Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Fifteen

Francesca

He tookme to the stables.

I paused outside, unable to take the final steps into the building. Was I really doing this? You teased him with it. God, I was an idiot. How had I ever thought to gain the upper hand with this man? He saw through my every move and turned it back around on me.

He slapped my ass. “Get inside a stall. Show me how much you want my cock in your mouth.”

The words melted my insides and weakened my resistance. I desperately wanted to suck him off. I wanted to be on my knees, choking on Fausto’s dick. Just the visual was enough to soak my panties.

He wants it, too. Show him what you can do, Frankie.

I would do this once. Never again. I was not Fausto’s mistress.

“I am not your mistress,” I repeated over my shoulder as I started inside.

He said nothing and watched my ass in the tiny shorts. I put a tiny bit of sway into my hips, hoping he enjoyed the show. Somehow, I would win this battle between us.

Two grooms were working in the stables—and Fausto immediately ordered them to get out. The men scurried from the building without a word, eyes averted, clearly terrified of the capo. That only turned me on even more, which I found both telling and terrifying.

Do not ever try to tell me you weren’t made for this life, that you weren’t born to rule as a queen.

No, I couldn’t allow that to be true. This was a game, a few days of fun before I left this place.

But I could think about that later. Not now, when I was about to give Fausto the blow job of his life.

The place smelled of hay and leather, the horses moving quietly in their stalls. When I found an empty stall, I went in. As soon as I spun around, he was on me, kissing me like he was starving. Fausto was a good kisser, better than David. My ex’s kisses were sloppy, his mouth too wide. But Fausto used the perfect amount of suction, not overwhelming me with his tongue. It was a mature kiss, like Fausto knew what he wanted and would take it from me whether I gave it or not.

He’d surprised me with the kiss earlier by the paddock. I supposed everyone would know I was fucking the boss now. What would they think of me? Did I even care?

Fausto broke off and dropped his hands from my shoulders. “Show me, monella. Show me how much you want my cock in your dirty mouth.”

His stare was almost a challenge, as if he expected me to change my mind. If so, he would be disappointed. I was every bit as stubborn as him. I lowered to my knees slowly, never looking away from his bright gaze. He held still but I could see the muscle in his jaw working. Upper hand, Frankie.

Once I was on my knees, I reached for his belt. He grabbed my hands. “Untie your top. I want to see your tits bounce as you suck me.”

I should have known he wouldn’t make this easy. But if he thought showing my breasts would feel degrading, he couldn’t have been more wrong. I liked the idea of being partially undressed while servicing him in the stables.

Lifting my hands behind my neck, I pulled the strings loose. Then I lowered the top completely, allowing my tits to spring free. Fausto’s chest rose and fell rapidly as his eyes tracked my movements. “Now, Francesca. Suck me.”

I took my time, sliding my hands up his thighs to skim his cock over the fabric of his trousers. He growled. “Do not play with me. Succhiami il cazzo.”

I knew cazzo meant dick in this instance, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out what succhiami meant. God, I loved when he spoke dirty Italian. I flicked open his belt, then unfastened his gray trousers. His black boxer briefs were made from a thin expensive material that was several notches above the plain cotton kind David owned. I let my fingers trail over the ridge near the head through the silky fabric as I watched Fausto’s face. His expression twisted in agony, his cheeks flush. “I will spank you,” he threatened. “No more teasing. Your mouth, now.”

I took him out of his clothing and got my first look at the thick glorious length of him. He was definitely bigger than average, and sized more like the men in the online porn I had occasionally watched growing up. Veins ran along the sides and the bulbous head was red and smooth.

Fausto must’ve lost patience with me because he put his hand on my head and grabbed the base of his shaft. “Succhialo.”

I opened my mouth and he thrust inside, the warm salty taste of him gliding across my tongue. Fuck, I liked that. I closed my eyes, but he snapped, “Eyes on me. Clasp your hands behind your back.”

