The Donafrio Donor (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

5: In Which She Comes (Out) on Top

You and me both, I thought to myself.

“Are we just going to talk?” I said aloud, letting my fingers trace the contours of his ruined chest.

He trembled from my touch, his top lip curling. “Di niente. We’re not going to talk.”

I looped my arms around his neck and he leaned in to kiss me. Carlo Donafrio might have been a shady miscreant but he certainly knew how to make a woman overly excited with that tongue of his. Grabbing the back of my head with one hand, he pressed himself against me and I winched myself up his powerful frame and wrapped my legs around his waist.

He whirled me around, not breaking our kiss, and pointed me in the direction of the bathtub. I was vaguely aware of his stepping into the empty tub and then I hopped off, giving him a searching look.

“The bathtub, Carlo? Really?” I reached for him and unzipped the fly of his pants, which he wordlessly shucked and flung onto the linoleum floor. He was wearing silk boxers and they masked an impressive erection. It was still extremely fascinating to know that I was responsible for his arousal. Me, with my stretch marks and close-to-dangling tits.

“The shower’s overrated,” he explained, lowering himself down and leaning back, daring me to join him. My pússy was now eye-level to him and it throbbed in anticipation. I obliged.

Carlo inhaled sharply when I tentatively eased his c0ck out. “Merda,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fúck me, Dani Clarke. Fúck me.”

If anyone had told me that Carlo Donafrio would be in my empty bathtub at two in the morning groaning for me to “fúck him”, I would’ve checked that person into the nearest mental facility. As it was, I was turned on beyond possible belief and everything in my head that said this was so, so wrong simply withered away and became nothing.

I wanted him and I didn’t care how.

There was no need for foreplay. I’d been more than ready for him since he’d ripped off his shirt to let me clean his wound. Without breaking eye contact, I reached behind me and turned on the hot and cold water taps. Carlo’s eyes never left mine – until I spread my legs, hanging one over one side of the tub. The sight of his eyes on my pússy was making me wetter by the second. I wanted to be dirty – forget the consequences, forget the situation – but I also wanted to make him forget.

Forget about ever trying to take my son away from me.

I flipped the taps off. “Touch me.” My voice was breathless, hungry.

Carlo’s eyes had darkened with desire to something close to coal-black. He reached out for me. “Come here, mia strega.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes were glazed as he murmured, “Witch. You have bewitched me, Dani mia.”