“Fill me up, Bruno. Fuck me. Make me yours,” I whisper, feeling the rough stone grinding almost painfully underneath me, chafing my bare skin. But the slight pain almost adds to the pleasure of the moment, and I grit my teeth.
“So good for me, baby,” he groans. “Such a tight little pussy. You feel so fucking good.”
“Oh god, I love it when you pound into me like this,” I murmur, my eyes rolling back in my head. He picks up the pace, fucking me harder and faster, his hips snapping back and forth as he uses my pussy. I’m aching, nearly twitching with bliss, and I cry out again as another climax washes over me. I can feel my pussy pulsing around his cock, squeezing him, bringing him closer and closer to the same edge.
He slams into me with such force I can feel my body scooting closer and closer to the end of the stone ledge, but I don’t even care. Fuck, if this is the way I have to go, then it’s worth it. I’ve never felt this exhilarated before, filled with Bruno’s cock, my pussy aching for him to come inside me and stuff me with his sweet seed. Finally, he rears back and shoves into me with such force he has to grab me and pull me back before I can topple over the edge, and he groans, spilling his thick spunk deep inside my trembling sex.
He holds me close for a moment, letting every last drop of his seed fill me up. He leans down to kiss me fiercely, his tongue shoving into my mouth as his hands grope my breasts, my hips, my ass. After a few moments of this, we hear the distant echo of footsteps approaching. Suddenly remembering where we are and how sticky a predicament we’re in, we quickly make ourselves decent and start rushing away from the park, hand-in-hand as we race back to the car.
Laughing with exhilaration, we get in the car and drive home, the car speeding along down the hilly roads. I can still feel his come leaking out of me, staining the brand-new dress I just bought, and it makes me feel satisfied. Complete.
But I’m not quite done with him yet.
We’ve got a little bit of a drive home to go, and there are almost no streetlights, and no other vehicles in sight. I reach over across the console, rubbing my hand over Bruno’s softening cock.
He glances at me, confused for half a second, and then realizing what I’m up to. With a devilish grin, I lean over, under his arms, to unzip his jeans and get to his shaft. At my warm breath on his bare skin, his cock starts to stiffen again. I take my time, teasing him with my tongue, sliding my hand up and down his shaft softly until he’s completely erect again.
He moans, his hand coming down to rest on the top of my head, gently pushing me down, urging me to suck his cock.
And I gladly oblige.
I pull the head of his stiffened cock into my mouth, letting my tongue flick over the tip before I take him in completely. I almost cough when the head of his cock brushes against the back of my throat, but instead I just start bobbing up and down, fondling the base of his shaft with my hand while I work his hard length.
“Fuck, you’re such a dirty, sexy woman,” Bruno says, just barely thrusting up into my mouth. I tease the head of his cock, licking my lips. I can still taste myself on him.
“I just can’t get enough,” I whisper, reaching down between my legs to stroke my clit, still dripping with his come. We ride down the highway this way for a while, my mouth sucking his cock, my fingers rubbing my pussy. Every time we go over a bump in the road, his cock slams into the back of my throat—and I love it as much as he does.
I bounce up and down, sucking him off, swirling my tongue around the head, pumping his shaft with my hand. It’s not long before I’m climaxing again, moaning as I take Bruno’s cock deep into my mouth.
“Brava ragazza,” he murmurs, pushing my head down on his cock. “So good, dolcezza.”
Just before we pull up to the darkened Lomaglio residence, I suck him harder, bobbing up and down faster and faster until I can feel him tensing up. The car rolls to a stop just as he explodes in my mouth, and I swallow down his come hungrily, licking the tip of his cock. I sit back up, proud of myself, and Bruno kisses me, not even caring about the taste of his own come on my lips.
We tumble into bed together, still kissing, ripping off each other’s clothes. We explore each other’s bodies like it’s the very first time, touching and stroking. Before long, he’s down between my legs again, licking my pussy and fingering me. Finally, exhausted and spent, we start to drift off in each other’s arms, totally happy and blissful.
Just as I’m closing my eyes, a smile still on my lips, my phone buzzes on the bedside table. At first, I decide to just let it go. Let it wait until morning. But something, some instinct without a name, urges me to check it. I reach over in the dark and grab my phone, blinking in the bright light as I read the text message on the screen.
My stomach turns and I start to feel dizzy.
Another message from my mother, finally a reply! But the words make my blood go cold.
Hope you’re well. I went out to dinner tonight. Walnuts in the salad.
To most people, this would mean nothing at all. But to me, it’s a time machine back to when I was a little kid, to the first time my mother first sent back a plate of food to the kitchen at a fancy restaurant, complaining that there were walnuts in the salad. I was seven years old, and I asked her what the problem was. She explained that she is allergic to walnuts, and so she can’t eat them. For some reason, in my child’s mind, I took this as some kind of code word for when I didn’t like something or didn’t want to go through with something.
