Desperately need to finger-fuck you

The convoy moved like a quiet threat. One car in front. One behind. Ours in the middle.

The car was a sleek black machine worth more than most people’s houses. Soft leather seats, dim gold lighting along the panels, tinted windows that turned the outside world into nothing but blurred lights. The engine purred instead of roared. Even the silence inside it felt expensive.

I had grown up in luxury. Wealth was not new to me.

But this — this was different. This wasn’t comfort. This was power on wheels.

I sat stiffly by the window, watching the city lights streak past. My reflection stared back at me — red dress hugging every curve, neckline daring without being vulgar, hair pinned high in a clean bun that exposed my neck like an offering.

I looked beautiful, while he looked devastating.

Dark suit tailored perfectly. His hair braided back neatly. A watch on his wrist that probably cost more than my orphanage’s yearly expenses.

My orphanage.

The thought tightened something in my chest.

This was my first Nostra gathering without my father or mother beside me. Every other time, I had been shielded. Watched. Guarded like glass.

The other women had always whispered, about how my Father spoils and protects me. Always sheltered. Daddy’s princess.

They would smile at me and measure me at the same time.

But tonight, I was alone.

No father’s hand at my back.

No mother’s warning squeeze.

Just him. And that terrified me more than I would ever admit.

I crossed my legs, staring harder out the window. If I ruined tonight, I could humiliate him.

If I embarrassed him in front of his rivals, his enemies, his precious Nostra…

The idea tempted me.

But then the orphanage surfaced in my mind again. The children’s faces. The supplies he had already threatened to withdraw.

He didn’t just hold me. He held leverage.

This was only the beginning. I needed to be smarter than anger. If I ever wanted to escape Dario Rivera, I needed strategy, not rebellion.

“Fina.”

His voice cut through my thoughts like silk sliding over skin. I didn’t look at him.

“Yes?”

“Where are your thoughts?”

I turned slowly. “That’s none of your business.”

He leaned back slightly, studying me like he enjoyed the resistance.

“Soon,” he said calmly, “your head will be full of only me. You won’t have space for anything else.”

I scoffed. “That sounds exhausting.”

A slow smirk curved his mouth. “You won’t think so when it happens.”

I rolled my eyes and faced forward again.

“Come here,” he said.

I didn’t move.

The driver in front was focused on the road, earpiece in, hands steady on the wheel. Professional, silent, and loyal.

“Fina.”

I felt his eyes on me before I turned.

There was something about the way he looked at me. Not forceful. Just… certain.

I told myself it wasn’t control. It was the orphanage. It was the contract, and It was circumstance.

Not him. Still, I shifted closer.

Not willingly, but I moved.

“Good,” he murmured.

His fingers brushed my cheek, slow, almost absentminded. But his eyes were not absent at all. They were dark, focused and hungry.

I swallowed.

Was this the same man who had once told me I was naïve when I confessed my feelings to him years ago?

The same man who disappeared for two years after my father’s betrayal?

Now he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off me.

What changed?

Or had he always been like this — just better at hiding it?

“You’re drifting again,” he said quietly.

“Maybe I like drifting.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Who are you thinking about?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I stared at him, genuinely surprised. Was he jealous of… my thoughts?

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Maybe someone special.”

His expression changed instantly. Subtle. But there.

The warmth vanished. Something darker replaced it.

I laughed.

“Oh, you should see your face,” I said softly. “Such an old, grumpy man.” I wanted it to hurt but instead, he exhaled a short chuckle, but his eyes remained sharp.

“This old, grumpy man,” he said, voice lowering, “had you sprawled on his kitchen counter this morning.”

Heat shot to my cheeks before I could stop it.

“Don’t.”

“Begging,” he added calmly.

“I was not—”

“You were.”

I crossed my arms defensively. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re pretending.”

“Pretending what?”

“That you didn’t like it.”

My breath hitched. Just slightly.

He noticed. Of course he did.

I leaned away, trying to create space, but his hand slid around my waist, pulling me back toward him.

“Don’t run,” he murmured.

“I’m not running.”

“You always do.”

“I do not.”

He leaned closer, his mouth hovering near mine. “You run with your pride.”

My pulse betrayed me again.

I shoved lightly at his chest. “You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

His gaze dropped to my lips. “Lipstick can be reapplied.”

Before I could react, he kissed me.

Not gentle. Not rushed. Just firm enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

The car felt smaller suddenly.

His hand tightened at my waist as if he was reminding me exactly where I belonged, and who I belonged to.

When he pulled back, I inhaled sharply and pushed him away just enough to glare at him.

“My makeup,” I snapped.

He looked at my lips, slightly smudged now, and smirked.

“I prefer it spoiled.”

And then he kissed me again.

The kiss lasted for a few minutes. I couldn’t fight him or stop him, so I let him have his way — until his palm covered my breast. He squeezed through my dress, and the boldness of it startled me, so I tried to pull away.

“Stay still,” he ordered, then captured my lips again — this time slow, soft, and deeply passionate.

I had no idea when I began kissing him back. He was so good at it — sucking on my lips, my tongue, tasting every inch of my mouth, and soon we were both groaning, until his fingers moved between my legs.

I closed them on instinct, and he growled, “Open up.”

I met his gaze. He was serious as fuck.

“What are you going to do?” I asked breathlessly, my eyes flicking to the driver and back to him.

He bit his lip. “I desperately need to finger-fuck you right now.” He said it without shame, without hesitation — loud enough for the driver to hear.

Heat flooded my face. “You can’t be serious…” I shook my head.

But the look on his face told me he was.

His fingers were already sliding inside my dress, pressing insistently between my legs.

“We made a deal, Ikkohafina. You give me everything I want, and I do not touch Casa Serena. Or did you forget?”

“Jesus Christ… I remember, okay? You don’t have to remind me every second.”

He chuckled. I hated him even more for that, but my body seemed to crave whatever he wanted to do to me.

“Open your legs, Wife.” The order came again, and this time, I wasted no time.

“Good girl,” he whispered as his fingers found my pussy.