His Pretty Little Queen: A Dark Mafia, Age Gap Romance (Kids of The District Book 5)
His Pretty Little Queen: Chapter 27

FRESHLY WASHED, fucked, and clinging to the seams of consciousness, we sit on the sofa in our master suite. Inside here, we are alone to be us. Even as the city through the window is a vast landscape of flickering lights and dashing orange lines that beckon him. Want a piece of him.

But not tonight.

I straddle his lap, my bare body on his, as I hold an ice pack to the bruising starting to colour the side of his cheekbone. He was struck during the fight at the campsite. I didn’t see it happen—but otherwise, we are both nearly unscathed. It’s a miracle, really. Magic, maybe. No one was going to take away my number one good thing.

He enjoys a cigar while I tend to him. Wolf or lion, the king of this damn District jungle, a wound is a wound, and it has no mistress.

He leans back in a powerful pose. One arm hanging over the top of the sofa, the other by his side, fingers playing with the ends of my hair. Sort of like I do…

The cigar balances between his lips as he draws in and out, stoking the glowing ember to flare and then darken. His clear, blue gaze watches me quietly. It’s as intimate a moment as any other.

The image of my father’s eyes and the creases between his eyebrows tumble into my mind. I inhale hard.

‘I don’t want to think about him,’ I say. ‘He didn’t really look like me. Not really. But his eyes…’

‘Yes, sweet girl. You may feel however you need about tonight. I will not stop you. If you want to grieve that man—’

‘I don’t.’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t want to grieve him. I want to forget him. I want to forget that I have his eyes.’

He gazes at me for a moment, a frown tightening his forehead. ‘You know, my brothers hold resentment towards my mother. The fact she favours me is not a secret. The other reasons, I wasn’t around to know or understand. But… I have her features,’ he says to me. ‘I’m the only one with her bone structure. Cheekbones. Sharper than my brothers. I’ve always wondered whether the likeness bothered them.”

I take him in. ‘I think you look like Luca.’

‘I do. But I also look like her. Take your time with this. You don’t need to decide how you feel.’ His eyes are hooded in the dim light of the room. ‘Just let it happen, sweet girl.’

‘It’s so raw right now, though.’

‘Would you like me to make you forget?’

A flush of heat paints my skin in a pink hue as his eyes drink me in, roaming my body in an intense way that presses in on me, presses down on me, forcing his intent.

‘Yes.’ I open my mouth to breathe, trying to concentrate on his bruised cheekbone, on the ice that is melting from the pack, when his hand leaves my hair and slides around my naked waist. Following the curve of my backside down to my arse, he circles the rim between my cheeks. I pucker against him, wanting the experience of being full, stretched in that exquisite way.

I dart my gaze to meet smouldering pits of dark intentions and promises. His eyes flare, pupils large, orbed with a glowing ring of sky-blue.

A grin that is pure sex plays in the corner of his mouth. ‘I want this tonight,’ he purrs, poking through the tight muscles, and holding the tip of his thick pad inside me.

I whimper but push back to aid him in inserting his forefinger. My pussy ripples, the penetration only inches away like a phantom sensation inside those muscles, pushing in, and if I sit back, maybe I’ll feel—

‘Stop, sweet girl,’ he orders in a gravelly, deep timbre that curls my toes. He drops his arm from the top of the sofa and grips my hip hard to still me. ‘Not without lubrication.’

My head swims when I look down at his cock expanding between us, reaching up to his navel. Huge. And veined.

‘I like the way you gaze at my cock,’ he purrs. ‘With yearning. You nearly salivate, little deer. It’s the prettiest thing.’

Licking my lips, I agree with a nod. The taste of him does things to me.

He smiles at my eagerness. ‘Be a good girl. Go to my top drawer and bring me the bottle. I’ll make you forget tonight.’

I climb to my feet, and while I retrieve the bottle, he puts his cigar out in the ashtray on the table.

His powerful physique is leaning back when I approach him again; muscles protrude down the plane of his abdomen with finely cut valleys around each. And down his long arms they create ridges and bulk. His formidability—how quickly he could attack, snap a person in two using those muscles, stokes me into a fever. He is a lion in wait.

I want him. Crawling quickly back on to the lap of this dangerous man, I spread my thighs wide over him. Grinding my hips on the length of him, I slide my pussy up and down, stroking my clit over him, revelling in the simmering pleasure.

