Mafia Daddies Between My Thighs

Chapter 73: Chapter SEVENTY THREE

ANGEL

I was pinned with one hand against the arm of the couch so hard the bones in my wrists ground together.

A gasp flew from my mouth as his other hand pressed flat against my stomach, his thumb resting just above the waistband of my shorts. Another strangled sound escaped my raw throat when the tip of his thumb dipped beneath the fabric—barely, just a centimetre of skin—and then stopped.

His face was inches from mine. His breath was hot and fast against my mouth.

”You want me to check?” His voice had dropped into something thick and guttural that vibrated through his chest and into mine.

And there was nothing fatherly about it. Nothing civilized.

”Because I will, Angel. Don’t fucking test me!”

”You won’t do it,” I challenged, sitting up slowly. My shirt had ridden up, exposing the strip of stomach above my shorts. I didn’t fix it. ”You’re not like Daddy.”

I was using Damien’s ghost like a blade. ”Daddy wouldn’t give warnings like you, he’d have already spread me open with his bare hands and checked every hole I have. And I would have been dripping wet for him the whole time. I would have begged him to go deeper.”

Vincenzo grabbed my arm, and he hauled me to my feet so fast the room blurred.

His grip was bruising, possessive—the same iron grip Damien used when I’d misbehaved. The exact same pressure in the same place.

”Don’t.” He growled. ”Don’t compare me to that bastard.”

”Why not?” I leaned into his grip instead of pulling away, pressing my body against his. ”You grab me the same way he did. You pin me down the same way he did. You both feel the same way—”

”I am NOTHING like him.” He snarled. ”I would NEVER—”

He stopped himself, breathing heavily. Then, he released me like my skin had scorched him.

He took a step back and I saw it then.

Clear as glass. The strain in his pants that hadn’t been there earlier, the imprint of his cock was undeniable.

He wanted to. Some part of him wanted to do exactly what Damien would have done.

To strip me bare and put his hands on every inch of my body. Punish me for lying to him. And claim me in ways that had nothing to do with protection. Fatherhood. Nothing except the sick, dark hunger I’d felt pressing against me thirty seconds ago.

The knowledge settled into me like venom. Warm. Spreading. Powerful.

Vincenzo thought he was better than Damien. Thought his love was clean and paternal while Damien’s had been twisted and wrong.

I was going to prove there was no wall. That underneath all his noble speeches, he was just as much a monster as the man he’d burned alive.

I reached for the button of my shorts.

”What are you doing?” Vincenzo’s voice came out strained.

”Giving you the extra candies.” I popped the button open. Started lowering the zipper, the metallic whisper of it obscenely loud in the silence between us. ”Isn’t that what you wanted?” I taunted.

”Angel, stop—”

”How else will you be sure I’m not hiding any?” The shorts fell to the floor, leaving me standing in just my panties and shirt.

Vincenzo’s eyes gleamed at that—dark.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties.

”What’s the matter?” I tilted my head, mocking, reading the war on his face like a book. ”Scared of what’s underneath? Daddy wasn’t scared. Daddy couldn’t keep his hands off what’s underneath.”

I peeled them down. Slow. Over my hips, down my thighs.

I stepped out of my panties and kicked them aside without looking where they landed. Now, I was bare from the waist down, my shirt barely grazing the tops of my thighs, I stood there and let him see what his precious little girl looked like underneath all that pink.

His eyes betrayed him before anything else did—they dropped. Traced the length of my bare legs. Traveled up. Lingered.

”There you are,” I sneered. ”There’s the real you, Daddy, dearest.”

The hunger in his gaze pulsed off him like heat from an open flame, and he hated himself for it—I could see the self-loathing eating him alive even as his eyes refused to move—but he looked.

He looked because he couldn’t help it. Whatever sick, buried part of him that had been grinding between my thighs on that couch was awake now and starving.

I held his gaze. Steady. Daring. And slid my hand between my thighs. Spreading my pussy open. Letting him see my cunt.

”Take a good look,” I whispered. ”This is what Damien fucked every single night. What he filled up with his cum and plugged shut so it would still be inside me the next morning.” I spread myself wider with two fingers. ”Bet he’s still in there somewhere. Soaked into me so deep you’ll never wash him out no matter how many baths you give me.”

My fingers found the first candy. Tucked right inside me where I’d pressed it in the shop while Vincenzo waited outside.

The wrapper was slick, warm from my body heat, and I worked it out of my pussy slowly. Let my fingers disappear to the knuckle. Then I dragged them back out dripping.

The candy emerged glistening. I held it up between two fingers. A smirk plastered on my lips as I watched Vincenzo’s stone-cold expression.

”One,” I said. Then I brought my slick fingers to my mouth and licked them clean. Slowly. One at a time. My tongue sliding between them, tasting myself, tasting the salt and musk of my own wetness while he watched.

”Mmm.” I sucked my index finger and let it pop free from my lips. ”I taste good, don’t I? Damien thought so. He’d eat my pussy for hours. Said I was the sweetest thing he’d ever had in his mouth.” I licked my middle finger with a long, slow stroke. ”Sweeter than any candy in that shop.”