Taken by the Italian Mafia(18)

"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.