He groans his approval but focuses on his task and the bottle in his hand, covering his fingers in clear gel.

I put on a show.

Watching him closely, I rub myself to a wet, primed state.

I should be more anxious. I’m not sure what to expect; I’ve had a plug in my arse for hours—surely, I can handle the throbbing of his cock inside me.

I flop my arms over his shoulders as he positions me forward. I can feel his hands lathering the length of him behind my spine, hear the rumble of his satisfaction as he jerks himself a few times.

Then he stops and my nose meets his, our eyes inches apart. ‘Breathe deeply,’ he purrs, exhaling hard, smoky cigar-scented air hitting my face.

Bracing me at the top of his cock, hovering me over his lap, he pushes one hand flat to my lower spine, arching me. My backside tilting. His other hand grips my hip, rolling me slightly as the bulbous crown of his erection pops through the tight muscles.

My eyes widen, and his darken.

‘Fuck,’ we both say.

‘Good girl,’ he whispers hoarsely. ‘Very, very good. Your first time will be overwhelming. Keep your eyes open so I can see you.’ He levers my hips as the thick length of him slides excruciatingly slowly inside me. “I don’t want you anywhere else when I’m inside you.”

I fist his hair when it gets too much, my nails grating his skin. A constant burn around his penetration blazes, the muscles fighting back against the invasion, the sensation of pain growing. Moving up. Into me—

‘Stop, stop, stop.’ I pant, the stretch of those muscles all-consuming, each nerve channelled down there. My body bursts with the need to recoil. To stop the sting. My ears and neck are hot, and my throat tight.

He studies my face, and I glance away evasively, disappointed in myself for stopping him. Other girls do this. Why can’t I? I want to do it. I want to feel it…

He pulls himself out of me, and I almost cry at the relief when my arse closes and the burning stops. ‘I’m sor—’

‘Don’t you dare use that word. You know what it will get you. Never be sorry for recognising your limits.’

I blink at him. ‘How far in were you?’

His brows draw in. ‘Barely at all, sweet girl.’

‘What if you don’t fit?’

He smiles smoothly and sweeps a rogue hair over my shoulder. ‘I will, little deer.’

‘But, how do you know? You’re not a girl. What if it really hurts, and you don’t know because no one has ever told you. I’m scared it is going to hurt.’

‘I would never hurt any part of you.’ He stares at me with intensity playing through a dark thought. “Come with me, sweet girl.”

He nods for me to climb from him, and I do as I am ‘nodded to do.’

He stands, grabs a perfect diamond-shaped pillow, and walks into the dressing room with it grasped in his fist.

The length of his body a long form, muscles curving and flexing in a smooth predatory way. This man is every bit as formidable and powerful when he’s naked as at any other time. More so in a smooth, unaffected fashion, as though he could just as easily kill a man in this state.

His suited form, muscles visible beneath layers of expensive fabric, is not what gives this powerful man his intimidating presence. It is in his very being.

He places the pillow on the ottoman and nods towards it, and I blush, remembering when I touched myself there. “Lay down, mount my pillow, and twist your face towards the mirror. I want you to watch.”

Heat creeps up my neck, the warmth of excitement blooming across my skin, and when I crawl on the ottoman and look at myself, my skin is slowly pinkening.

Steadily, I lay flat; the ottoman is long enough to accommodate my entire length. I watch as the deadliest man in the city, naked, all trim lines and tattoos, places a knee on either side of my body. He repositions me and the pillow until it is between my legs and under my pelvis.

His eyes are hooded as he gazes at me—my backside arched up, my pussy instantly grinding on the pillow, yearning for that blissful pressure.

I am swimming in ecstasy as I stare at his reflection. He looks so much larger than me in the mirror. A formidable six-foot-five physique hovering over a smaller frame, barely the same species we are so utterly opposite.

That is what we are. What we look like all the time. The orphan and the Mafia Don.

He uses the bottle in his hand to lubricate his palms. I swallow, my white skin now glowing deep hues of rouge.

I moan as his hands work my muscles down to my backside, attentive and warm. My body is lax and opening. He begins to massage the cheeks at my bum, and I gaze down to watch his cock strain against his navel. Thick like my forearm. Covered in perfect blue veins that pulse.

