Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 55: Don’t Tell Him Anything

His hands gripped her hair, tugging gently at first, then harder as his control wavered. He could feel the pulse of her mouth around him, the warm, wet friction, and it made him see red, made him ache with want for someone else entirely.

He imagined Vee gagging, her throat working around him, her soft hands clutching at his thighs, eyes rolling back, body trembling, desperate and obedient all at once. He imagined whispering to her, commanding her to take more, to love it, to show him she wanted it, making her simultaneously melt and obey, sweet and filthy in every syllable he spat into her ear in his mind.

His hips jerked again, a sudden spike of heat making him see stars, hear the fantasy of her moaning in perfect sync with the woman kneeling before him. Every nerve, every tendon, every pulse in his body burned with the knowledge that nothing and no one could ever make him feel this alive. Vee, Vee, Vee, Vee, Vee, Vee...

He could not escape the truth: he wanted her. All of her. Every inch, every gasp, every twitch of her body. He wanted her mind and her body. He wanted her moans, her shame, her surrender. And he would take it. Every last piece.

He felt the lady pull him out of her mouth and slide down to his balls. His spine shivered, a cascade of pleasure running up his back. Every nerve ending screamed, every muscle coiled and released, and he was drowning in sensation. His mind floated somewhere between delirium and fantasy.

When he couldn’t take it anymore—when the need to empty, to release, to feel the blue in his balls lighten, to take a deep gulp of relief—he opened his eyes. The woman before him had that wicked smile that could kill and seduce at the same time, but he barely noticed.

He reached for the bottom drawer, fingers brushing over cold steel and soft leather before he pulled out a condom, holding it out to her. She took it, her nails glinting in the office light, opened the wrap and slid it down his cock.

His hands gripped her hair as he got to his feet, bending her over the desk, her raggy dress slipping just enough to give him access. He moved the string of the underwear aside, and he was in, hard, fast, unforgiving. The movements were precise, brutal in their intensity, and he didn’t hold back.

What he needed was quick release, a way to burn off the tension built from the night, from Vee’s memory, from the dark, tangled obsession that gnawed at him. He wanted the blue in his balls to lighten, to forget the suffocating weight of last night’s restraint, the intensity of Veronica’s grip on his mind. Sky blue balls would be a lot better.

*****

Vito was the first to spot Detective Voss as he stepped through the door, the soft jingle of the bell announcing him. Vito’s sharp eyes tracked every movement as his daughter leaned over the counter, filling out delivery details.

Voss moved with ease, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, scanning the room.

"That’s the detective I was talking to you about. Don’t tell him anything," Vito whispered quickly to Veronica. Veronica swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod, trying not to let her panic show. Her father’s eyes flicked toward the door again, a silent warning: one wrong word, one slip, and everything could spiral.

Detective Voss arrived at the counter. She could feel the detective’s gaze on her. There was no mistaking it—he had instincts honed to a razor’s edge.

"I hear Scalese pizza is really good," he said.

Vee looked up from the order pad, blinking as her eyes met his intense stare. Her pulse quickened, a flicker of unease running beneath her calm facade. "You hear correct. What would you like to order?" she asked.

"Surprise me. In the meantime, I have a few questions for you," he said.

"And who are you?" Vee asked.

"I am Detective Andrew Voss," he said. His eyes didn’t leave hers, studying, measuring, silently assessing every micro-expression.

Vee’s eyebrows arched, the corners of her lips twitching. "Ah, you are the one with the theory that my sister has been kidnapped," she said.

Voss’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of acknowledgment crossing his face. "Actually, I am looking into another disappearance, but I’m still waiting for your sister’s call," he said.

"Whose disappearance?" Vee asked, curiosity and unease battling for dominance in her chest. Her hand curled around the edge of the counter, nails pressing into the smooth wood.

"Cassidy Grant," he replied.

Cassidy. She had seen him just yesterday—alive, furious. "What are you talking about? Cassidy is fine. I saw him just yesterday," she blurted.

"And he has not been seen since yesterday. He didn’t show up to work this morning. You were the last person to see Mr. Grant, Miss Scalese," he said, his eyes locking onto hers, squeezing for truth.

Vee’s pulse hammered, her throat tightening as her mind spun. How could she explain the chaos, the madness of the past day, without revealing too much, without drawing attention to Luca, without putting her sister or herself in danger? Her hands flexed over the counter.

"Do you know who took him?" Voss asked.

Vee swallowed, her mind racing as she tried to calculate how much she could say, how much could stay hidden. Her eyes flicked to her father, and then back to the detective.

"Do you know what has happened to him, Miss Scalese?" Voss asked again.

"How can you be sure he was taken?" she asked, trying to keep control over the tremor that threatened to betray her.

"Because witnesses saw him being shoved into a car around noon yesterday," Voss said. Her stomach lurched, and she pressed her palms against the counter, trying to stop herself from visibly shaking.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Her mind raced.

"Cassidy told me you love him. He was sure about it. Even when I told him every woman in Luca’s orbit becomes—" His words faltered for a split second, but he finished them with blunt precision. "...horny sluts."