daniella
The thick ends of the fingers of his right hand pressed into her soft thigh. She watched them. His hard hands, still somehow well-groomed but masculine. Pressing her flesh. He had her legs spread wide, that intimate part of her exposed to him, her most secret part pushed up into his hungry mouth. He sucked, and his other hand thrust over and over, fucking her with two big fingers, making wet and smacking noises. He had her more wet than she could remember. She felt her juice slipping down her crack, spreading on her cheeks.
She groaned, loving her own sound in her ecstatic throat. She moaned again, just for herself, feeling the hum through her chest and up into her head. Her eyes wanted to close but she forced them to watch. Her fingers wove through his thick glossy hair and urged him on, urged his tongue faster and deeper and he understood, riding her body, meeting the thrusts of her hips with his driving tongue. He pierced her, flattened his tongue and spread the strong base so she could grind her button hard into him. Her knees came up, a little vulgar but they were all friends here, she turned her sex up for him, threw her legs over his shoulders and dug her heels into his steely back. He'd eaten up all that cream, took it all, left her skin shining. Licked and sucked, worked lower, between her cheeks and drew a long warbling high note from her at how dirty this day had become. He licked her from her anus up to her clit, and his fingers came back too and started their deep wonderful lunging again and it made her ache for his cock. Her eyes rolled right back. Two years without a man, now she was more than ready for that horse cock he had. So ready, two of his thick fingers felt like an appetizer.
She didn't really care where he’d been for four years, only cared that they were reunited, that they were one again. He wouldn't leave her. She could feel it. He was the same Rocco, but he was also profoundly different. He would hold onto her until the end. She would do the same. They would solve this current hydra and they would move on. They would be a couple and there would be no looking back.
She bucked against him now, picturing their life together, imagining every day like this...wanting it, needing it. Her grip tightened on his hair and she thrust herself to him, drove her hot wet pussy into him, let him thrust with his fingers, let him suck on her clit, felt his tongue sticking her, mashing her, her head fell back and she looked up at the cast iron chandeliers above, dug her heels hard into him, felt the muscle of his back, clapped her thighs against his ears, hard enough she could hear the flesh slap and then she came. She cried out and tried to choke it back, so loud she'd embarrassed herself, but there was no stopping it and she chugged and cried and called his name as it washed over her again and she looked down at Rocco, looked at him with love, framed between her heavy swinging breasts and above her fluttering tummy and she swelled up. Her orgasm got bigger and she inhaled so she almost burst, listened to the air whip through her, harsh and cold as she struggled with a tumbling wall of pleasure.
“Oh, Rocco, oh,” she cried, and she pressed her thighs together, stopped him from touching her. Every wet touch of his slippery tongue right now short-circuited her cerebral cortex and made her vision blink white. He’d found a live wire down there and if he wasn't careful he was going to burn her whole fucking house down.
She lay back in the chair, feeling his hair between her fingers, his kisses on the inside of her thigh. Her chest rose and fell in lurches. Her pulse pounded. Legs grew weak and heavy and slumped along his back. His breaths were deep still, his exhales gently soughing against her wet sex, winding her, getting her back in the mood. His hands came up to his neck and he parted her thighs, let them rest on his arms as he began to touch her again, spreading his fingers wide, across her belly, the spread of his outstretched hand as big as her waist. Slipped it up then to her chest, over her breasts, the other hand too, then they were gripping her, pulling her down to the floor with him, dragging her off the chair and supporting her, holding and caressing. She found herself down between his open legs, on her knees, plopped her butt on her heels, sensing a desperation, an urgency in his hands and his kisses.
His eyes burned into her with shocking intensity. Her eyes went down, saw the problem. His cock thrust out to her from his lap, angry, aggressive, harder than she'd ever seen it. Standing quite upright, up to his ribs, impossibly hard for a cock that was so big. His flared glans was swollen like a clenched fist. She touched it. Let the tip of her finger trace all his raised slippery edges, using the clear excitement streaming from him to make her touch glide. It drew a growl from him and he had her then rising up, his hands under her arms and lifting her with ease, turning her at the same time. The points of her elbows went into the chair’s cushion and she thrust her rump to him, tossed her hair back and watched him from over her shoulder. He stroked his cock, big in his own hand, his chin drew down, eyes leveled on hers and she felt her nipples tighten even harder.
“Ah,” she gasped when she felt his cock mash against her. Driving forward, and despite how wet she was, it felt like he was pulling everything in with him, reaming her with something too big, but he got it in, partway at least, drew it out, got it coated with her nectar and it wasn't long before he was stroking in and out of her and she felt his hot breath on her back. His boot slid on the floor, his knee, denim bunched below it, came up to her armpit and she braced herself for some serious fucking. Her hands lowered, fingers curling over the back of the seat, clutching, getting a hold to brace herself. She wanted it. She wanted it hard. Wanted him to deliver it the way he wanted. Knew what to expect given the look in his eyes, his hardness, his breathing. It excited her. She did this to him. It was her. She’d produced this monster. She deserved it.
