Mafia Daddies Between My Thighs

Chapter 6: Chapter SIX

ANGEL

I stared at my reflection in the steam-blurred mirror of my bathroom and barely recognized the girl looking back at me. My wavy golden hair was damp, clinging lazily to my bare shoulders. My skin looked ghostly pale, as if a demon had crept into my bed overnight and drained every drop of blood from my body.

My baby blue eyes—the ones everyone always gushed over, calling them angelic—stared back at me, haunted, corrupted, and shadowed by faint dark circles.

The stinging, raw heat radiating across my behind was damning proof that last night hadn’t been a fever dream. The lingering soreness made it impossible to pretend it never happened.

I’d done something disgusting. Something dirty, filthy, and carnal in a way that not even thirty minutes under a scalding shower could wash away.

I was completely, utterly repulsed by myself.

I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Why the fuck had my body reacted like that when Damien spanked me? Why had his thick, heavy fingers clamped around the back of my neck, pinning me to the wall, made me so humiliatingly, ruinously wet? The sheer shame of it had nearly driven me over the edge into a helpless orgasm.

I hated it. I fucking loathed it.

So why did my pussy clench so desperately around his fingers when he curled them deep inside me?

In those few seconds, I had wanted him. I’d wanted him more than I dared to admit to myself. I’d wanted him to shove me flat against those walls and pump me full with his cock. I had wanted to do every single dirty, unspeakable thing I’d spent years dreaming of doing with Vincenzo... with him.

Damn it.

I was losing my fucking mind. Why else would I crave a monster like that?

I’d never been attracted to anyone who wasn’t Vincenzo. Never. The boys at my elite private school were pathetic jokes—too naive, too soft, too inexperienced. But Vincenzo knew what he was doing. I knew it because I’d spent years secretly peeking through keyholes, watching him fuck those desperate, trashy whores, and then watching him fuck Jillian.

The way he used his hands, the way he made them squirt, scream, and beg for mercy... Vincenzo was a master. I was the kind of girl who knew what she wanted and refused to settle for anything less. I wanted Vincenzo. That was it.

I had never once thought about Damien like that.

Back when he was just Vincenzo’s silent, intimidating best friend, I didn’t even hate him. I used to help Mrs. Martha prepare his meals in the kitchen. Even though those cold grey eyes of his terrified me with their promise of cruelty, I’d still tried to make him like me—because I thrived on men adoring me. I loved having them in the palm of my hand.

Everything changed the day his bitch sister married Vincenzo. Seeing Damien standing in that crisp black suit, escorting Jillian down the aisle to hand her over to my Daddy, my fear morphed into pure, burning hatred. I transferred every ounce of my rage onto him, letting it burn like an unforgiving fire.

I never imagined he could make my body betray me like he did last night. And the smoldering, torturous ache he’d ignited in my core refused to die down.

I’d spent the whole night tossing and turning until my silk sheets were hot and tangled around my legs.

Whenever I managed to drift off, those icy grey eyes broke through my dreams. I’d squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish him, but his raspy, velvet voice invaded my head. I could almost feel his hot breath fanning across my ear.

He invaded the mental sanctuary I’d built for just me and Vincenzo.

In my dreams, Damien’s filthy, skilled tongue licked my cunt until the sheets beneath me were soaked through. A thick pool of arousal trickled down my thigh, and he licked it clean—just like he’d done with his fingers in my room.

”Call me Daddy.”

The words echoed in my head like a rot eating away at my brain.

I tried to fight it. I fought so hard.

But his tongue was too relentless, his whispered filth too intoxicating, his thick hand crushing my neck just enough to make me breathless.

In the end, he forced me to surrender. He owned my mind.

I’d ended up sliding my fingers into my own panties under the imaginary gaze of those lust-filled grey eyes. And when I finally shattered, crying out into the dark, Damien vanished—leaving me drenched, my fingers slick, and my chest heavy with suffocating guilt.

He’d made me cheat on Vincenzo.

And I hated him a thousand times more for it.

There was only one logical explanation—the one I’d repeated to myself like a mantra while scrubbing my trembling thighs in the shower until my skin turned red.

It was my ovulation. My hormones were completely out of whack, making me hyper-stimulated and desperate. Damien hadn’t turned me on; my own body was just playing tricks on me. Holding onto that belief was the only thing keeping me from snapping completely. It was the only way I managed to finally fall asleep.

I gagged on my toothbrush, spitting the white paste into the marble sink, and rinsed my mouth clean.

Today, I decided to leave my golden hair falling in loose, effortless waves—just like Jillian always wore hers. Maybe Vincenzo would finally notice that I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I prayed he would.

