Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
They stumble off, and Abella glances up at me with wide eyes and a pretty flush spreading over her chest.
“We should go inside,” she squeaks.
“Not a chance.” I drag my cock over her lips. “Open wide, cara.”
She lets out a soft breath and stretches her jaw as I feed the length of my cock into her mouth. While I’d be content to stay here and let her lazily suck on me for hours, we don’t have the privilege of time.
I press my fingers into the back of her skull and drag her head up and down the length of my cock. She rests her palms on my thighs and lets me use her as I please, moaning around me, even as I gag her.
The little deviant likes being mouth-fucked, and it gets me so hard, I lose myself in it. As my muscles draw tight and the pressure builds, it’s all I can do not to pour my release down her throat.
“You want my cum, bella?”
She nods, so fucking pretty when she looks up at me with those angelic eyes, waiting for me to defile her.
Squeezing her face between my fingers, I drag my cock from between her lips and fist myself as the release rips through me. I spill my load into her mouth, watching hot cum spurt across her tongue until I’ve emptied everything I have to give her.
When I release her face, she closes her mouth and swallows, never taking her eyes from mine. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips like she’s still greedy for more, and I groan at the sight of it.
“That’s my beautiful girl.” I cradle her face in my palm, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Così sei mia.”
She’s the picture of ruin—hair tangled, lipstick smeared, mascara running down her face. The evidence of my claim on her is a balm to my earlier irritation. But I’m the only one who gets to see her this way. I’ll need to take her through our private entrance to put her back together before I greet my guests.
I tuck my cock back into my trousers and hold out my hand to help her up.
“Come, tesoro. Let’s take care of you.”
In true Vitale fashion, Nonna puts on a feast worthy of a king. We eat in the backyard—courses of antipasti, meat, pasta, dessert, and espresso, followed by more drinks. Abella sits at my side, sipping an amaretto while I stroke her thigh beneath the table.
Her friends steal glances at her throughout the meal, but avoid eye contact with me. Judging by the way Mariella’s rolling her eyes, I’m certain she’s heard about the garden show.
The men talk amongst themselves, sticking to safe topics in polite company. As the alcohol flows, I catch the president of a local union staring at my wife.
Danny Miller is a bought-and-paid-for lapdog with a gambling addiction and an overinflated ego. He’s a serial philanderer who sticks his dick in anything that will have him, and apparently, he has champagne taste on a beer budget. That can be the only explanation for his gawking at something he can’t afford to touch.
I find him annoying on a good day. Today, his very breathing is intolerable.
He’s too drunk to notice I’m filing away his transgressions as I carry on a conversation without missing a beat. He must have forgotten he’s sitting at Il Diavolo’s table.
He leans too close to my wife, complimenting her necklace as he tries to get a good look at her tits. At one point, when she turns, I catch the bastard subtly inhaling her as he reaches down and adjusts his trousers.
Abella excuses herself to use the restroom, and moments later Danny quietly slips from the table.
I shadow him as he follows Abella down the hall, watching as he dares to brush his hand against the small of her back.
“Looks like we’re going the same direction,” he teases.
Abella tenses at his touch and forces a smile. “Do you know where the guest bathroom is?”
He ignores her question, his hand slipping down another inch. “Goddamn, that dress shows off every curve you’ve got, sweetheart. You should come with a warning label.”
He has no fucking idea.
I stalk toward them quietly, a thirst for violence burning my throat.
“Your attention is misplaced,” Abella tells him. “My husband doesn’t take kindly to men who forget their manners. I suggest you remember yours.”
“Relax, darlin’.” Danny’s hand dips lower yet. “I’m just making a friendly observation. You know you’re begging for compliments in that dress—"
Abella jerks away from him, and her eyes widen as she notices the flash of movement in her periphery. Her gaze catches mine just before I grab the back of Danny’s skull and bounce it off the wall.
He crumples to the floor, blood pouring from his nose as he lies there unconscious.
“Angelo, I wasn’t—” Abella panics, rushing to explain.