Authors: Cristina Grenier
Tags: #mob romance
She had already soaked through the thin material of her underwear, and for a moment, Vicente took in the sight of her legs spread, her breasts heaving.
Reaching down, he took hold of her hips, lifting them into the air so she gasped, scrabbling at the sheets of the bed for purchase. It was nothing to raise her sweetness to his mouth, to press his lips against the damp material of her panties and inhale the intoxicating scent of her.
.” She gasped his name, squirming vainly in his grip.
She would not escape him. They were hands that had held men four times his size – that had broken necks and shattered bone. And now, they would bring her unfathomable pleasure. Maneuvering dexterous fingers, Vicente moved aside the seat of her panties, finally exposing her to him.
He wasted no time, burying his tongue in the slick, pink folds of her femininity. Grace’s shocked cry of pleasure echoed throughout the suite and her hips bucked his grip, but she went absolutely nowhere. She was pinned against his mouth, and he fully planned to devour her until he’d had his fill.
She was musky and soft against his mouth, and as he thrust his tongue inside her, she cried his name, her hands raising to his in a blind attempt to save herself from his torturous mouth. But, Vicente wasn’t through.
Not by a long shot.
How many times in the last two days had he wondered how she might taste against his tongue? How she might writhe in abandon as he pleasure her. Now, he watched her, sucking powerfully on her clit as her body bowed like a bowstring - all taut lines and hot desire. She was begging, pleading for mercy.
Mercy that he so rarely gave.
Not once had he granted a mark mercy. Not once had he failed to hit a target. Why should she be any different?
Vicente kissed and licked at her until she was gasping, her form trembling in his grip. He felt her come once against his tongue in a quivering of inner muscles and was not satisfied. He lapped at her like a man starved until she came again, sobbing with the intensity of the sensations wracking her body.
It was only then that he lowered her hips to the mattress as she struggled to catch her breath. When his gleaming eyes locked on hers, she quaked at the lust she found there. “Vicente, please,” She pleaded softly, her voice hoarse from the cries that had ripped from her throat. “Mercy, please.”
In reply, he merely flipped her onto her stomach, drawing her back against him to part her thighs as he jerked her onto her feet.
She was beautiful – subjugated before him like this. It was this image that would be burned in his mind when he thought of her later – before the guilt. Before the regret. As he undid his pants with one hand, Grace lowered her upper half to the sheets of the bed, her thighs quivering in anticipation.
She was slick from buttocks to thigh, and he resisted the urge to taste her again – to imprint her flavor onto his tongue. Instead, he merely drew his throbbing erection against the core of her, her replying keen of want was music to his ears.
He thrust home roughly, encasing himself in wet, tight heat so that he groaned with the exquisiteness of the sensation. How long had it been? How many mindless fucks with nameless women where he had enjoyed little and felt even less? Curling his fingers into her hips, he jerked her back against him, feeling the tip of his erection kiss her womb, and Grace cried out trembling against him.
He fucked her.
That was the only term one could possibly use. Vicente Acconci did not make love, and he only savored what he deemed worthy. He didn’t know if he was capable of love. Not anymore. What came quite easily to him was following orders. Giorgio’s orders, and his own. He let his body set the pace as he thrust into Grace in an almost punishing rhythm, the sounds of their coupling echoing through the suite.
Her body strained against his, and even as she shrank from his roughness, her fingers grasped at him pulling him closer, needing him deeper.
Vicente fucked her until her legs gave way beneath her, and then, he merely lifted her limp lower half onto the bed to lie her on her stomach, straddling her to continue his work. His fingers curled once more into the plump flesh of her behind and he cleaved deep, drawing a tortured cry from her.
An eternity could have passed – or an instant. Her clenching, wet softness pulled him in, stripped him of his rational mind and drove him to greater efforts until, finally, the woman beneath him shuddered, her muscles clamping down on him with a force that whitened his vision.
He came in great spurts, pressing deep inside her as her womb hungrily milked him of every drop of seed he offered.
He did not collapse atop her. He had more strength than that. When he pulled from her, she mewled softly at the loss, and he rolled over to the edge of the bed to catch his breath.
Even as guilt and worry began to assault him, he forced the notions away. He would not let his stepfather ruin this moment for him. Here, in Rome, he was far from the man’s reach, and while he was, he would get what he wanted.
What had driven him to enter Grace’s room in the first place.
He turned back to look over her sweat slick form, the musk of their coupling heavy in the air. The girl drew the sheets to her bosom, suddenly shy, and it made him want her all over again. Instead of beginning anew, however, Vicente merely voiced his demand for the second time.
“Tell me about your father.”
Chapter Five: History
It was a tale that couldn’t be discussed in just one hour or one day, and indeed, Grace found herself curious as to why Vicente cared so much about her relationship with her father. He was, after all, just her kidnapper. Why should it matter to him whether or not her father paid for her?
She was certain he was getting paid either way.
But in the wake of the sudden, explosive passion that had ignited between them, she found she couldn’t refuse his demand.
How on earth, she wondered, had they gone from awkward silences to fucking that was almost violent in its intensity? As she tried to clear her mind enough to tell Vicente about her family, all she could think of was the way he’d buried his face between her legs, holding her aloft as he’d penetrated her so deeply with his tongue she thought she might lose her mind.
It didn’t help either, that the man lie his long, divine naked form next to hers, not even bothering with the coverlet as he stared down at her expectantly.