I stepped into my walk-in closet and spent ten agonizing minutes staring at my clothes before pulling out a slinky, skin-tight red dress instead of my usual casual crop tops and denim shorts.

The fabric felt dangerously grown-up, but I wanted to look older. I wanted Vincenzo to look at me and see a woman capable of receiving his lust. If I made myself more like Jillian, would he finally find me irresistible?

I strutted out of my room and glided down the hallway, burying my dirty guilt deep in the back of my mind.

I had bigger fish to fry—like finding a way to make Vincenzo scrap his insane plan to ship me off to Europe.

The warm scent of toasted bread and fresh coffee drifted up from the kitchen. Mrs. Martha looked up from the counter as I walked in.

”Good morning, Young Miss. Did you sleep well?” she greeted warmly. Her eyes flicked over my sleek red dress, then my styled hair, then back to my face, but she didn’t say a word. That was exactly why I tolerated her. She knew when to keep her mouth shut.

Martha was in her early sixties and, frankly, the only housekeeper I’d allowed to stick around. I had personally orchestrated the firing of every younger, attractive maid Vincenzo hired over the years. My previous caregivers rarely lasted a week because I always manufactured some scandal—I wanted only Vincenzo taking care of me.

I had a sharp eye for recognizing women who craved a taste of my Daddy’s cock, and I made sure they knew he was strictly off-limits. Martha was the sole exception—a rare gem who was hundred percent devoted to her own husband.

”I slept amazingly, Martha,” I lied smoothly, scanning the counters for Vincenzo’s heavy porcelain mug. ”Have you made Daddy’s coffee yet?”

”Not yet, Miss,” she said, shaking her head.

”I’ll do it.” I was already gliding toward the espresso machine.

Mrs. Martha stepped aside without a word, letting me take over. I hummed a playful tune as I measured out the dark espresso beans. Ten minutes later, I poured the steaming black coffee into his mug, adding two exact spoonfuls of sugar—just the way he liked it. He’d told me once that I made the best coffee in the world, and I’d bought him this exact mug for his last birthday.

The porcelain was warm against my palms as I carried it upstairs like a sacred offering.

Vincenzo’s master suite door was cracked open just a sliver. I was about to knock with my elbow when a sharp, harsh voice stopped me in my tracks.

”...that brat will finally get what she fucking deserves,” Jillian was sneering from inside. ”How long has it been? At least the council hasn’t forgotten.”

My breath hitched, my fingers tightening so hard around the warm mug that my knuckles turned white. From inside, the heavy scrape of a leather chair echoed against the hardwood floor.

Then came Vincenzo’s voice—deep, dangerous, and dripping with venom.

”Enough. Or I’ll shut that foul mouth for you permanently.”

He sounded furious. My heart did a giddy little flip in my chest.

This was the first time I’d ever heard Vincenzo raise his voice at Jillian like that. Was there trouble in paradise? Please, God. I wished with everything in me that he’d finally throw her out on her ass and file for divorce.

A cruel, taunting laugh dripped from Jillian’s throat. ”Why? Are you getting defensive? Why bother hiding it when we both know what’s going to happen soon—”

”Stop.” Vincenzo’s tone was ice-cold.

”Make me.”

Through the narrow gap in the doorway, I watched the scene unfold. Vincenzo moved like lightning—too fast for my brain to process.

His massive hand clamped around Jillian’s arm, shoving her down so hard her knees slammed violently onto the hardwood floor. Vincenzo loomed over her, his broad chest heaving, his dark eyes ablaze with raw, dangerous rage.

My breath caught. What the hell was going on between them?

”I’m sorry,” Jillian purred smoothly, looking up at him from her knees without an ounce of fear. ”I shouldn’t have brought it up if it gets you this worked up...” Her manicured fingers reached out, gripping his thick thighs and slowly crawling upward toward his belt. ”Let me make it up to you. You can take all that anger out right on my mouth.”

Her voice dropped to a filthy, seductive whisper, her eyes locked on his.

My earlier excitement shattered into a million sharp pieces. My stomach twisted violently as I watched Jillian undo his designer belt buckle with ease. She unzipped his pants, reached inside, and pulled out his thick, erect cock, holding it against her cheek like a fucking trophy.

The sight punched the air right out of my lungs.

I swayed on my feet, nausea rolling through me. Not again. God, please, not again.

I stood frozen, completely helpless, as Jillian opened her red-painted mouth and dragged her tongue slowly up the entire length of Vincenzo’s shaft. She swirled her tongue around the swollen tip, teasing the sensitive slit until a drop of pre-cum beaded on her lip.

No...

My blood burned hotter than fire, my hands trembling violently around the coffee mug.

That was MINE to taste.