Holy shit. Those words should totally offend me, but instead, they set my world on fire. I instantly slide to the floor and sit on my heels, waiting eagerly for him to take out his manhood.
I may not have that much experience, but I do know how to give a good blowjob. I started young and learned early the power I could wield with my mouth. How it let me off the hook from having sex before I was ready. How it made me wanted. Keepable.
I grip the base of his cock firmly, making it jut out to meet my mouth, and I start by licking all around the head.
Gio’s breath grows ragged before I even take him down my throat. Then he gets rough. He wraps his fist in my hair and takes over, controlling my head to pull me on and off his cock. I notice he’s careful not to go too deep, which I appreciate, because it is slightly frightening to give up total control this way.
I massage his balls, move my fingers farther back and massage his taint, looking for the prostate.
“Oh, angel. It’s so good. It’s so good, and it’s not enough. I always want to be inside you.”
He pulls me off and stares down at me with bald hunger.
“Was I a good girl?” I don’t know what possesses me to say it—in what universe I became the sex kitten, but flames flare in his eyes.
“So fucking good,” he grates, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Pants off. Get those legs over my shoulders.”
Oh. My. Gawd.
I scramble to shuck my shoes, pants and panties while Gio rolls a condom over his dick. When I drop to my back on the freshly vacuumed carpet, he picks up my legs and props them over his shoulders.
“Are you wet for me, Marissa?” He rubs his thumb over my weeping slit, testing my readiness. I’m ripe and swollen for him and he groans as he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks off my juices.
“You gonna come out here every night and suck my dick at the end of your shift?” He rubs the head of his cock over my clit a few times before spearing me with his erection.
“Yes,” I whisper. And that promise doesn’t feel like one ounce of hardship. I like the way it feels to be used by Gio.
He holds the tops of my thighs and fucks me fast and hard. “It’s not enough,” he snarls, surprising me.
And my own reaction surprises me even more.
The need to please him.
We’ve taken these roles. He’s in charge. I’m his property. I submit to his authority.
“I want you in my bed. Why can’t I have you in my bed, Marissa?” He’s plowing into me so fast and hard, I can’t think. Can’t figure out how to answer him.
“Gio,” I whimper.
“Come home with me.” It’s not a question. It’s a demand.
And yet there’s entreaty in his eyes.
His tactics may be to strong-arm me, but we’re still negotiating. I could say no.
“I-I have to work in the morning. At Milano’s,” I pant.
“I’ll drive you.”
And then I’m suddenly overwhelmed. Tears spear my eyes. I close them so he won’t see. “Yes, okay.” My cry is hoarse.
Gio roars and pounds into me hard, all his victory channeled into his release. He comes and my muscles instantly seize around his length, his body truly is the master of mine. He pushes in tight and stays there. My channel squeezes and milks his cock in waves of delicious release. When I finally stop, Gio rocks back and in a few more times and pulls out.
“Marissa?”
I still haven’t opened my lids. The concern in his voice makes me reluctantly pry them open now. Tears spill down my temples toward the floor.
“Oh, fuck, baby. Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“What’d I do?” He thumbs away my tears on one side. “You don’t have to come home with me. I didn’t mean it, angel. I’m a dick, bambina. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that.” My voice wobbles.
“Baby, tell me. Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?”
“You were perfect,” I say quickly to stop his line of thought. “You always are.”
He cradles my cheek in his hand. The gesture is infinitely gentle, the tenderness in contrast to his usual firm, controlling touch. “What is it?” The alarm still shines bright in his eyes.
I swallow. “It just… feels good.”
He drops his head to the side to study me. “What does?”
“To be so wanted. It just feels good, that’s all.” I push myself up to sit, embarrassed of my tears.
Gio catches my face in his hands. “Who ever made you feel unwanted?” And then he guesses, “That bitch of a mom of yours?”
I wince, but nod, wondering how he knows. But he’s been hanging out at Milano’s since he was a kid. He probably remembers when I suddenly showed up—the abandoned daughter of a drug-addicted mom.