My clit pulsed in happiness, my body drunk on him, completely turned on by his dominance. I complied, keeping my gaze on his and putting my hands behind my back as he started to tunnel in and out of my mouth. I tried to keep my jaw and throat relaxed, and Fausto took advantage, thrusting deep until I gagged. “That’s it,” he said. “I want to see tears streaming down your cheeks from having your face fucked.”

I couldn’t help it—I moaned. His nostrils flared. “Tu sei perfetta. Cristo santo, tu sei perfetta.”

He didn’t hold back any longer, fucking my mouth with rough strokes, his hand still on my head, guiding me. “Relax your throat, bellissima. Let me in.”

He pushed and I gagged, but he didn’t withdraw. Instead, he waited until I recovered and took another breath. Then he advanced a tiny bit more. Tears spilled over my lashes and I struggled to breathe.

“I won’t choke you. Take another breath then let me in. We won’t stop this until my pelvis meets your nose.”

Oh, God. Could I do it? I wasn’t sure. Fausto was bigger and longer than David, and sometimes that had been a struggle—and I’d never deep throated before. I started to shake my head no, but Fausto just smirked down at me as he held me in place.

“You can do it. Fill that filthy mouth with my cock.” He shoved in deeper and I tried to relax and breathe through my nose. “Sí, sí. Swallow if you can.”

It took a few tries but then I swallowed and he slipped in deeper. Then I couldn’t breathe at all and I started to panic, my eyes searching his face. His expression was soft, pride shining in his eyes as he watched my mouth. “Almost there, Francesca. Almost there. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’re going to make me come so hard. Just a little more.”

One more flick of his hips shoved him all the way into my throat, and my nose pressed against his skin. He held my head, his fingers tightening as my throat flexed involuntarily against the intrusion. I could hear him moaning and talking but I couldn’t pay attention. My entire focus was on not panicking and staying relaxed. I can do this.

He drew back to allow me to take a grateful breath. Then he returned to my throat and my ability to breathe departed me again. I stayed there, my nose against his belly, and tried to swallow. It sort of worked, and then I felt him swell even more. He shouted and I could feel him pulse as he came down the back of my throat.

After a few seconds, it was over and he withdrew until just the tip remained in my mouth. I stared up at him, knowing he wanted to see the spit and the tears, the mascara probably running down my face. He would want to know that he’d wrecked me...and I was right. The edge of his mouth hitched as he swiped at the moisture on my cheek, my lips still curled around the softening girth. “You are stunning.”

When he slipped free, I made no move to stand or pull away. My throat was raw and sore, like I had been yelling for hours, and my naked breasts were heavy and aching. I kept my arms behind my back, eager to keep playing this naughty game in the stall. He didn’t immediately tuck himself back into his trousers, either, but looked down almost as if he didn’t know what to think of me.

After a few seconds, he said, “Now, kiss the tip and thank me for fucking your mouth.”

I nearly smiled. Fausto liked to degrade me, but I was beginning to learn how to play his game. My compliance drove him wild.

Leaning in, I held his gaze as I pressed a kiss to the foreskin that covered the head of his penis. “Thank you, Fausto, for fucking my mouth.”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “Good girl. Now lie back so I can reward you.”

* * *

Fausto

I orderedher to come down to dinner that night.

Zia was here, as usual, and Giulio decided to eat at home tonight, too. He often ate out with friends or at the clubs, so it was nice to have my only son at the table. Francesca had changed into a dress, her long blond hair swinging down her back. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the sun today, giving her skin a healthy glow. She looked young and innocent and totally fuckable. My cock perked up, even though I’d had the orgasm of my life this afternoon.

Madonna, she was going to kill me.

After we left the stables, Francesca barely spoke. I still hadn’t fucked her, and her silence upon getting dressed proved she wasn’t ready. I wanted her begging for it, free of guilt. I wanted her willing to be mine for as long as this lasted.

