Chapter Two: Watch Your Mother Choke

Rielle’s POV

I shoved at his chest one more time, hard enough that he actually had to shift his weight. “You’re disgusting. Get off me.”

A door opened downstairs. Voices. Laughter. Don Aurelio calling for Lorenzo.

He released me like I was dirty. Stepped back. His gaze dragged over my bare legs one last time with cold, deliberate contempt, as if the last minute had never happened and I was already forgotten. 

The front of his trousers was still strained. He didn’t bother adjusting himself.

“Cover yourself up,” he said, voice flat and final. “No one in this house needs to see the merchandise. And stay the fuck out of my way.”

He walked past me without waiting for an answer. I stayed frozen until the study door closed and the sound of male voices sealed itself behind thick wood. My throat still felt the shape of his hand. My pulse still throbbed between my legs. The place where his finger had pressed under my shorts burned like a brand.

I went to my room, locked the door, and pressed my back against it. My heart would not slow down. Neither would the shameful, insistent ache that had started the first time he looked at me like that and had only gotten worse.

I told myself it was anger. I told myself it was leftover adrenaline. I told myself a lot of things while I slid my hand between my thighs and found myself already soaked. The shorts were damp. My fingers came away slick. I pushed them under the waistband and touched myself properly, two fingers sliding through the wetness, and I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood.

I came with his name locked behind my teeth, hating every second of the way my body clenched around nothing and still wanted more. My thighs shook and my breath came in broken little gasps. When it was over I stayed there on the floor with my hand still between my legs, hating myself for what I had just done. I must be sick to get wet for a man who had just insulted and degraded me. Maybe I was a whore just as he said.

That night, sleep never came.

Sometime after two I gave up. My mouth was dry. The house felt too quiet. I pulled the same tiny shorts back on and slipped into the hallway barefoot. The marble was cold again. Familiar now. My thighs still felt sticky from earlier. I didn’t bother cleaning myself up.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs before I heard it.

Low, wet, rhythmic sounds coming from the kitchen. A soft gagging noise. A man’s quiet, broken groan.

I should have gone back to my room. I know I should have. I’ve always been more curious than smart.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

Lorenzo stood in the middle of the kitchen with his shirt unbuttoned, the gold chain at his throat glinting under the low light. His trousers were shoved down just enough. One hand was fisted tight in dark hair I knew too well. He was thrusting his cock into a woman’s throat with slow, deliberate strokes.

My own mother.

She was on her knees on the cold tile. Tears streaked the corners of her eyes. Every time he pushed in, her throat made a soft, wet click.

I froze in the doorway and a small gasp escaped me.

His eyes snapped open and locked on mine.

For a second neither of us moved. My mother kept sucking, still unaware.

Lorenzo’s mouth curved into something dark and satisfied. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. Instead he tightened his grip in her hair until she whimpered and drove deeper, watching me the entire time like he wanted me to see exactly how little the woman who raised me meant to him.

Heat flooded my face, my chest, the place between my legs that still ached from earlier. Jealousy, sharp and humiliating, mixed with something worse. Something that made my stomach twist even as my thighs pressed tighter together. I couldn’t look away. I hated that I couldn’t look away.

His cock was thick, the head glistening every time he pulled almost all the way out before shoving back in. My mother gagged hard. He held her there longer this time, eyes still on me, and I watched her struggle for air while he smiled.

He pulled free of her mouth with a wet sound, still staring at me, and dragged the head of his cock across her lips like he was wiping something off her face. A string of spit connected them for a second before it broke.

Then he spoke, voice rough and low enough that only I could hear it over her ragged breathing.

“You like the show, little sister?”

My mother finally noticed me. She tried to turn her head. Lorenzo yanked her back into place by the hair and gave me that same cold, filthy smile.

“Stay right there,” he said. “Might as well watch your whore of a mother do what she’s good at.”

He pushed back into her throat and started fucking it harder, eyes never leaving mine. The wet sounds got louder. Faster. Slick and filthy. Every time he drove in, her throat made a soft click. Spit ran down her chin in thick strands. Her eyes watered. Her hands came up to his thighs like she wanted to push away, but he only gripped her hair tighter and forced her deeper.

“Look at her,” he said, still watching me. His voice was rougher now. “On her knees. Taking it. That’s what whores do. They open their mouths and take whatever you give them. You want me to put you next to her? Share? Or should I pull out of her and fuck your throat instead?”

My mother made a broken sound around him. He ignored her. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he thrust deeper, holding her there until her face turned red and more spit ran down her chin onto the silk of her robe.

“Say something, little sis” he said, quieter. “Or you just gonna stand there getting wet whi

le your mother chokes on my cock?”