From then on, whenever I was scared, whenever I was in trouble, I would use “walnuts” as a code word, a clue to my mother that something was wrong. One time, when I was at a sleepover and I got scared and wanted to go home, I used my friend’s parents’ phone to call home and whisper, “Walnuts,” to my mother. She immediately understood what I meant. She came and picked me up, took me home, giving some believable excuse to my friend’s parents about why. My mother and I were never as close as I was with my father, but this was our thing.
The day that my first crush was mean to me in eighth grade during gym class, I sent my mom the text message: Walnuts. She checked me out for the day, took me shopping, taught me about how boys can be awful sometimes, but I shouldn’t let them control how I feel about myself.
Even when I was in high school, trying to get through classes without crying because I was still reeling from the death of my father, I would send my mom the “walnuts” code word to tell her how the day was going, how much I was struggling. When I got older, I used the word less and less often, needing my mother to take care of me less and less.
X was the code word we’d agreed on.
Walnuts was the code word we’d always used.
I know something is wrong. She’s in trouble, and she wouldn’t use that word without knowing exactly what it would signify to me. I jump out of bed and start getting dressed, not even sure what I’m planning to do. Bruno wakes up and looks over at me, confused.
“What’s going on, dolcezza? Are you okay?”
With tears in my eyes, I look back at him and answer, “We have to leave. My mother is in trouble, and I have to help her. Now.”
15
BRUNO
I should have been ready. I should have known better. I should have acted sooner. I shouldn’t have ignored my instincts.
I will not make such mistakes again.
The SUV races down the highway as fast as I can make the beat-up hunk of metal move. We have no time to waste, and there are few enough police out in the area that I’m not going to worry about going 40-50 miles over the speed limit. A trail of dust runs behind us like a cloud in our wake. I grip the steering wheel so tight that even I notice it.
Serena is in the seat next to me, watching out the window as we barrel down the road.
“Are you sure your friend will have everything ready for us when we get to the air strip?” she asks for the third time, looking over to me with worried eyes.
“If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him,” I say matter-of-factl
y. Her eyes go wide, but I crack a smile at her to let her know I’m joking. If I don’t ease the tension at least a little, we’ll both get too strung out to focus, and focus is the one thing we need right now.
“I hope your parents aren’t upset we had to leave so fast,” Serena says, running her hands through her hair. “I’m so sorry, Bruno, we-”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say, shaking my head, “this is an emergency. We’ll be back to see them, and they know my life is...the kind of life that involves sudden changes in plans. It isn’t as unusual as you’d think.”
She nods, swallowing.
“The plane I have ready for us will get us back to the States faster than any airliner could,” I say, watching the strong wind whip sand across the road ahead of us as we make our way toward the air strip. “Once we’re onboard, it will be about seven hours straight to New York. I’ve already reached out to my contacts to have a company car ready for us when we get back.”
“The Costas are still looking out for you?”
“I have friends,” I say simply. “Friends look out for each other. Besides, I’m a walking symbol by now. It looks good for the Costas for me to stay in good shape, especially when I show up in New York again alive, back from the dead.”
I see goosebumps on Serena’s arm, and I take my hand off the stick shift a moment to lay it on hers, giving it a light squeeze.
“Is the family going to be okay here, though?” she asks, her eyes going wide yet again. “If anything were to happen to them because of us…”
“Not gonna happen,” I say with a shake of my head. “Now that they have our scent, the only thing these dogs will be interested in is us. Besides, I’ve warned the village about these outsiders, and the local crime rings are on high alert. The Cleaners have connections in the region, but that’s a different matter than a bunch of Americans rolling around causing trouble. And I’ve had some of my cousins come in to stay with my parents for a week or so, until things cool down. We don’t have anything to worry about here.”
She nods, looking thoughtful for a few moments. “I want to come back,” she says with a determination that I can’t help but admire in her. “One day, I mean, when we’ve gotten through all this. I want to come back and make sure the women’s shelter is okay, that they’re taken care of. Those women gave me a safe place for as long as they could—I don’t know how, but I want to return that kindness.”
“I’ll make it so,” I say with finality, and we exchange a short smile before we turn the corner to the last road we’ll take in Italy.
A few minutes later, we pull up the long, open road to where a small private jet is sitting. The tarmac is a small one, really too small for anything to take off from, but it’ll have to do for now. I can just barely make out the pilot sitting in the cockpit looking at us approaching through a set of binoculars, and he hails us as we approach.
“Another friend of yours?” Serena asks.
“You don’t have anything to do but make friends in this part of the country,” I say with a grin. “Well, that and ride cars wildly around the wilderness.”
“Right.”
The wind is picking up, but the direction it’s blowing will only help the plane take off. I drive us not far from the boarding ramp, but my eyes are scanning the area around us.
Something feels wrong.
“I’ll get out first,” I say calmly, but Serena can pick up on my bad feelings more easily than anyone else. Still, she doesn’t question it—she just nods and picks up her bag over her shoulder. “Get out after me. As soon as you’re out, stay low and hurry into that plane, understand?”
“Got it,” she says. Her eyes look into mine, strong and resolute. I take her hand in mine, bring it to my lips, and kiss it.
