"Oh fuck," Rocco groaned. As tight as she was, she felt the length of his cock shudder as he came. The first warm offerings of his cum filled her, and Rocco grunted and pushed himself as deep as he could go. Whitney twisted beneath him and rubbed up against him, working on her own orgasm to no avail. Rocco wasn't short lived in bed, but she needed more. Not even knowing that his seed was inside of her, threatening to knock her up was enough to send her over the edge.
But despite what Whitney assumed, Rocco wasn't done yet.
When his orgasm was seen to completion, he took a few seconds to recover his breath, then he flipped her face down onto the mattress and bore down upon her. Their bodies had separated, but the separation did not last long. Before Whitney had much time to react, Rocco had lifted her by the hips and entered her again. The thick erection he'd worked up during his sleep did not wane - he was ready to keep giving her more.
Whitney grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest. Rocco worked her hard from behind, every thrust hitting her in just the right spot. The pleasure was unparalleled.
Clutching the pillow tight to her body with one arm, eyes squeezed shut as he worked the cum he'd shot into her deeper into her body, Whitney snuck one arm downward and rubbed her throbbing clit. It was the final push she needed. With a cry muted by the bed sheets, Whitney came. Fluttering pulses of pleasure ran along her walls to tighten around Rocco's cock, and he let herself drown in those feelings for as long as she could. As she was coming off of her high, Rocco pressed into her a final time and grunted low. Another, smaller orgasm struck him, and they finished together.
With Rocco's erection now waning and Whitney's desire satisfied, she allowed herself to melt into the sheets and relaxed in the post-orgasm glow. Rocco settled down atop her and pressed a loving kiss to the back of her neck, letting his fingers trace gentle patterns across her exposed flesh. Rocco rolled onto the bed beside her and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Do you regret that, now that it's all done?" he asked, eyes fixed on a particular point and refusing to move. From the way the words sounded, Whitney figured he was expecting her to feel regret or guilt. She felt neither.
"No. I don't think I could ever regret anything to do with you."
Blue eyes snapped to her, and Whitney smiled. Rocco shook his head, sighed, and drew her close to him with one arm.
"Maybe you're not as smart as I pegged you for. Getting involved with me is bad news."
"Let me worry about that," Whitney told him. "No one's looking out for your best interest but you, after all. If I can't depend on me to make choices, then what am I gonna do with the rest of my life?"
The spark of pride in his eyes was all the reply she needed. Whitney's smile grew, and she closed her eyes as she nestled against him. Sometimes, bad choices were the right ones. She hoped Rocco was the right kind of wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
Rocco
Was it minutes, or hours? Rocco couldn't tell. When Whitney teased him, when her body rose to meet his and worked with his thrusts, time melted away. Rocco had fucked before, but it was never as intense as what he shared with Whitney. Something about her turned him into an animal whose only interest was pleasure. Even after he'd reached orgasm, there was no escape from his impulses. It wasn't until she was satisfied that he was able to reel himself back and breathe in deeply for the first time.
There were two types of girls he'd bedded in the past - those who were just as bad as he was, and those with misguided hearts of gold. For the most part, Rocco tried to stick with women who had their hands dirty. Women like that were looking for quick flings to satisfy their inner cravings, not drawn out romances he could never hope to fulfil. The sex was good, raw, primal, and then it was over. Like ships in the night, they went on with their lives in silence and the incident was never brought up again. Good girls weren't like that. Good girls fell for his blank face and his air of mystery only to get swept up in the moment. When all was said and done, they wanted more than he could give them.
Whitney was a type of woman he'd never met before. Sure, she'd been afraid when shit had gone down, but since that time she had adjusted and overcome her fears. She had been easy to deal with, and as the night dragged on, she'd become confident in herself without forgetting who ran the show. And now, as she lay beside him catching her breath, she seemed glad about what they'd done. No woman had ever been glad that Rocco had taken them to bed. Either they knew what a snake he was and were ready to move on, or they regretted their poor choices immediately. Not Whitney. Rocco reflected on why that was.
From the moment he'd laid eyes on her at the bar, he knew her beauty was rare. The type of women who worked behind a bar were usually a certain breed - fakers. From overdone makeup and put-on stupidity, each one of them reeked of inauthentic femininity. Then there was Whitney. Big, curly hair. Understated makeup. A natural body to die for. She was meant for bigger things than night life, he was sure she would excel at any career. So why hadn't she?
The silence they shared died. Whitney, who had been curled up to his chest, distanced herself with a little wiggle and rose from the bed. Rocco took the time to admire her body. It wasn't the first time he'd gone to bed with a black girl, but the last time had been before the Black Mafia uprising. There was something special about the tint of her skin, how it glowed with health, that white girls didn't have. Even with hair mussed from sleep and sex, she was gorgeous. A goddess.
"I need to use the bathroom," she murmured, excusing herself. Rocco's clothes and keys were in there, but the gun and holster sat on his bedside table within easy reach. There was nothing in the bathroom Whitney could use against him.
"Have fun," he mumbled back, as Whitney walked, he watched her go. That tight little ass of hers was top notch, and her thighs were thick and shapely. In another life, Rocco would have called her his. The chances of that happening with circumstances as they were unlikely.
When the bathroom door closed, Rocco covered his face with his hand. No amount of sleep or distracting sex would change the fact that his dad had been arrested during a bust. Now that Rocco was the man of the family, it was a matter he had to tend to immediately.
And manage Arturo.
The relationship between Arturo and his father was one Rocco didn't fully understand. About a decade ago, after a particularly gruesome job, Vittore enrolled Arturo in psychotherapy.
The sessions didn't go well.
After a month of intensive work, Vittore was forced to fold the poor woman's remains in a barrel, fill it with wet concrete and dump her at sea. There had been no other attempt to try to 'cure' Arturo. Instead, Vittore attempted to manage his issues by giving him jobs where there was no other option but torture resulting in death. Was that something Rocco would have to worry about as well?
Since childhood, Arturo had been bitter about life. Whether it was because he was the youngest, or the shortest, or the least attractive, there was always something to complain about. When he grew particularly bitter about how he stacked up to Rocco, something bad would happen. One time, Rocco had been on the job when his opponent bested him and took his gun. Staring down the muzzle of his own weapon, Rocco silently said his goodbyes when the gun exploded in the man's hands. Muscle, blood, and jagged bone pieces sprayed across the room. The man went into shock only to die a short time later from blood loss. Two stubs at his wrists was all that was left of his hands.
Another time, a monoxide leak filled Rocco's apartment while all the others in the same building were clean. Luckily, he'd been on a job when his landlord entered with a spare set of keys to investigate an unrelated plumbing issue. If he hadn't Rocco would've been the one to succumb to the fumes. The culprit was a hole in a new pipe, and although the hole looked natural, no one could explain how it formed. Both times, Rocco couldn't prove Arturo did anything. However, when he saw his brother after each scare, there was a hard look of disappointment in Arturo's eyes. If Vittore was going to spend a significant amount of time behind bars, Rocco worried those attempts may increase in frequency.
How many times could he dodge death?
For now, he had to find out what the lawyers thought and what they'd nailed Vittore for. The future was still too uncertain to know for sure. All he knew for certain was that after today things were finished with Whitney. He'd let her go with her life, and their paths would never cross again. A dull ache spread through his chest at the thought. What a shame it was, but there was no work around. Not with Arturo around and a destiny as Don looming in the future.