Mom Married the Don for Peace, So I Made His Son Kneel novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Wickenden Street

In her flat over the bakery she makes him kneel and takes him to bed, and when she touches her father's ring afterward he moves her hand away.

I got the door shut behind us and put my back against it.

Three flights of stairs smelled of the bread the bakery below was already baking for morning.

Riccardo stood in my small front room in his wedding suit, breathing hard, with the end of his tie still wound around my fist.

He was looking at everything but me.

He looked at the nautical chart pinned over the sofa, the boots by the door, and the bed through the open doorway.

"Look at me," I said.

His eyes came back to mine at once.

"Two rules," I said. "In my bed you do what I say."

"Yes."

"In front of the families, you're my stepbrother and I'm your stepsister, and we're boring about it."

"Yes," he said again, and his voice had gone rough.

I let go of the tie.

"Take off your jacket."

He took it off and laid it over the arm of the sofa, folded, with the lining out.

"Your shirt."

He undid the buttons one at a time, and I watched every inch of skin come out of the white cotton.

He was broad through the chest and lean at the waist, with dark hair running down the center of his stomach.

A pale burn scar ran along his left forearm from wrist to elbow.

"Everything," I said.

He took off his belt, his shoes, his trousers, his shorts, and stood in front of me with his hands at his sides.

His cock was already hard and standing against his stomach, heavy and flushed at the head.

He didn't cover it, and he didn't move.

I walked a slow circle around him.

I looked at the long muscles of his back and the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

I looked at the hard curve of his ass.

I came around the front and put my palm flat in the middle of his chest.

His heart was slamming against my hand.

"Don't move," I said.

"I won't."

I dragged my nails down his chest and over his stomach, slowly, and watched the muscles jump under them.

I put my mouth on his collarbone and bit, not gently, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

I licked the bite.

Then I took his cock in my hand and stroked him once, root to tip, with my thumb dragging across the wet slit.

"Oh, God," he breathed.

"You like that?"

"Yes."

"Tell me how much," I said.

"I've been hard since the church," he said. "I've been hard since you took my tie."

I stroked him again, slower, and felt him swell in my fist.

"You've waited all night," I said.

"Yes."

"Then you can wait a little longer," I said.

I let go.

He made a sound that was almost a plea, and he kept his hands at his sides.

"Good," I said, and watched the word land on him.

I walked past him into the bedroom, sat on the edge of my bed, and put one bare foot on the floor between his feet.

"Come here."

He came.

"Kneel."

He went down in front of me on both knees, on my wooden floor, with his hands on his thighs.

He looked up at me with his lips parted.

I reached under my dress and pulled my underwear down my legs and dropped it beside his knee.

Then I lifted the green skirt up over my hips and leaned back on my hands.

"Use your mouth," I said.

He put his hands on my knees and opened them wider.

For a moment he only looked, and I felt his breath on my wet skin.

"You're soaked," he said, in a voice I hadn't heard from him.

"I know. Start."

He put his mouth on me.

The first stroke of his tongue was long and flat, from the bottom all the way up, and I dropped my head back.

"Again," I said.

He did it again, slower.

Then he found my clit with the tip of his tongue and stayed there, circling, light, and my hips came up off the bed.

"Harder."

He pressed in.

He was good at this, and I had not expected to be this fast.

I got both hands into his hair and held his head where I wanted it, and he let me.

He made a low sound against me that went through my whole body.

"That," I said. "Right there. Don't you move."

He didn't move.

He worked me with his tongue, steady and hungry, and every time I tightened my fingers in his hair he groaned.

His hands slid up my thighs and held on to my hips, and I let them.

"Put two fingers in me."

He slid two fingers inside, slow, and curled them up, and my back arched off the mattress.

"Oh, fuck."

"You taste incredible," he said against my skin.

"Shut up and keep going."

He kept going.

The pressure rose in me fast.

I rolled my hips against his mouth and rode his tongue and his fingers without any shame at all.

His smooth jaw rubbed the inside of my thigh with every move of his head, and that friction pushed me over.

I came with a cry, hard, with my thighs shaking on his shoulders.

He didn't stop until I pulled his head back by the hair.

His mouth and chin were wet.

He looked up at me wrecked and glowing, and he licked his lips.

"Get on the bed," I said. "On your back."

He climbed up and lay down in the middle of my navy sheets, his cock curved up thick against his stomach, his chest still heaving.

I stood at the foot of the bed and unzipped my dress and let it fall.

I wasn't wearing a bra.

His eyes went down my body and stayed on my breasts, and his cock jumped.

"Hands above your head," I said. "Hold the rail."

He reached up and wrapped both hands around the iron rail of my headboard.

I climbed over him on my knees, one on each side of his hips.

