Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Give Me Everything

Vee’s body trembled against him, nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I...God...Luca..." she whimpered, trembling, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. "Please...don’t stop. I can’t...can’t hold back..."

He had always been a man who took what he wanted—but with her, it was about building, shaping.

"Luca..." she gasped, "I’m...so close...please..."

"Give me everything Bambola."

Her body quivered violently, a shiver of surrender racing from head to toe. Her orgasm hit her hard, even harder than ever. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but she didn’t ask for it, so he wasn’t going to.

"Now, see...that?" Luca said as he watched her come down from her high. "That...you cannot fake."

Vee let out a shaky breath, her body humming, the aftershocks rippling through her in slow, traitorous waves. Her legs felt weak, she was still finding her balance in a world that had shifted several degrees off center. She nodded, unable to summon wit.

"I have to go," she said. "Can I go?"

Luca stepped away from her at once. He should have asked her to stay. He knew it. Staying would mean intimacy.

He did not trust himself with that.

"Of course," he said instead, masking the hesitation.

She was just next door. Close enough.

She slid off the dresser. Only then did she notice a darkened patch on the polished wood, unmistakable, impossible to ignore. Evidence. Proof. Her stomach twisted with shame.

She had given herself to him. She had given him permission. She had offered him a yes.

To the man who held her sister’s fate in his hands.

To the man who had just told her there was nothing he could do.

She pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly, steadying herself before the swell of emotion could spill over and embarrass her further.

She had let Luciano Genovese make her cum. She had wanted it. She had needed it. And worse, she knew, with a clarity that frightened her, that this would not be the last time. That soon, terrifyingly soon, she would be the one begging him for more. For everything. She would be begging him to fuck her. Whether her sister was safe or not.

Luca watched her quietly as she gathered herself, noting the way her shoulders straightened, the way she wrapped her robe tighter around herself.

Vee took a step back, then another, putting distance between them. With each step, her thoughts unraveled further.

He was right. She had not stepped into this mad world solely for her sister. That had been the excuse she clung to, the noble reason she fed herself so she could sleep at night. But the truth was darker, messier, and far more dangerous.

This world intrigued her.

The rules that bent instead of broke. The power that did not apologize for itself. The man who called himself the devil and did not ask forgiveness for the things he was capable of. It thrilled her. Terrified her. Drew her in.

She wanted Luciano Genovese. The devil. How twisted was that?

She paused, hand on the handle, and looked back at him one last time. He stood where she had left him, watching her.

Neither of them spoke.

Luca watched her go, watched the way she didn’t even hesitate, just turned and hurried away from him.

He had just given her the best orgasm of her life. If he could say so himself. And he absolutely did say so himself.

And she ran.

"So this is how it feels?" he muttered, staring at the door. "Well, fuck."

He looked down at his pants.

The outline of his hard cock was unmistakable, straining, offended she hadn’t stayed to finish what she started. His body was still locked in her rhythm, still chasing the ghost of her heat.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

His hand went to it instinctively, fingers closing over the thick length through the fabric. Lord, not again. This was becoming a problem. A real, humiliating problem.

Luciano fucking Genovese. Reduced to a fucking wanker.

He let out a sharp breath and shoved his hand away, pacing once, twice, before stopping short and glaring at himself in the mirror. Marks on his arms where her nails had dug in, red and already blooming darker.

"Fucking great," he told his reflection. "Absolutely fucking great."

The dresser still bore the evidence of what she had done, what he had drawn out of her.

That broke him.

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