Page 57 of Mafia Daddy

“That’s it,” I growl, thrusting harder. “Take every inch like a good boy. This ass belongs to me. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” he gasps, legs wrapping tighter around me. “My ass is yours. My whole body is yours. All yours, Daddy… oh God…”

I change angles, hitting that spot inside him that makes him see stars. His moans grow louder, more desperate. I can feel him getting close already, his ass clenching around my cock while his own dick strains and slaps around with each movement.

“Not yet,” I command, slowing my thrusts. “You don’t cum until I say. Hold it.”

Milo whines, nails digging into my shoulders, but he obeys. I pull out suddenly, making him cry out at the loss. I flip him onto his hands and knees, yanking his hips up.

“Arch your back,” I order. “Show me that pretty ass.”

He does, trembling. I slap his ass once, hard, then thrust back into him from behind. The new angle is even deeper. I fuck him with long, powerful strokes, one hand fisted in his hair, the other reaching around to pump his cock.

“Please, Daddy…I can’t… I’m so close…”

“Not yet,” I growl, gripping the base of his shaft firmly in warning. “You come when I tell you to. Understand?”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy!”

I keep the boy on the edge for long, torturous minutes, switching positions again, pulling him up so he’s riding me, hands on my chest, my hands guiding his hips. Then back down on his back with his legs over my shoulders.

Every thrust is deliberate. Every command is absolute.

When I finally feel him shaking uncontrollably, I lean down and bite his neck.

“Cum for me. Now.”

Milo screams as the orgasm crashes through him. His ass trembles down around my cock like a vice, pulsing wildly as his cock shoots hard, just like in the interrogation, soaking my body and dripping onto the rug beneath us.

I keep fucking Milo through it, drawing it out until he’s almost unable to handle any more pleasure. Only then do I let myself go, burying myself deep and shooting my seed with a low groan, filling him completely.

We collapse together, breathing hard.

I roll to the side and pull him against my chest, stroking his hair as he trembles through the aftershocks.

“Good boy,” I murmur, kissing his forehead. “Such a perfect boy for Daddy.”

We lie there for a long while, tangled on the rug, the city lights casting soft patterns across our skin. Eventually I stand, scoop him up, and carry him to my bed. I tuck the boy in carefully, pulling the covers up around his shoulders.

Milo looks up at me sleepily. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

I brush my thumb across his cheek. “The game is afoot now, malysh. I need to stay up and prepare for the meeting with my men in the morning. A meeting that could shape our future… yours and mine.”

He nods, understanding even through his exhaustion. “Be careful.”

“Always.” I kiss him once more, soft and lingering. “Sleep.”

As I walk back to the living area and pour another vodka, my mind is already turning over strategies, contingencies, and the bloody path ahead.

But the memory of Milo’s trust, his pleasure, his soft “Daddy” lingers like a promise, each time I hear it from him making me feel more and more like we could be the real thing together.

I will protect what is mine.

And I don’t care how many Lentini men have to die to make sure of it.

18

MILO