it’s just me and Lilah in the Corvette, headed back to the Carluccio compound.
It takes everything in me not to drive to Lake George, to drag her to our little hideaway and fuck her until we both can’t see straight. I’d spend hours and days in bed with her, doing nothing more than devouring her.
Soon, I remind myself. The plan is moving along. Don’t fuck it up now.
Lilah did a great job with Dario, who was admittedly one of my bigger concerns of Paulie’s detail. She already won Tino over when she was working at the club as a dancer, whether she knows it or not.
But watching her do her thing, slowly pull the men to her side, use her siren’s smile to win them over so when she’s ruling, they'll bow to her . . . well, it’s part of the reason I had to fuck her in the bathroom of my club.
And good thing I did because there is no way she’s going to be up for anything by the time I get her into bed.
“Dante,” she says, her voice tired, her head against the glass of the passenger seat door.
“Yeah, fiorella.”
“Ugh. God. I love that, you know?”
“Hmm?”
“Fiorella,” she says it in a comically deep voice, trying to mimic me, I assume. “Love that. Love it, Dante.”
“And I love you, Lilah.” She hums a noncommittal sound and I think I lost her, that she’s on her way to passing out. But then she speaks and as always, she surprises me.
“What’s an Eiffel Tower?” I nearly swerve off the road, increasingly thankful that Marco isn’t in the car with us because there is no universe where I want another man in the vicinity when Lilah is talking about shit like that.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“An Eiffel Tower.”
I play dumb.
“It’s a monument in Paris,” I say, putting on my blinker and merging onto the highway.
“I’m not dumb, Dante,” she says, her words slurring.
“Know that, baby.”
“So what is it?”
