THE MAFIA'S FAVORITE MAID

CHAPTER 11

His finger stayed buried inside me, thick and unmoving, while the silence in the dining room stretched between us. The only light came from the fireplace and the low chandelier above the long table. Outside the tall windows the night was completely black. Inside, I could feel every pulse of my own heartbeat around his finger.

He began to move.

Slow at first—pulling almost all the way out until only the tip remained, then pushing back in deeper than before. The stretch burned. My hymen still resisted, but the barrier had softened just enough to let him in. Each careful thrust forced a soft, wet sound into the quiet room. I bit my lower lip hard, trying not to make any noise of my own.

“Who were you thinking about?” he asked again, voice calm and low against my ear. “When you put your little fingers inside this tight cunt last night… whose face did you see?”

I kept my eyes on the far wall. “My boyfriend.”

He added a second finger.

The sudden fullness made my back arch against his chest. A broken gasp escaped before I could stop it. His fingers were thick, scissoring gently, stretching me open while his thumb found my c**t and began to rub slow, firm circles. Pleasure and sharp discomfort tangled together until I could no longer tell them apart.

“Say his name,” Dante murmured. He f****d me with those two fingers in a steady rhythm, curling them on every inward stroke so they pressed against that sensitive spot deep inside. “Say the name of the man you were thinking about while you came.”

“My… boyfriend,” I forced out, voice shaking.

His free hand left my breast, slid up, and closed lightly around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, keeping my head tilted back against his shoulder so I could not hide my face. His fingers never stopped moving between my legs. The wet sound grew louder. My panties were pushed to the side, the fabric soaked and useless. Every time he thrust in, my hips tried to lift to meet him even though I fought the urge.

“You’re lying,” he said softly. “I can feel how wet you get when I ask. Your cunt is gripping my fingers like it never wants me to leave. Tell me the truth.”

I shook my head, tears of shame and unwanted pleasure stinging my eyes. “It was my boyfriend.”

He f****d me harder.

Three fingers now. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but the burn melted into a deep, throbbing heat that made my thighs tremble on either side of his legs. His thumb worked my c**t without mercy. The wet, filthy sound of his fingers sliding in and out of my virgin p***y filled the entire dining room. My breath came in short, desperate pants. I could feel myself getting closer—my walls fluttering, my stomach tightening, that terrifying wave building low and hot.

“Last chance, little girl,” he growled against my ear, fingers pounding into me now in deep, steady strokes. “Who did you think about while you touched this pretty cunt? Whose name were you moaning when you came all over your own hand?”

I clenched my teeth. My body was shaking. The orgasm was right there, terrifying and inevitable.

“My… boyfriend—”

The word broke into a cry as the climax crashed over me.

My p***y clamped down hard around his fingers. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through me. I came with a broken, helpless sound, hips jerking against his hand, wetness spilling over his knuckles and down onto his palm. He kept thrusting through it, drawing every last pulse out of me until my legs were shaking and tears slipped down my cheeks.

Only when the last tremor faded did he slowly pull his fingers out.

I sat there on his lap, panting, uniform skirt pushed up, panties ruined, body still twitching from the force of the orgasm. He lifted his hand in front of my face. His three fingers glistened under the firelight, coated thickly with my release.

He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean—slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, tasting every drop while his dark eyes stayed locked on mine.

When he finished he lowered his hand, wiped the last trace on my bare thigh, and spoke in a quiet, almost satisfied voice.

“Next time you lie to me, Aria… I won’t stop at fingers.”

He released his hold on my throat and thighs.

“Now get up and finish clearing the table. Then go to your room.”

I stood on unsteady legs, pulled my skirt down with trembling hands, and somehow managed to gather the plates. My face burned. My cunt still throbbed around the memory of his thick fingers. And even as I walked out of the dining room with my head down, I could still feel the exact place where he had licked my orgasm off his own hand—and the dark promise he had left hanging in the air behind me.