Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 132

Chapter 132: You Weren’t With Me

She kissed him. Her mouth claimed his with authority, controlling the pace, the depth, the angle. She tilted his chin slightly with her fingers, dictating how he received her. She devoured him like she was collecting something owed.

And Luca groaned.

His hands were useless behind him, wrists bound, fingers curling into empty air. Instinct screamed at him to pull her closer, to grip her waist. Instead, he had nothing. Just heat. Just hunger. He had been starving for her.

Three days without her touch had stretched like a desert. And this single spark she struck with her mouth felt like wildfire tearing through dry land. He felt the ring tighten as his body reacted violently to her dominance, pressure building, desire pooling hot and insistent.

When she pulled back, Luca nearly pitched forward.

He chased her instinctively, lips parting, body leaning, as if gravity itself had shifted toward her mouth. Fuck. "Bambola..." he called, pleading, as she rose to her feet and stepped away from him.

The loss of her heat felt like withdrawal. She moved, picking up the crop once more, letting it rest casually in her hand.

"I’m going to be asking you questions, you answer honestly. If I sense a lie, I am going to be pissed."

The authority in her tone had returned. The softness from the kiss was gone.

"More than you already are?" Luca asked.

She ignored him again. She circled behind him slowly.

"How was your trip?" she asked from behind him.

"Terrible."

"Why?"

"You weren’t with me." Luca said simply.

Oh boy... when he said things like that, it made everything harder.

Be strong, Vee. Keep going.

Her fingers slid along his shoulders. Beneath her touch, his muscles flexed instinctively, the strength in him impossible to miss. Even restrained, even kneeling, he looked powerful. The line of his back was straight, proud. His breathing steady, though deeper now.

She wondered, fleetingly, if the position was uncomfortable. On his knees. Arms bound behind him. Exposed.

The thought almost softened her.

She replaced the crop with a paddle. Then she picked up the feather tickler and traced it lazily around the perimeter of his shoulders and chest.

His skin reacted instantly. Tiny shivers moved beneath the surface, goosebumps chasing the path of the feather. The cock ring held him rigid, unforgiving. Every light touch magnified, stretched thin by tension.

"Did you touch her?" she asked.

"Vee..."

"Answer the question."

There was no room to maneuver. No room to threaten his way out.

"Yes." He braced for impact. For the sting of the paddle. For the lash of the crop.

But nothing came.

Silence pressed in instead.

"Vee?"

Her foot moved before he could prepare. A sharp, angry shove between his shoulder blades sent him forward. His restrained arms left him defenseless as his forehead met the floor. The position stripped him of dignity in an instant.

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