Dad's Capos Swore to Guard Me, So I Made Them Break Every Oath novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Dom's POV

Dom's POV

I have given orders for thirty years, and I did not know how to take one.

The study door was shut when I reached it.

I stood in the hall with my hand on the brass and my watch in my pocket.

She had told me to bring nothing, so I had left my jacket, my phone and my gun upstairs.

I had kept the ring.

I knocked, which was foolish, and she said, "Come in, Dom."

I went in.

It was her father's room, and I knew every object in it.

The desk, the green lamp, the shelf of ledgers, the brandy decanter, the photograph of the two of us at the club in 1998.

Valentina had laid the photograph face down on the blotter.

She sat behind the desk in her father's leather chair, with her bare feet drawn up under her and a glass in her hand.

She wore a short black robe, and her dark hair lay loose on the leather.

She was twenty-seven, and she studied me over the rim of the glass.

"Lock it," she said.

I turned the key.

"Come here. Stop in front of the desk."

I stopped.

"On your knees."

I had not knelt since my wife's funeral.

I had not knelt to a living person since I was a boy at his first communion.

My knees are fifty-two years old.

I went down on the Persian rug in front of the desk, slowly, and kept my back straight.

It was the strangest thing I have ever done.

I expected to feel small, and instead I felt the whole weight of the room lift off my shoulders.

"Good," she said softly.

She set her glass down.

"You have given orders in this room for thirty years," she said. "Tonight you take them."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Take off your shirt."

I unbuttoned it and laid it on the rug beside me, folded.

She laughed, low, and the sound went through me.

"Of course you folded it," she said. "Come around the desk. On your knees. Don't stand."

I crawled.

It was four or five feet on the rug, with my hands flat, and my face burned the whole way.

I stopped beside the chair, and she swiveled it to face me.

She opened the robe.

She was naked underneath, and she sat back in her father's chair with her legs apart and her heels on the arms.

I could not breathe.

I had sat across a domino table from her for twenty years, and I had never allowed myself to know this.

"Tell me what you're going to do," she said.

"I am going to use my mouth on you, Valentina."

"Where?"

"On your clit," I said. "And inside you. With my tongue."

"And for how long?" she said.

"As long as you say," I said.

"Good," she said.

She put her hand in my hair and drew me forward.

I put my mouth on her.

She was wet and hot and tasted of salt.

The sound she made when my tongue first touched her is one I will remember on my deathbed.

I closed my eyes and gave her everything I had.

I licked her slowly, because I do everything slowly.

I learned her by the sounds she made, each flutter and gasp, until I knew exactly where to press.

She pulled my hair, hard, and I groaned into her.

"Tell me how it feels," she said.

I lifted my mouth an inch.

"I should have done this years ago."

"Don't stop to talk."

I went back to it.

She rocked against my face, and her thighs closed on my ears, and I held her hips and let her use me.

She took what she wanted, and I gave it.

Nobody had ever taken anything from me that I wanted so much to give.

"Two fingers," she said. "Now."

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