Page 29 of The New Godfather

Her long blonde hair clings to her back and shoulders like wet silk, dripping softly onto the marble. She looks up at me, eyes locked on mine, and something raw and electric passes between us—need, trust, hunger. Then she leans in and kisses me once again—soft at first, then deeper, like she can’t help herself.

Before I can react, she pulls out of my grasp and stands before me. Every inch of her is mine to worship. Her skin is flushed pink from the heat, and goosebumps are rising on her skin. Suddenly, she sinks to her knees right there on the damp floor.

She’s so small compared to me. Delicate. Perfect. It makes my chest ache with how much I want her. I tower over her, hard and aching, veins standing out along my cock, the head flushed dark and glistening. She wraps one hand around the base of my dick—her fingers barely meeting—and looks up at me through her lashes, green eyes dark with desire. Then she leans in and takes me into her mouth.

The heat of her tongue, the wet suction, the way her lips stretch around me—it’s fucking too much. I groan, the sound tearing from my throat. My hand goes to rest in her damp hair. She sucks me slowly at first, root to tip, swirling her tongue over the head, tasting the pre-cum that’s been leaking for her. Then she takes me deeper, hollowing her cheeks, using both hands to stroke what she can’t fit while her other hand cups and teases my balls, rolling them gently, tugging just enough to make my thighs tremble.

The sensations are exquisite—wet heat, perfect pressure, the soft vibrations of her moans around my cock. Every hum, every little suck, every flick of her tongue sends fire racing up my spine. My abs clench hard. My breathing turns ragged—short, harsh pants that echo in the steamy room. The sounds are obscene—wet, slick, the soft pop when she pulls off to breathe, the way she gasps before diving back in. She draws it out deliberately, like she wants to savor every inch of me, like she wants to make me feel every second of this.

I’m losing it. My thighs shake. My fingers tighten in her hair. I’m just about holding on. The edge is rushing toward me so fast I can’t control it anymore. I try to pull her away, voice wrecked. “Viola… fuck. I’m going to come.”

But she pays no notice.

She stays right where she is, sucking harder, faster, taking me as deep as she can. Her lips are stretched tight around me, and every time she slides down, the head of my cock bumps the back of her throat. She doesn’t gag. Doesn’t flinch. Just moans around me. The sound low and needy. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes from the natural reflex of my cock so deep in her throat, but she never breaks eye contact. Those green eyes stay locked on mine—dark, hungry, glistening with something that looks like triumph and surrender all at once.

I’m mesmerized. Completely fucking lost in her.

My thighs tremble. The sloppy wet sounds she’s making are obscene and beautiful. They fill the steamy room. Just like the slick glide of her mouth, the soft pop when she pulls back to breathe, the hungry little hums she lets out every time she tastes more of me. My breathing is ragged now—short, harsh pants that scrape my throat. Every muscle in my body is strung tight, coiled to breaking.

“Viola…” My voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. “Fuck, baby, I’m⁠—”

“I’m gonna⁠—”

She moans around me—loud, deliberate—and that’s it. The sound, the vibration, the sight of her on her knees with tears on her lashes, moaning while my cock is buried in her mouth—it shatters me.

I come hard. Long, powerful spurts that flood her mouth. She swallows greedily, throat working around me, like she loves the taste, like she covets every last drop. The pleasure is blinding and white-hot, crashing through me, wave after shuddering wave. My climax is so strong I have to fucking brace one hand on the marble wall. My hips jerk with thrusts I can’t control. My breathing turns into raw and desperate groans. She keeps going—milking me with her mouth, her tongue, her hands—until every last tremor has been wrung out of me, until I’m spent and shaking, cock still twitching against her tongue.

She pulls off slowly, lips glistening, a thin string of saliva and cum connecting us for a heartbeat before it snaps. She licks the corner of her mouth, catching that drop that escaped. Those witch’s eyes never leave mine. The sight of her—flushed, tear-streaked, lips swollen and wet is my undoing.

I pull her up urgently, my hands under her arms, lifting her. She rises willingly, her legs wrapping around my waist again as I crush her against me. I kiss her hard, tasting myself on her tongue—salty, raw, intimate. It makes me more possessive of her. My tongue slides against hers, claiming her mouth. She sighs into the kiss, fingers digging into my shoulders, hips grinding against my belly.

But I need her even closer.

My hands grip her hips—fingers digging into the soft flesh. I hold her tight against me. I don’t care about anything except her heat, her scent, the way she is trembling in my arms.

She just gave me everything without hesitation.

I carry her out of the bathroom toward the bedroom, heart pounding against hers, skin burning where we touch. Her legs are locked tight around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back. Every step rubs her against me, slick and hot, and I feel her breath hitch with each one—small, needy little gasps that make my cock twitch hard again.

Tonight, she’s mine.

Completely.

And I’m going to show her exactly what that means—slowly, thoroughly, until she’s begging and shaking and ruined in the best possible way.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

VIOLA

Ican’t believe how enthusiastically and feverishly I just sucked him off. And on my knees too.

The realization washes over me as he lifts me into his arms. Water drips from our bodies in slow, heavy trails onto the marble floor. My thighs are slick, my core is still pulsing, and my lips feel swollen and sensitive.

The thing is: I’ve never liked giving blowjobs. Never. They always felt like another duty—another way to be used, another performance I had to endure to keep the peace. But kneeling on the cool tiles, his cock thick and hot in my mouth, and his thighs trembling under my hands, it was all I wanted. I wanted to see him lose control. Hear the raw, broken way he groaned my name. I wanted to be the reason this powerful, dangerous man shook and came apart.

And that’s exactly what happened. The memory of his taste—salty, masculine, addictive—still lingers on my tongue. The way his hips jerked with desperation burns through me, making my clit swell with fresh, greedy heat.

He’s carrying me toward the bedroom, his heart hammering against mine. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in. And I realize I can no longer deny it: I’m just as eager as he is. Maybe more. The thought should terrify me. It should send me running, walls up, heart locked away like it’s always been. But it doesn’t. Not tonight. Tonight, I want him inside me. I want to feel every inch of him. I want to be filled until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember a time when I wasn’t his.