It wasn’t easy, though. Especially after that blow job. Cazzo, that woman could suck a cock. Never had a woman taken me so deep on the first try. She was perfect in every way.

Eyes burning resentfully in my direction, she strode to the seat next to Zia. I couldn’t resist saying, “You look beautiful,piccolina.”

“I am so happy you find this acceptable, il Diavolo.”

That smart mouth. I wanted to hate the disrespectful way she spoke to me, but I couldn’t. She was still pissed that I ordered her to eat with us.

Zia chuckled, then covered her mouth, as if to hide it from me. Giulio wasn’t so circumspect. He laughed as he looked between Francesca and me. “This is nice. I think I’m going to like having Frankie around.”

“Francesca,” I corrected.

“Friends call me Frankie,” she told me, like I wasn’t already aware. “You may call me Francesca, however.”

If she thought that offended me, she had a lot to learn. I’d call her whatever the fuck I wanted. After I rang the tiny bell on the table, the women I paid to oversee dinner every night emerged. All three were trusted friends of Zia’s, older widows I could be sure weren’t trying to poison me.

Platters of seafood pasta, stuffed artichokes, and a leg of lamb were placed on the table. We began serving ourselves while Imelda began carving the lamb.

A strangled gasp from down the table caught my attention. Francesca was as pale as flour, staring at the leg of lamb. Her eyes were glassy, horror etched on her face, like she was watching a friend being slaughtered in front of her.

I looked at Imelda and the platter. It was just lamb. What on earth could be—?

Allora.I understood. In Italian, I said, “Imelda, no lamb tonight or any other night. Remove it, please.”

Imelda paused, uncertain. Refusing the food was a serious insult, but I would not have Francesca upset, thinking we are eating one of the baby lambs she visited every day. “Va bene,” I said. “Just bring something else.”

“There is only soup, Signore Ravazzani,” she said.

“Sí, va bene, capisco.” I told her I understood and she removed the lamb, shaking her head on the way back to the kitchen.

Silence descended but I focused on my food. No doubt Giulio and Zia thought I had lost my mind.

“Grazie, Fausto,” Francesca said, her voice shaky but I heard the relief. She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her napkin. She had a big heart,this girl.

“I cannot save them all, dolcezza. But I can prevent them from appearing on our dinner table.”

She bit her lip but nodded, and I wanted to...I don’t know. Kiss her and touch her, bring a smile back to that gorgeous face. Then I wanted to hold her down and fuck her, while I spanked her ass until she cried. I gave myself a mental shake. These were hardly appropriate thoughts for dinner.

Zia couldn’t resist commenting. “Sto vendendo cose che non avrei mai pensato di vedere in vita mia.”

I am seeing things that I never thought I’d see in my lifetime.

“Basta,” I told her sternly.

“What did she say?” Francesca asked, glancing between all three of us.

Giulio opened his mouth to answer, so I shot him a glare. He held up his hands but I could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. My family was a pain in the ass.

“I really need to improve my Italian,” Francesca said as she took the platter of artichokes from Zia.

Part of me liked the idea of having her helpless and dependent on me to understand the language. But the practical side longed to hear my country’s words coming out of that beautiful mouth. “I can hire someone to help you learn.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course.”

Francesca didn’t realize her face showed her every thought. To me, she was transparent, an open book. I recognized the sly satisfaction she was now feeling, no doubt believing that learning Italian would help her escape. Except there was no escape, not from me. She’d had her chance when Giulio took her into Siderno, yet she hadn’t run. Now, I would never let her go until I was good and ready.

As we ate, conversation turned to other topics. We kept it in English, translating for Zia when she couldn’t think of the words except in Italian. It was the first time all four of us had eaten together since Francesca’s arrival. Normally I’d never have my mantenuta eat with my family, but Francesca was different. She was living here and had been about to marry my son. There was no bothering with keeping my two lives separate at this point.

