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Married to the Bad Boy(51)

By:Vanessa Waltz


I just don’t want any of them there. It’s going to be bad enough as it is, surrounded by strangers with a fucking vibrator shoved inside me.

Jesus.

How did I get from running from my ex to shoving a vibrator up my pussy for a man I hardly know?

A ripple of excitement runs through my body at the idea of a hot pulse of pleasure running between my legs the whole time I’m supposed to be meeting Cravotta family associates. I must have done hundreds of these events with my dad, and he would’ve busted a nut if I tried anything like this in front of his people. I choke out laughter, seizing the sink for support as I think about doing this in front of these big, scary Mafiosi. It makes me wonder why Tony would do this. Why risk his reputation just to get off?

I catch a glimpse of him shrugging on his dress shirt over his tattooed chest, a slight frown on his face. Before we met his mother, I would have thought that he was just another dead-eyed, empty shell. Beautiful to look at, but hollow inside. It’s a struggle to get a reaction from him. I tell him about my psychotic ex, and he shrugs as though it’s hardly worth thinking about. He’s unflappable.

Tony hangs in the doorway, his hair slicked back, his face freshly shaven and still moist. He looks appetizing in his black suit, the red shirt and tie making him look like a modern manifestation of the devil. His narrowed eyes radiate heat as they drop down my neck and over my curves.

He slips a casual hand into his jacket pocket and suddenly a jolt rips through my pussy. A smile spreads over his handsome face.

“Perfect.”

* * *

One of the few advantages of being a woman is being able to be turned-on without anybody ever realizing it. There were so many times that I sat in high school class and fantasized about the algebra teacher bending me over his desk and fucking me hard, or sometimes I’d be trapped in an elevator with a hottie and I’d bask in his presence, imagining his mouth over mine. I’d stew in silence and feel my panties growing wet, and no one would know.

It was safe to fantasize.

It was even fun.

Tony’s taken that away. He ripped the security blanket from my shoulders when he shoved that vibrator up my pussy, which is all I can think about even as I shake hands with Tony’s associates with my slightly damp one.

Fucking asshole.

It hums inside me as I walk around Le Zinc, the restaurant Tony brought me to celebrate our engagement. He keeps a firm hand around my waist as we float from person to person.

It’s a beautiful restaurant, and the live jazz band gives the place a moody, intimate feeling. I expect to see people making out—I expect to see them fucking in that darkened corner by the bathrooms—

Jesus. I’m horny as hell.

“I was wondering: Is it hard being close to me?” He slides his arm around my waist with deliberate slowness. “I can just imagine how wet your panties must be right now.”

I look up and down his body, my eyes lingering right below his belt. Naked—I want him naked. I want my legs wrapped around him and that fucking irritating smile. He’s just so goddamn delectable in that suit, and the vibrator keeps reminding me just how much I need him.

There’s no way to get off, and people are everywhere. Tony’s family and friends. People I’ve never met before. I should be getting to know people. Instead, I’m obsessed with getting to know the intimate details of Tony’s cock.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Your pussy must be aching. Tell me, does every wave through your pussy remind you of how nice my cock feels inside you?” Tony’s voice rumbles deliciously in my ear and I turn into his arms, my hands and face scorching hot. His quiet laughter sends a ripple of rage through me.

Fucking asshole.

“Turn it the fuck off.”

The violent buzzing between my legs is maddening. I’m seconds away from ripping off his clothes, and he gives me a brief, chaste kiss that only adds fuel to the blazing fire.

“Not a chance. Seeing you all worked up like this is way too fun.” He takes my arms, slides his hands up, and he might as well be running them up my legs. He turns his head. “Hey, Johnny.”

Johnny? Oh fuck.

The slick Montreal boss suddenly materializes out of thin air to give Tony a swift hug and a kiss on both cheeks. A sick sensation swoops around my stomach as Tony casually slips a hand in his jacket and the vibrations magnify a hundredfold.

“Congratulations, Tony, petit criss.”

Oh God. I’m next.

I don’t even care about the fact that the last time I saw this man, he threw me out of his restaurant and denied me help. He turns to me, beaming as Tony grins behind him, indifferent to the fact that I’m seconds away from coming.