He was all lean muscle – defined shoulders, a trim waist and rippling abdominals. Powerful thighs flexed as he settled beside her, and Grace fought to come back to herself. She had to close her eyes and take a deep breath before she recovered enough to begin speaking.
Grace didn’t think she’d ever told anyone her story. Sure, her friends knew the bits and pieces they needed to make light of the situation – to banter in the way that friends did, and to advise her in the way they thought she needed.
Despite the fact that she barely knew him, Grace found herself divulging everything to Vicente. Perhaps it was because he had the detachment of a stranger. Perhaps it was because he might very well have altered her brain chemistry with the way he’d just fucked her. Either way, Grace started at the beginning, and she told it to the end.
She had been an accident.
Or at least, that’s what her mother liked to impress upon her when the woman was in a good mood. Her parents had met in Atlantic City and Ignacio Trellis had won his wife’s heart by throwing a winning pair at craps. He’d won four thousand dollars, and she’d been the lucky woman upon which he had spent a portion of his winnings.
Grace was fairly sure her father had only meant her mother to be the flavor of the night – perhaps a week, at most. But Alyssa Fairfield had a way of digging her claws into you so that they were impossible to extract. Once she had a hold, she rarely ever let go. And, she’d certainly had a hold on Grace’s father. Grace wasn’t even sure he had known how much.
Even after Ignacio had married, he’d maintained the idea that he could have any woman he wanted. He’d been young and handsome, and extraordinarily good at what he did. Grace could only imagine what he must have been like before he was married, flitting to every figure with a pair of breasts in the entire state.
So her mother had tied him down in the only way she could – or so she’d thought. She’d gotten knocked up. Of course, The Fairfields, under the impression that their daughter was a respectable young woman, had forced Ignacio into marrying her for propriety’s sake. Of course, she had been nowhere near the tidy miss they’d thought her to be, and Grace’s parentage had actually been in dispute for a while.
It had been the first way his father had shown his love for his daughter: by questioning whether or not he was really related to her.
By the time Grace had was born, Ignacio had accepted his lost. He did what was expected of him when he couldn’t get out of it – spent time with his infant daughter while his wife spent his money, and pawned her off on her grandparents whenever he could. There were few times when she truly remembered him showing affection for her – and her mother was pretty much on the same level.
They pretended to love her when it was expected of them – a trend that continued as she grew. Grace remembered being stuck at her elementary school overnight once because her grandparents had been out of town. Her mother had been too drunk to come get her and her father had been who knew where. She was embarrassed to invite any of her friends over to her house because, more often than not, the bottle made Alyssa Trellis’s tongue wag a little too forcefully. She might speak to her daughter’s companions about something ten year old girls had no business hearing or use language flagrant enough to melt the eyebrows off a sailor.
Ignacio used his marriage to his wife when it was convenient. He used it to get money from her parents, time and time again, when he gambled his away. He used it to impress other people – to treat them to lavish dinners as his own daughter picked at scraps at home. Perhaps the only thing he didn’t use it on was his own family, prompting Alyssa to steal it whenever she could, which resulted in huge, screaming rows that kept Grace up into the wee hours of the morning.
Always, the very next day, her mother would proclaim how much her husband loved her – that they were two halves of the same coin and would never be apart.
Things had continued in this manner until Grace had started high school. Perhaps Ignacio had noticed himself getting older and adopted the desperation that came with midlife crisis, or perhaps he was just an ass; but as much as he ignored his daughter, he catered to her young friends hand and foot. So attentively, in fact, that he was banned from the school grounds on suspicion of impropriety behavior.
Despite all of this, Grace somehow managed to concentrate on her homework. She worked hard in school graduating at the top of her class – though neither of her parents had the time to attend and her grandparents were, unfortunately, deceased. She lived at home, a stranger to her own parents, until she finished college and began to work.
And like magic, it was like she was visible again.
Her mother came to her every week to borrow from her meager salary. These were, of course, loans that were never returned, spent on booze and makeup, and once, a mink coat that disgusted Grace every time she saw her mother wear it. If anything, her father was worse. Not only did he gouge her for money, even when he had his own, but as she grew into a young woman, he began to wheedle her into accompanying him to events.
While, at first, the young woman had hoped that her father was finally beginning to notice her value, she rapidly discovered that it was just to earn him for more patrons. At this point, he’d kept his business a secret from her for over twenty years, and she had continued to remain in the dark up until the point that Vicente had kidnapped her.
Of course, she had some idea.
When her father did have money, it was all in cash, and he was so tight-fisted with it that he could have starved a family of cockroaches. Grace had just begun to convince herself that she could live without him when she’d been taken.
And now, her prospects weren’t much better
It took the young woman a good week to spill the story in its entirety. While she began in the aftermath of Vicente’s mind-blowing exploitation of her body, Matteo and Gio returned much too early for her to be able to finish.
While they were in the suite, Vicente reverted to the cold, distant man he’d been when he kidnapped her. She was left alone in her room for hours at a stretch. So much so that, a few times, she contemplated trying to escape.
Trying to live.
But ultimately, for the hour or so he was left alone with her every day, he would return to her. While he didn’t demand that she undress for him again, his expectant gaze told her exactly what he
want, and she would continue her story for him.
Vicente listened in complete silence while she spoke. He asked no questions and interjected not once, even though Grace’s needy subconscious wanted more than anything for him to grab her and screw her brains out like he had their first day in Rome. That episode, she quickly realized, had been a gateway for something else.