I took his cock in my hand, and it was hot and hard and slick at the tip, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Rebelo."

"Tell me what you want."

"Whatever you want," he said. "Anything."

"That's not an answer."

"Then I want to be inside you," he said, and the words came out half broken. "I want that more than anything I've ever wanted."

I rubbed the head of his cock through my wetness, up and down, and watched his stomach clench.

Then I sank down on him, slowly, all the way.

He was thick, and I took him inch by inch, and I felt every one.

When I was seated on him I stopped, with him buried to the root and both of us shaking.

"Fuck," he said. "Rebelo, fuck."

"Look at you with your cock all the way in me," I said.

"Not enough," he said.

I laughed, low, and started to move.

I rode him slowly at first, rolling my hips, grinding my clit down against the base of him.

His hands stayed on the rail, white at the knuckles, and he watched me with his mouth open.

"You're so beautiful," he said. "God, look at you."

I put my palms flat on his chest and rode him harder.

The bed knocked against the wall.

His cock dragged inside me with every stroke and struck the place that made me gasp.

"Right there," I said. "Stay right there."

He lifted his hips to meet me, and then he stopped himself and went still, and I felt him fight it.

"Good," I said. "Let me do the work."

"Yes."

"You can touch me now."

His hands came off the rail and closed on my hips, and then slid up to my waist and my breasts.

He cupped them and rubbed his thumbs over my nipples, and I moaned.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

It was our first real kiss, open and deep, his tongue in my mouth tasting of me.

He groaned into it and gripped my ass and began to thrust up, slow and deep.

I let him, for a few strokes, because it felt so good.

Then I sat up straight and pressed him back down by the shoulders.

"I said let me."

"Sorry," he said, and he was smiling, and it changed his whole face.

"Don't be sorry. Be still."

I rode him until my thighs burned.

I changed the angle and leaned back with my hands braced on his knees, so that his cock rubbed hard along the front of me.

"Look at us," I said.

He looked down the length of my body to where we joined.

He watched his cock slide in and out of me, thick and wet and shining, and his whole face went slack with need.

"Christ," he said. "Look at that."

"Tell me what you see."

"Your pussy," he said, and I felt myself clench at the word. "Taking me. All of me. You're so wet it's running down my balls."

"Keep talking."

"You're so tight. You're so fucking tight. I'm going to lose my mind."

"Not yet," I said.

Another orgasm built low and sharp.

I put my hand between my legs and rubbed my clit in fast tight circles while his cock stroked inside me.

"Watch me," I said.

He watched.

"I'm going to come on your cock. You come when I say."

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes. Please."

"Not yet."

I rocked harder.

My pussy clenched around him, and I heard myself make a high sound I didn't know was mine.

The pleasure broke over me in a long hard wave.

I shook with it, with my head thrown back and my nails in his chest.

"Now," I said. "Now, Iannotti."

He came with a shout.

His whole body arched up off the mattress.

I felt him pulse deep inside me, again and again, hot and heavy, while he held on to me with both hands.

I rode him through all of it until he was empty and trembling.

Then I lay down on his chest, still joined, and listened to his heart go.

He wrapped both arms around me and held on, hard.

"Nobody has ever said yes to me like that," I said into his neck.

"Nobody has ever told me what to do like that," he said. "I thought I'd hate it."

"And?"

"I'd do it again tonight."

I felt him thicken inside me while he said it.

"Already?" I said.

"Rebelo, I've been waiting since the church."

I rolled us over onto our sides and pulled his arm across my waist.

He pressed his chest to my back and slid back into me from behind, slow and deep, and we both groaned.

"Like this," I said. "Slow. Don't stop."

He moved in long, even strokes, with his mouth against my shoulder.

His hand slid down my stomach and found my clit and rubbed it in lazy circles that matched his thrusts.

"That's it," I whispered. "Oh, that's it."

He kissed the back of my neck and the side of my throat and bit the curve of my shoulder.

"Come for me again," he said. "Let me feel it."

It built slowly this time, a deep roll that started in my belly and spread to my thighs.

I pushed back against him, taking him deeper, and came with a long shuddering moan.

He followed me with his face pressed into my hair, saying my last name over and over.

Afterward I turned over and put my head on his chest, with our legs tangled and my braid across his arm.

We lay there while the bakery's ovens ticked and settled below us and the first delivery truck went down Wickenden Street.

I thought: he has never been allowed to want anything, and I am the first person who ever gave him an order he liked.

My hand drifted up my own chest to the chain under my collarbone and closed around the ring.

Riccardo caught my wrist.

He did it fast and gently, and he moved my hand off the ring and laid it flat on his heart.

"Not that," he said.

I raised my head.

His face was calm, and his eyes were not.

"Never that," Riccardo said, and kissed my wrist where the chain had lain. "Anywhere else."

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