Mafia War by L. Steele

15

Michael

Ten minutes, and five seconds later, I walk out with a towel around my waist. If she thinks she can order me around, she has another think coming. I walk over to where I’d dumped my duffel on a chair and pull out a pair of sweatpants.

"Hey," she protests, "don’t get too comfortable. You’re leaving, you—"

I turn around, whip my towel off and she opens and shuts her mouth and I suppress a smirk.

"Wha…what…" She lowers her gaze to my crotch, and her breathing quickens. Her chest rises and falls, and the almost imperceptible motion of her thighs signals that she’s squeezing them together.

"You were saying—"

"I was—" she clears her throat, "I was…" She swallows, licks her lips. "I…ah… I mean…"

"I was going to wear my sweatpants, but if you’d rather I not—"

"I’d rather you not—" She scowls, "I mean, don’t wear your sweatpants. I mean…" Color suffuses her cheeks. She raises her hand, seems like she is about to speak, then pivots and heads for the bathroom.

I chuckle. "You sure about that?" I call after her as she slams the bathroom door behind her. I turn back to survey the contents of my duffle bag. This is a temporary reprieve. And it had been an underhanded move, maybe, to drop my towel… But hey, it had been a surefire way to grab her attention. Don’t judge. I pull on my pair of sweats.

By the time she returns, having scrubbed her face clean and wearing a nightshirt that I recognize as one that I bought for her, I am settled on one side of the bed. I take in the hem of the shirt, which hits somewhere above her knees, revealing a portion of her creamy thighs, her calves, her tiny feet with toenails painted—black, of course—and the blood rushes to my groin. Santa-Maria, those toes of hers. I’d love to suck on them, run my tongue between them and down across the sole of her foot, over the arch and down to her heel, before I retrace my steps and nip on her toes again. She digs her toes into the carpet, then clears her throat.

I glance up as she stomps over to me, then dumps my jeans and T-shirt on my chest. "You left your clothes all over the bathroom floor."

"Thanks, honey." I smirk as I pull out my secure phone—the only reason I carry it is because not even the FBI should be able to break into it, at least, in theory. Ideally, I shouldn’t be carrying a phone at all. It does make me more vulnerable to being tracked, but I have to stay in touch with my brothers.

I wasn’t lying when I told her I had slipped into the country without informing anyone, but at least, my brothers know how to get in touch with me. Also, the security detail I have on Karma is sure to have seen me, so it's not like I am completely unprotected.

When I check my phone, there’s a message from Seb asking me to let him know when I decide to head back and that they’ll be holding down the business in my absence. Goddam!

I drag my fingers through my hair. Had I been that transparent to them about where I was headed? I could have sworn I hadn’t mentioned anything to them. Then again, I guess it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where I could have disappeared to. Guess my brothers know me too well.

I put my phone aside as she scoffs, "If you think acting all nice and domestic is going to make me take you back, you’re wrong."

"Hey, only being myself, sweetheart."

"Argh." She throws up her hands and stomps around the bed to the other side. She slips under the covers, then turns over on her side facing away from me.

I turn off the lamp, and bend my arm behind my head. For a few seconds, there’s only the sound of us breathing. Then she wriggles around, making herself comfortable.

"How are you feeling now?" I murmur. "No pain or anything?"

She draws in a breath and the silence stretches. I am almost sure she isn’t going to answer me when she sighs. "I am okay. I guess, I am surprised at myself as to how fast I’ve recovered. I was lucky, I suppose, that I wasn’t hurt more."

I curl my fingers into fists. "You shouldn’t have been hurt at all," I say in a low voice. "If I could do anything to go back and prevent what happened—"

"Don’t beat yourself up over what happened, Michael… It’s just one of those things that we need to move on from."

"Have you moved on from it yet?"

I sense, rather than see her shake her head.

"Me neither," I murmur. "I wanted to take you out somewhere nice for dinner, but it’s Christmas Eve, and everything is closed."

"It’s fine." She moves around, tugs the sheets in her direction, then quietens.

"I thought you’d have spent the evening with your sister and her new husband?"

She blows out a breath, "I thought about it... Even went to their house, then I changed my mind."

"You did?"

"Yeah," she half laughs. "Don’t know why I am telling you this because I don’t really see you as my friend right now."

"You’re right."

"I am?"

"Yeah, I am your husband, your dom, and your master… Certainly not, your friend."

"Seriously?" She switches on the lamp and sits up. "You’re going to pull that line on me, now?"

"What’s wrong with it?"

"You’d think you’d try to grovel, at least a little, if you wanted to get into my good graces."

I smirk, "Why should I grovel when I have something far more lethal that you’d prefer?"

She narrows her gaze on me, "Do I even want to know what that is?"

I hold up my fingers and wiggle them, "How about these?"

Her gaze falls to my fingers and her eyes widen.

"Or this?" I drag my tongue across my lips. Her breathing grows ragged.

"Or…" I slide my hand under the sheet and down my sweatpants, "this?" I grip my cock, and despite the sheet over my crotch, it’s clear what I am up to.

She swallows, the sound audible in the silence.

"You have a preference, piccolina?"

Her gaze is fixed on the movements visible through the sheet. Her chest rises and falls, she licks her lips, and the blood drains to my groin. My dick lengthens and I swipe my fingers around my thickness and drag them up the length. A growl rumbles up my chest and she shivers.

"What are you doing?" She clears her throat, "Are you touching yourself?"

"Would you rather touch me instead?"

"I…" she draws in a breath, "I…I’d rather that we go to sleep." She tears her gaze away, turns on her side, facing away from me.

I continue to drag my fingers up my shaft, and again. A groan rumbles up my chest, and she wriggles around on her side of the bed. I throw off my cover, shove my sweatpants down, then begin to jerk myself off in earnest. Not what I had planned, damn it. I had come here simply to spend time with her. I couldn’t keep away, and I hadn’t really thought if it meant that I was going to fuck her… But considering everything she’s been through, I wasn’t going to do that… Not unless she asked me to… But just being near her is enough for my dick to swell, my balls to throb, and my groin to harden and knot until I have to relieve myself. So what, if it means I am lying next to her in bed, wanking off.

Che cazzo! Get a grip on yourself, stronzo. I squeeze my shaft tighter—exactly what I am doing…not what I meant…but no matter. If this is the only way of getting off…then so be it.

I increase my pace, squeeze my dick from base to crown, again and again. My shaft thickens and my balls harden as the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the space. The tension at the base of my spine coils, the blood pounds at my temples, and a bead of sweat crawls down my spine. I throw my head back as I squeeze my cock and yank on it again and again. The pressure in my groin increases and I groan as my balls draw up. That's when she throws off the sheet and crawls over to me.