She didn't shy from his aggression. She gave it back. Pushed her rump to his thrusts even though it hurt—she'd worry about the discomfort tomorrow. She fucked him and he fucked her. He got animal noises out of her. Grunting and growling and roaring as they rutted, him taking her from behind like a stag in the mountains. Hot animal sex. Passion and love and sheer base lust. The chair rocked on the floor, the felt feet not even quieting their violent action. His boot squeaked to her left, he made deep gravelly sounds of avarice in her ear and she reeled again, feeling another rising orgasm in her. Pleasure and pain and wonton brutal passion bringing it from her. When he came, when his hard stone column suddenly swelled and she felt every cable, tendon, and vein press out against its surface it set her off. She came when he did, and she howled and cried, feeling his seed spewing so deep inside her, splashing and swirling as he kept plunging, drawing the sounds of wet suction from his hard goring cock. He roared, drowning out her high feminine animal calls with his jungle cat growl. Eventually he collapsed on her back, whispering her name and caressing her arms. That thing inside her never wavered, never calmed. He was still hard.
12
Silk Road
daniella
He’d had to come one more time before he went soft. He was insatiable. She was too. His lust was welcome. They fucked in the shower. Face to face with hot water streaming and splashing around them. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her back pressed against warm tile. Kissing and fucking and scratching his back.
Now they were in the deep tub and she was glad she didn't cook something that needed to be hot when he walked in the door. This was better than eating. She'd cook those involtini when they went back downstairs. God, if they went back downstairs.
Second bath of the day for Daniella. Hair wet and slicked back from her face, combed behind her ears. Her back pressed to his chest, his big knees on either side of hers, laying in his lap, both of them looking out the window at the foot of the tub as snow fell again, three days in a row. His sleeping cock rested against her rump. Just taking a nap, recuperating.
“You get the guy?” she said, running her hands over the crests of his bent knees. Felt him shake slightly with laughter.
“Not yet,” he grumbled behind her ear.
“You find out anything?” she said, laying her head back against his hard chest.
�
�Know what? No. Nothing. Which is weird. I got feelers out.” His hand covered hers, draped over the one she had on his right knee. “Don't worry. I’ll get him.”
“I know you will,” she sighed.
“What’d you make me?”
“For dinner? Braciola. Involtini, beef. Salad... Dessert,” she laughed, and felt him squeeze her, brought out more giggling as he nuzzled his mouth into her neck.
“Woop,” she blurted, seeing her nipples stretch out yet again, swiped a facecloth from the edge of the tub, whisked it in warm water and covered herself up. His finger traced her swollen buds where they pressed through the facecloth anyway.
“I’m glad you found something to do today,” he said, hands coming back to cradle her against him.
“I missed you.”
“I couldn't wait to get home. I brought you some things you like. Sugar...”
“Lady fingers?”
“Yeah, I got you lady fingers. All sorts of good stuff. In that cardboard box. Bought you a gift too.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see. In that wooden case I brought.”
“Yeah?” she said, “Thank you.” She took up his hand, so much larger than hers, watched her little fingers weave between his, poke through the gaps and wiggle at her. She’d kept herself busy today, puttering around the kitchen and while it was fun, the smells, the tastes, the music, it did divine a flux of sadness from deep within. She missed her family, missed being in the Nero mansion. Missed her Dad. Cooking like her mother did made her think of him today. Nothing was the same since he was gone.
Sensing her sadness, sensing her weight settle against him maybe, a poignant tilt to her head, he said, “I miss him too. I loved your dad. Wish I coulda said good-bye.”
She nodded, her hair scratching against his chest.
“Such a hard man. But fair. And he was kind,” Rocco said. “He was good for the city. In the end, all those men he ruled, all those adversaries wanted him dead, but he squashed them...or put them to work and kept them busy...then he dies of kindness.”
“Kindness?” she said.
“He died from a good life. He was a happy man, I always thought.”
“He was. He was tough, but he loved to have fun,” she said, running the nails of her other hand over his sensitive palm, watching how it made his fingers twitch. “Too much wine, too much food, too much...good life...” she said, using Rocco’s phrase.
“So many men like him they go in bad ways. In jail, shot in the street. Your dad died at home...” Then she felt Rocco bristle, he asked, “Were you...with him? ...”
She wiped tears from her cheeks now, nodded. “I was there. It was so fast. He clutched his chest. He was gone...I held his hand...”
“I’m glad, Daniella...I’m glad you were there for him...”
“Me too,” she squeaked. Sniffed then, used her fingers to clear her cheeks again.
“He wanted you to rule?”
She nodded.
“When did this happen?”
“After you left. He gave me businesses to run. They did well. He...groomed...me. He made me stay with him every day. Learn how it's done.”
Rocco didn't answer and she couldn't see his face. Felt a tension from him, felt a resistance to what she was saying. She let his hand go, unlocked her fingers, twisted in his lap, spun her butt around on the squeaky tub floor so she could face him, drawing her knees up to brace the cloth on her breasts, keep herself covered.
“What?” she said, her brow lowering. “You don’t think I can?”
He put his palms up, shrugged his shoulders, said, “It's not that, Daniella...”
