THE MAFIA'S FAVORITE MAID

CHAPTER 10

Aria's pov:

The next day I tried to disappear.

Every time I felt his eyes on me I turned the other way. At breakfast I set the tray down and left before he could speak. At lunch I did the same—quick steps, eyes on the floor, heart racing until I was safely back in the kitchen. I told myself if I stayed invisible long enough he would lose interest. That the things that had happened in the study and in my own bed would simply fade.

I was wrong.

When evening came Mrs. Lang stopped me in the hallway.

“Mr. Moretti wants only you to serve his dinner tonight,” she said. “No one else is to enter the dining room.”

My stomach dropped.

I carried the tray in with careful hands, face lowered. The long table was empty except for him at the head. I set the plates down in front of him, poured the wine, and turned to leave as fast as I could.

“Aria. Stop there.”

My body froze.

“Come here.”

I turned slowly. He was watching me with that same dark, unreadable expression. I kept my eyes on the floor, nervous heat crawling up my neck.

“Why are you always running away from me, huh?”

I had no answer.

His hand shot out, closed around my wrist, and pulled. In one strong motion I was on his lap again, my back against his chest. The hard, thick bulge of his c**k pressed firmly against my ass through our clothes. I could feel every rigid inch of him.

“Please let me go,” I whispered.

His hands gripped my thighs harder, spreading them open over his legs so I could not close them.

“You think you can ignore me, little girl?”

One large hand slid under my skirt and cupped my bottom through the thin panties, rubbing slowly with his palm. The friction sent a shameful spark of heat straight between my legs.

“Does it feel good,” he murmured against my ear, “having my big hand on this virgin p***y of yours?”

His other hand rose, covered my breast through the uniform shirt, and kneaded the soft flesh hard. My n****e tightened instantly under his palm. I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

He pulled the edge of my panties aside. Cool air touched my already slick skin. Then his middle finger dragged slowly up and down my slit—from the entrance of my cunt all the way to my c**t—spreading the wetness between my lips. He did it again, and again, until my hips wanted to move against his hand even though I fought it.

Then he stopped.

The thick tip of his finger pressed against my entrance and pushed in just one inch. I felt the stretch. I felt the barrier of my hymen—still there, but not as tight as the day before.

His face darkened.

“It wasn’t this loose yesterday,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me who did it.”

My face burned red. I said nothing.

He pushed deeper, slowly, carefully. Even with the slight change, his finger was thick. The stretch burned and filled me at the same time. When his finger finally settled all the way inside me he squeezed my breast harder and murmured against my ear,

“Tell me who touched you there. I can feel it—it’s loosened.”

I tensed, voice shaking. “I… I did.”

He stared at me for a long second. Then a slow smirk curved his mouth.

“Oh. Little girl is trying new things now.”

He curled his finger inside me, pressing against a spot that made my breath hitch. His voice dropped into a possessive growl.

“Tell me who you were thinking about when you touched that tight cunt. Tell me.”

My throat closed. The truth was too dangerous. The lie was safer.

“M… my boyfriend,” I whispered.

His finger stopped moving.

For a moment the only sound in the dining room was my uneven breathing and the faint crackle of the fireplace. His hand on my breast tightened. The one buried inside me stayed perfectly still, as if he was deciding what to do with the answer I had given him.

Then he leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear, and spoke in a voice so quiet it was almost gentle.

“Your boyfriend.”

He curled his finger again, slow and deliberate, making my walls clench around him.

“We’ll see how long that answer lasts.”