Page 40 of The New Godfather

Eventually the cart is full, and it’s time to leave. He pays, and the cashier smiles in a bored fashion at us as if we’re any normal couple. As we walk back toward the car, I spot an ice cream vendor near the exit. A small tub of salted caramel catches my eye. I want it, but I hesitate. I don’t want to pull him out of his way or make this trip take longer.

He notices. “You want that?” he asks, voice gentle.

I nod, cheeks warming. “Yes… but only if it’s quick.”

He smiles and steers the cart over. We stroll together, his arm still around my waist. He doesn’t get any for himself — just watches me pick the pint, his thumb brushing slow circles against my hip. The simple touch sends heat racing across my skin again, but I breathe through it.

Back at the car, I insist on helping him load the bags into the trunk, our hands brushing every time we reach for the same bag. The sun is setting now, painting the sky in deep oranges and pinks, and the air is cool and golden. It feels unreal — this beautiful evening, this beautiful man, this beautiful little slice of normal.

He opens my door first, waits until I’m settled, before going around to the driver’s seat. I click my seatbelt into place as he slides behind the wheel.

“Ready to head back home?” he murmurs.

I look at him and feel that pull again, stronger than before. Home. The word feels different when he says it.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m ready.”

The car pulls out of the lot, carrying us back toward the penthouse, toward whatever comes next.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

RICCI

At a red light, I can’t stop watching her scoop up little bits of ice cream with a small wooden paddle and slip it into her mouth.

Every time her tongue darts out to catch a drip, my cock twitches hard against my zipper. It’s fucking ridiculous. I’m a grown man, and I’m getting rock-hard just from the sight of her pink tongue sliding over a tiny wooden spoon. But I can’t look away. The way her lips close around it, the tiny, satisfied hum she makes when the cold sweetness hits her tongue, the way her throat works when she swallows… It’s torture. Sweet, beautiful torture.

My cock is already full and aching and pressing painfully against the fabric of my pants. I shift in the seat, but it only makes it worse. I want to pull over, drag her into my lap, and replace that spoon with my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I want to taste the caramel on her lips while I sink deep inside her again.

She catches me staring, and her spoon pauses halfway to her mouth. A faint flush creeps across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. The air in the car suddenly feels thicker, heavier, and charged with sexual tension.

“Do you want some?” she asks softly, holding the spoon out toward me.

I shake my head, voice rough. “I can’t remember the last time I had ice cream. No thanks.”

She smiles — small, almost shy — and tries to convince me anyway. “Come on… just one taste. It’s really good.”

As a rule, I never change my mind once I have made it, but when I see the way she’s looking at me, hopeful and a little playful, I realize I can’t say no to her. I lean over, open my mouth, and let her feed me. The cold sweetness hits my tongue, and I lick it slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on hers the whole time. When I pull back, she looks away fast, but not before I catch the way her breath hitches.

I smile to myself, knowing she’s just as affected as I am. Good. I want her thinking about me non-stop, the same way I do about her.

The light turns green, and I start to pull forward, but she surprises me by leaning across the console, one hand sliding to the side of my neck, her fingers threading in my hair. Her mouth finds mine. Soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. I lose myself instantly in her taste. Caramel, salt, sugar, and her. My tongue slides against hers, slow and possessive, and a low groan rumbles out of me before I can stop it. My hand leaves the wheel to cup the back of her head, pulling her closer. The kiss turns wet and urgent, the kind that makes the rest of the world disappear.

Only the cacophony of angry honking behind us drags me back. Cars are waiting. I pull away, lips still tingling with her.

She sits back fast, cheeks flushed bright red. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice shaky.

I shake my head, swallowing the taste of her. “Don’t be.”

The rest of the ride home is quiet with me focusing on the road, but my cock is still hard and throbbing, and the air between us crackles. After what seemed like a lifetime, we pull into the garage. I unload the groceries, and we get into the elevator. We are both silent, but when her shoulder brushes mine, I have to clench my jaw to keep from touching her. The second we step into the kitchen and set the bags down on the counter, I can’t wait anymore.

I grab her.

My hands close around her waist, and I lift her onto the table in one smooth motion. She gasps, eyes wide with surprise.

“Sorry,” I say, my voice rough, low, and not sorry at all. “But I can’t wait.”

I pull her blouse over her head before she can answer, the soft fabric whispering against her skin as it slides off. The sight of her hits me like a punch to the gut. Her smooth, flushed skin glows under the yellow kitchen lights, the delicate lace of her bra is the only thing left between me and her gorgeous breasts. My hands are already moving, impatient, hungry. I tug the bra down roughly, and my mouth is on her instantly.