“You don't think I can do it because I'm a woman.”
“I don't think you can do it because you're good. This isn't a world of men and women that you want to govern. It's a bloodthirsty cage of animals. Your heart will never pump your kindness into them, they’ll just take it, rip it from your chest with their teeth.”
“So you don't think I can do it?” she said, shrugging off the truth she was afraid she heard in his words.
“You’re not about destruction. You're about birth and life, and you know it. You can curb their killing, but it's always gonna be a pot that wants to boil over. You gonna watch it? You wanna stand at the stove all day long, watch it every second and never take your eyes away? I tell you, take your eyes off one second there’ll be blood all over these streets. It’ll boil over with blood. It's the nature of these men. You won't change it no matter how good you are. You can do so much good. I believe in you. We can do good together. Those men in the syndicate can only be ruled by fear. Fear of their death. The second they ain't afraid they’ll cut your head off. Won't think twice about it.”
“You’ll protect me.”
“If it’s what you want, I will. I’ll stand by your side and chop heads. Anyone you want.”
“I don’t want that.”
“I’d do it. Forever.”
She worked her pouted mouth from side to side, her eyes absently watching the warm waves on the surface of their bathwater. She leaned her shoulder into his chest. “They don’t want me.”
“Who?”
“The rest of them. At the meeting yesterday, you shoulda seen them.”
“Didn’t want you?”
“Showed me no respect. Not like they did when Papa was alive. Didn’t want to hear my ideas. Didn’t want to hear me talking about being in charge of their future.”
“Ah, that’s what they’re like. Not just you. They’re gonna fight whoever tries. Test them. If you wanna lead them you can’t back down. Don’t show weakness.”
“Your horse meds made me look like an idiot.”
“Saved your life,” he laughed.
“What would happen if I didn’t run them?”
“They’ll go to war. Sort it out.”
“War?”
“They’ll battle.”
“People will die.”
“They will.”
“Who could run it for me? Who could step in that they would listen to?”
“Whoever comes in. If it’s you, if it’s whoever...there’s gonna be war—”
“Who would keep it under control?”
“What about your Uncle Tommy?”
“To rule?” she said.
“Yeah, he—”
She waved the idea off with her hand. “He doesn't want it. Heart trouble too, like Dad. Can’t take the stress...”
“One of the others? One of the heads...”
“One that hired you to kill me?” she said with a cocked eyebrow.
“He’ll be dead, Daniella. One of the ones left...”
She felt an uneasiness spread through her. The problems of yesterday confounded by today’s problems. Her future uncertain, her family, her father’s legacy, and now her life. Everything was at stake and while it was fun to sit and have a bath today and play house, she had real problems looming. But... Maybe a few more days in this hidden paradise would be okay. She settled her cheek to his chest now, ran her hand over his shoulder and wiggled until he wrapped his arms around her again.
“I have to do it. I have to continue my dad’s legacy, Rocco. That's what he wanted.”
“You have to take care of yourself, Daniella. He wanted you happy. He wanted you breathing.”
“I have you now,” she said, digging her cheek into him, cupping her ear flat on his chest and listening to the pumping of his powerful heart. “You’ll take care of me. You couldn't have come at a better time, Rocco.”
“Good fortune, Daniella. You got good fortune.”
rocco
And how would he tell her of his own good fortune? Tell her about an ammo can stuffed with treasure. How do you tell somebody that running from the mob and escaping hired killers was only part of the problem you faced right now? At least his news came with the promise of fortune. The words formed on his lips but disappeared somewhere, lost on the path. It was burden and she didn’t need that now.
Her words were like a punch in his stomach. They took the wind from him and hearing her voice utter those two words in combination made him flinch. A breath escaped him, coughed out, ill-formed, a tinge of voice in it—something that would have been a word if his brain was working. He had an image come to him. His army duffel, its contents spread out on the dining room floor at the foot of the spot where he’d arranged the mattress and boxspring. The items were sorted and aligned in right angles, an artful collage. He could see Daniella’s hand lining them up, sitting cross-legged with bare feet on the polished maple.
“You were snooping,” he said, the words coming out with more menace than he had intended.
“What? ...No, it’s not like that,” she said, darting away from his chest so she could look in his eye.
He wanted to be mad, wanted to punish her but he wouldn’t. He could see the innocence in her eyes. The anger subsided, diminishing with each heartbeat. He softened. She rested her open palms on his chest.
She said, “I was looking for something to wear. You didn’t think I was naked all day did you?” She smiled for him, drew him closer to her goodness.
“You didn’t have whipped cream on your pussy all day?” he asked, playing along now, feeling warm happy blood pump up the sides of his neck. His hands caressed her under the water, slipping over the curve of her ass and down her thigh, back up again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face becoming serious again. “I wasn’t snooping. I don’t want to pry...”
“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin and looking at her. “I want to be honest with you. Silk Road was what I did before I left the military, came back to L.A. It was an Operation name. North Afghanistan, in Badakhshan...we...we raided a Taliban stronghold...”
Broken (Dying For Diamonds Book 1) Page 10