I roll my bottom lip against the upper to the sight of him, his massaging movements sway his body, his cock heavy, moving with him. It’s an erotic view.

“Sir.” His name tumbles from my lips when firm palms massage up my back and down again, my entire body loosening under his skilled kneading.

Then his finger touches the rim between my cheeks, but I don’t clench around it. I watch him instead. His eyes are glued to his masterful workings. He rims me leisurely, dipping in and then out. Something like a moan but far too guttural to be one, fills my throat. I love the sensation. I begin to press back again, and he stills his finger. “That’s my good little deer.”

Swimming in heat and thick air, I rock my hips back and forth, rubbing my pussy on the pillow and then taking his finger in slow stretching inches.

“Christ,” he says through a heavy exhale. “You’re simply the prettiest thing I have ever seen. That’s very good. Your body loves being full of me. All your pretty holes available and open. You are just nervous, sweet girl. Watch me enjoy your lovely little arse.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as he slowly drags his finger from inside me, all my internal muscles rippling, and my body shuddering at the last pop.

He presses the crown of his cock to my puckering rosette, and my eyes fly open to watch him. With his brows tight, his mouth open and panting, he inches inside me.

His cock stretches the tight, defiant rim, sliding through the muscle, forcing my pelvis harder into the pillow. “This is my little arse. My sweet, supple body. I will never hurt it—Christ, you feel good,” he groans as he continues to penetrate me.

My head spins.

My arousal coats the pillow.

I clench to his choppy breaths.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “I want you like this. Laying over my ottoman when I get home. Humping your pillow. Panting. Wanting for my cock to fill your arsehole.”

I am riveted to the way this large man takes my body, each inch of his thick erection disappearing within me. I open my mouth to gasp, my tongue flat to the bottom of my jaw, seeking air. I take him. It’s all I can do.

My pussy spasms.

As he impales me, he lowers himself to his elbows, and the change of position sends a forewarning thrill of sensation through my backside. There is more.

It screams there is more.

The hand that was playing with my arse before grips the cushioning of the ottoman, squeezing, while his other hand wraps around my jaw and mouth. “Suck on my fingers like a good girl, little deer.”

Dipping his index finger and his forefinger between my lips, he soothes me. I suck them as he starts to fuck me.

Fuck… me…

My pulse is like a perpetual cymbal between my temples. Eyes glued to the prowess of his movements. To his muscles as they contract and tense, his body rolling in a controlled, effortless wave, down to sink inside me and up to draw out. I am so overwhelmed—

By the sight of him using my body.

The sound of his near-violent groans.

The feel of him thrusting through my taut rim, sinking in deep against the contracting, his hard body meeting mine and then lifting again. He is a beautiful machine.

I suck his fingers harder.

“I’m in so deep, sweet girl.” He groans, stilling and panting. “Look how well you did. Look at how lovely your body takes my cock. Such a good girl for me.”

I gaze at his reflection as he thrusts, working his cock in me, using his hips in a rhythm that rubs my pussy on the pillow, a grin that is carnal ticking to a large menacing curve.

Pleasure builds between my thighs, and my orgasm builds to his rocking motion, perfectly timed with his hips, the pillow stimulating my pulsing flesh while his cock presses against my pussy walls.

Somehow, I can feel him in both deep sensual places.

It’s dizzying. Stars burst around my vision. I lose track. Of… Of which sensation is where— My entire pelvis humming with brutal vibrations that play on the cusp of pain, that dance on warning, that flood with euphoria.

I begin to moan.

And I don’t stop.

Wanton, and crazed, and sucking his fingers as though I’m starved for the salty taste of them, I come apart.

He throws his head back as I balance on consciousness, his hips taking on a rougher beat, the coils of veins laced up his arms protruding, his powerful physique tensing and bunching as he comes inside me.

“Madonna Mia.” He freezes. So deep. His forehead meets my neck, his lips press to my spine, and sweat drips from him to my skin. He begins to speak in another language—praise—I can tell he is praising me, but his mind is so wrapped in pleasure he doesn’t realise he’s not speaking in English.

His fingers slide from my lips.

Long moments pass with him pulsing within me, mounted on my back, braced above me so his weight doesn’t crush me. Then he lifts his head.