I pull the car to a stop, and immediately, I get out of the car, my bag over my shoulder.
I take off my aviators to scan the horizon, eyes moving quickly. There are a lot of cliffs and vantage points from here. No signs of cars rolling our way full of Cleaners, though.
A moment later, I hear Serena’s door open, and within a matter of seconds, I see her little form dart from the car up the stairs of the ramp, keeping low, just like I instructed her. My muscles relax a moment later once she’s inside the plane.
Then I see it.
Out of the corner of my eye, for barely a fraction of a second, I see the sun glint off something in the cliffs to the south. I’d know a glint like that anywhere.
There’s a gunman up there, watching us.
My jaw sets. I should duck and run, make a beeline for the plane, but instead, I step around to the front of the car.
My eyes are set dead-on where I saw the glint. And even from nearly a mile away, I know that I’m staring right back at the barrel of a sniper rifle.
There’s no way the Cleaners had enough notice to set up a proper sniper nest this quickly. And I doubt they have many trained sharpshooters in their pocket. That leaves two options in my mind: either someone got lucky and is using that scope to watch us and let his bosses know we’re leaving the country, or some young buck is going to try to take the shot.
So I step forward into the open, glaring right back at him.
If you want it so bad, go ahead, try and make the shot.
The wind is bad right now. It doesn’t take a marksman to know that a shot at that range with this wind would be a tough one, to say the least. If the man behind that scope has enough skill, though, we’re already dead, regardless of whether I run or stand still.
I stand there for a solid ten seconds, my face still as stone, daring him to make the shot. The sun catches the scope again. A quick glint.
Nothing.
My face twists into a frown, and I put my aviators back on. “Coward,” I mutter, and I turn my back on the sniper, strutting to the plane and boarding without worry.
“Everything okay?” says my friend in Italian from the cockpit as I enter the plane. Serena is already sitting in one of the comfy seats, looking relieved to see me again.
“All good,” I reply, smiling to him warmly. “Hope you can fly in this wind.”
“Told you, I was air force,” he says with a cocky grin. “And you won’t be the first Mafioso I’ve smuggled out of the country on short notice. Just make sure the cash is in my account, or I’ll kick you out over the Atlantic.”
We laugh, and I take my seat across from Serena. “Get comfortable,” I say, casting one more glance out the window to my homeland. “Before you know it, we’ll be back in the Bronx. And we just lost the element of surprise.”
I t turns out that getting comfortable is easier said than done on this flight. Seven hours feels like seven days, and passing the time has proven hard. We don’t have much to talk about that doesn’t go back to the danger Serena’s mother is in, and because of that, it feels a little irreverent to try to focus on the brief good times we’ve had with my family.
So, three-quarters of the way into the flight, I’m doing push-ups on one hand on the floor of the cabin. Serena watches me, if only to distract herself from the stress.
It isn’t working so well.
As for me, I have to stay in peak physical condition, no matter what. This isn’t a serious workout for me, just something to keep me warmed up, because for all I know, we could be landing in the middle of a firefight.
Until this is finished, I need to be beyond my A-game, and lying on my ass in a hospital bed didn’t help my strength.
“But what if it’s too late?” Serena says anxiously, and it’s not the first time she’s expressed that fear. I can’t blame her. The situation isn’t good. “What if something’s happened to her already? Oh my god, I’ve just been goofing off like I’m on some vacation all this time and I’m the worst daughter ever. Or what if nothing bad has happened to her and someone stole her phone and is luring us into a trap and-”
“Then I will kill them,” I say simply, lowering myself to the ground before putting both hands down to push myself up. I str
ide over to her, crouching beside her seat and taking her hand reassuringly. I’m bare-chested, having taken my shirt off to exercise more easily.
“Serena,” I say in a low tone, looking into those anxious eyes, on the verge of tears for hours now. “You can’t be everywhere at once. You had to run for your life. You ran for the child’s life. You did the right thing—you kept yourself alive. If your mother isn’t the kind of person who can recognize how important that is, then she’s no mother at all.”
Her face just watches me, trembling, and I know the great beast of fear within her is trying to push out any hope of comfort. I rise up and sit in the seat next to her, raising the armrest to pull her close to my chest, letting her head rest there.
“I don’t know if I could forgive myself if something happened, though,” she whispers.
“I know, passerotta,” I say, stroking her hair gently with my thick fingers. “But we’ve gone through a trial of fire, both of us—and you’re not used to this. What you’ve accomplished, what you’ve survived in Italy is a greater feat of strength than I could ever come close to.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says with a soft smile.
“We’re coming back from the dead, you and me,” I say, looking down to that face I love so strongly. “You’re doing all this for your family, nothing else. It would be enough for your mother for you to keep yourself and your future child safe, but going back to look after family? If that doesn’t make you a good daughter, I don’t know what does.”
After a moment, she looks up at me with a struggling smile on her face, and she gets closer to me. My arms, warm from exercise, wrap around her comfortingly, and we hug with nothing but the droning of the plane all around us for a few moments.
Bound in Love (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 3) Page 14