She and Giulio started laughing about some television show they both knew. He told her about recent things he’d seen on some app, a celebrity who had been canceled—whatever the fuck that meant. As much as I told myself I wasn’t jealous, I was a bit envious of their friendship.

Popular culture had, for the most part, passed me by as the ’ndrina took up all of my time. I stayed off social media and the internet, and I rarely left the castello unless I had to. My father had been murdered on his way to a meeting, dying in the streets of Siderno like a dog. My wife had been shot and killed on the beach. Death stalked me every day, the same fate awaiting me the moment I let my guard down.

“Dovresti sposarla,” Zia said quietly to me. You should marry her.

“Falla finita, nonnina,” I snapped. I didn’t want to hear it.

I had married once when I was young and foolish. I would not be so stupid as to repeat that mistake, no matter how much I loved a woman’s pussy. And there was no reason to marry Francesca. She was not a virgin and I already had her here in my home, available whenever I needed. No one would dare stop me from having her, not even her father.

The only person who could stop me was Francesca. But she wouldn’t. She liked what we did, too.

Zia remained quiet, though I knew she had more to say. No doubt she’d give me an earful later. Considering my mother died when I was young, Zia was always more mother than aunt to me. Still, she wasted her breath if she thought to advise me on the topic of Francesca.

Once the dinner plates were cleared, Giulio left for an appointment, which I happened to know was a delivery at the waterfront. Zia went into the kitchen to help clean up, and Francesca and I were alone with our espresso. I waved her closer. “Vieni qua, dolcezza. Come here.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t fight me. Instead she picked up her cup and saucer and moved into Zia’s abandoned chair. With my foot, I angled her chair even closer, so our legs were nearly touching. “There. That’s better, no?”

“Thank you for the lamb.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t bear the thought of eating it.”

“You are tender-hearted. I understand.”

“What if you didn’t sell them—?”

“Francesca, Ravazzani lamb is prized all over Calabria. I cannot keep them as pets instead. That isn’t how the farm works.”

“Could I have one?” She blinked at me, her gorgeous eyes adoring and hopeful.

“Yes,” I said, unable to refuse. I’d give her almost anything, if she looked at me in such a manner. “Pick one and I’ll let the staff know.”

“Grazie.”

“Prego.” I sipped my espresso. “I like hearing you speak Italian.”

Her mouth hitched. “Funny, I like hearing you speak Italian, as well.”

Oh? This was something new. And by the way her cheeks turned pink, I had an idea of what she meant.

Putting my elbows on the table, I leaned closer. “Does it make you wet, piccolina?”

She had the audacity to roll her eyes. “A gorgeous man speaking a romance language in a low sexy tone? Hmm. What do you think?”

Gorgeous? I liked this new honest side to her. Perhaps I should take her to the stables for riposo each day.

Because I wanted to torture us both, I started speaking in Italian, telling her every dirty thing I longed to do to her. How I was going to touch her, fuck her. Lick her. Have her sit on my face. Make her suck my cock again. That I would spank her ass then fuck her in that dark hole.

By the time I stopped she was nearly in my lap, breathing hard, with her chest rising and falling quickly. The movement caused her tits to nearly spill out of the top of the sundress, and I considered pulling the fabric down to suck on her nipples right here in the dining room. I trailed my fingers along the soft skin inside her thigh, desperate to feel how wet I’d made her….

“Do you want to know what I said?”

“It’s probably better that I don’t.”

I reached her panties. The fabric was soaked. I stroked over her seam, and her breath caught. “Oh, my beautiful dolcezza. Do you need me to take care of you right here?”

A throat cleared in the doorway. I glanced over but didn’t remove my hand. Marco stood there, looking unapologetic at the interruption. “Rav, a minute.”

I smothered a sigh and pressed a soft kiss to Francesca’s mouth. “We’ll finish this later.” I stood and walked out, knowing Marco would give me shit for what he just saw.

Surprisingly, I didn’t care.