He collects me into his arms. “I’m so proud of my little deer for taking me so beautifully.” I wrap loose, tried limbs around him. Standing, his cock slides from inside me, and the sensation of being emptied drags a cry from my throat. His cum drips from inside me, forcing a blush to creep up my neck and along my cheeks. It is an uncomfortably sensual sensation that is so very primal.

We wash up in the bathroom, and he fingers me there to help clean me. My legs near collapse with how much I’m enjoying that stimulation now. I stroke his length as he does, massaging soap into his cock with two hands.

We dry each other.

‘Lay down, sweet girl. I’ll be back shortly.’

I sit on the bed, hug my knees, and stare at the door, already anticipating shortly is a lie. The phantom sensation of his fingers and cock inside me still flush arousal through my body as I wait.

Within a minute, he’s back with my kitten in hand, and I’m bouncing a little with excitement to see her.

Beaming, I reach for the fluffy animal and instantly fall backwards with her pawing my chest and fumbling in my grip.

Her squeaky meows mix with my voice as I say, ‘You’re going to let her sleep in the bed?’

It surprises me. Yet, I don’t know why. I suppose a man who has pillows staged in perfect diamonds and uncomfortable wrought-iron tables placed in prime lounging areas, doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who allows white fur over his black sheets or takes kindly to early morning kitten licks to the nose and cheeks.

Sliding onto the mattress, he positions himself on one elbow to watch me and her play. I run the tips of my fingers down her little fur legs, and she pulls them from me like, ‘I gotta use those leggies, Mummy.’ I laugh a little at my own inner monologue.

‘She can sleep in the bed for now,’ he answers. A smile that is smooth, devilish charm taps the corner of his lips, making him look younger but no less intimidating.

My heart grows. ‘For tonight?’

‘At least tonight.’

I study him, meeting unwavering eyes that are always assessing and watching. He’s radiating heat; his muscles are still on fire from the meticulous way he fucked me. I didn’t do anything. I never do much…

‘Did I do okay?’ I ask him, tucking a piece of his dark hair behind his ear, rewarded with the easiest of chuckles—the deepest and most contented and just… Clay.

‘Such a sweet question.’

“I didn’t—I don’t really ever do much.” I shrug. “Is that okay?” I stroke my kitten as she meows, falling off my chest into the small gap between Clay and me. ‘I feel like I just—”

“Take me so well. Look so pretty. Flush for me. Open for me. You sound so endearing when you come apart around my cock, and you enjoy the way I control your body. You enjoy being manhandled, little deer. Don’t feel ashamed. You’re safe with me, sweet girl. Safe to be you.”

“Am I enough?” I swallow thickly. “Like that?”

‘You are more than enough, little deer,’ he admits. ‘My strong, brave, bratty, sweet girl. I don’t think you understand what you mean to me. I am changing for you, not the other way around. You wanted comfort; I filled my home with pillows and lounges. Hung a dreamcatcher above my bed. Replaced my books with softer stories. You wanted to be spoilt; I make sure you have every kind of sweet thing available to you. You wanted a purpose, responsibility, so I gave you the kitten. You wanted attention; I’ll offer you every moment I have to give.

‘And”—his eyes darken— “you wanted to be disciplined, to be held accountable, so I will damn well punish you when you misbehave. You wanted a dangerous man, little deer, and I will threaten the lives of every fucker you meet. And…” He pauses, and I’m riveted by his every word. “You want pleasure, so I will give you every kind you desire. Because you are not enough. You are more. So, I will make the world around you more too.”

My heart expands. When I peer up at the dreamcatcher above my head, my smile grows too—everything growing, swelling, making room for the future. Thinking about all the love and affection I now have. Friendships. Him. His family. My kitten.

Clay Butcher.

The Don of the Cosa Nostra, who hangs dreamcatchers over his bed, sleeps with a nameless white kitten… A man who understands intimately who I am, through my skin and bone to my soul, to my slowly building self-confidence. Who understands what I have been through. Who turns the immaculate world he lives in around to fit my brand of rumpled and eccentric personality, to meet my needs.

For a moment, inside my mind, I see a smoke-filled forest and eyes so like mine staring back at me through the fog. As I focus on those brown eyes, my kitten prods me with her little needles. I sigh. I don’t need a man with my likeness; I don’t need a father or a mother or a sibling or uncle, not when I have him as all-consuming and impressive as all those roles combined.

He is my everything.