Dog on a leash

 

Demetrio’s pov

I have never put myself in a position I couldn’t get myself out of since I was fourteen, and never in my life has that been because of a woman.

But here I was, sitting in my car, palming a raging hard on that refused to go down no matter how many times I jerked off to dirty thoughts of her, her voice, her s e xy little body, nimble little hands and pouty little mouth.

It didn’t help that I haven’t been able to even look at other women since I met her. The thought of touching someone else to rid me of this aching lust made me tick with repulsion.

Fuck, she wasn’t even my type. 

I liked my women pliant, submissive, dark haired, eager to please but meek about it. Cellie was the exact opposite. She talked too much, laughed too hard, she was the only blonde I have ever met in the entire cosa nostra and everything pointed to the fact that she was selfish in bed; taking what she wanted and not giving a flying f uck about her partner.

To be honest, I don’t know how I could ever have approached her first. I had met her only once, in a brief introduction I didn’t care about. She was frowning throughout the occasion and when she wasn’t frowning, she tacked on a smile that was as fake and cheap as those imitated red soled louboutins I had seen her wear on two different occasions.

She liked to act like she wasn’t excited that her mamma was getting married to my papa. I knew that one year as a DeLeon would do more to alleviate her impoverished life than all the years she has lived as a Bianchi.

She probably saw an opportunity to get even more from the family, that was why she sneaked into my room that night.

I cursed as memories of that night washed over me, making me even harder than I already was.

Desperate, panting after her like a dog on a leash.

And as if my thoughts and desperations had conjured her up, I saw her leave the bodega she had spent the last fifteen minutes in. She was calling out goodbye to the barista that sold her coffee, the barista that was only nice to her and served her oat milk for the price of regular milk every f u c k i n g day of the week because he wanted to f u c k her.

If he hadn’t already, a nagging voice told me.

The fact that she may have actually f u cked him before made my hands curl around the steering wheel. 

Better teach him a lesson before he gets any ideas about having seconds.

She was smiling hard, the sun shining down on her glowing  skin, her long blonde hair I had made the mistake of pulling that time in the bathroom. Now I know what it felt like, how soft and silky it really was and now, I had half the mind to drag her all the way to my bed and f u c k the memories of he away as hard as I can until I forget her face and the feel of her hands, her smart mouth and bold smile.

She was holding a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag in one hand and her favourite coffee in another hand. She was wearing nothing but a thin white tanktop, her full, pert b reasts pushed against the flimsy fabric that barred most of her toned stomach and black cotton shorts that could as well be panties that barely covered her a s s.

I rapt my fingers on the steering wheel, clenching it tight when the urge to follow after her became too difficult to bear.

An irritating itch started behind my neck, darkness curdled my veins as I watched her walk up the stairs towards her apartment. 

I wanted to follow her but f uck it, I won’t let her win.

I was going to leave, to drive off now that I had tracked down where she lived and caught a glimpse of her to feed my aching lust, but my resolve exploded into bits when I saw her stop before a guy, a preppy blonde guy smiling brighter than the f u c k i n g sun at her. I wondered if she had f ucked him before too. I was starting to realize that my new stepsister was more work than she was worth. 

I shouldn’t care about her, shouldn’t worry who she sleeps with as long as she was being discreet about it.

But when he reached out and touched her hair, a golden brown tendril that curled slightly and fell down the front of her face, I ground my teeth and exited my car, slamming the door shut with much more force than was necessary.

The sun burned bright and heavy against my back but it was nothing compared to the molten lava flowing in my veins. 

I walked up to her and I saw the man tighten with intimidation when I came up from behind her.

Her slender shoulders tensed and she turned around, a scowl on her face.

“Well if it isn’t my fratello.” Her sharp smile could cut through ice.

I glowered, although dark amusement sparked in my eyes. Italian sounded fascinating on her tongue. Like it was something she hadn’t grown up with.

I walked closer to her and dropped my voice so that only she could hear. “Do brothers know what their sisters taste like?”

She flinched from me, terror and annoyance in her cornflower blue eyes.

“Your brother?” Blondie asked.

“Stepbrother,” she said firmly, those startling eyes, icy cold on me for a few seconds before she turned around. “I’ll see you later, Tony. You better not start that movie without me.”

He nodded and left.

She sighed and deftly held her coffee cup in the hand that was already laden with the paper bag, pushed her key into the keyhole, opened her door and walked in.

She was about to shut the door but I intercepted it and pushed my way in.

She scowled at me before going to drop her groceries on the counter top of her open concept kitchen. “Well, what can I do for you, DeLeon?”

“This thing with Tony, end it. It goes without saying that you can’t be alone with a man under no conditions, since it’s obvious that you can’t be trusted with one.”

She leaned against the wall with her left shoulder, “and what do you say for yourself?”

I leaned closer until the tips of her breasts grazed my chest. “But I thought I was your fratello.”

She sniffed and looked up at me, blue eyes bluer than ice. “What the f u c k do you want, DeLeon.”

I grabbed her hand and placed it on my aching cck, hissing when she curled her hand around it. “I want you to finish what you started.”

She was a f ucking tease, because just like last time, she fitted her body into mine and gazed up at me with those f u c k me eyes and just like last time, my common sense took a hike on me, so that I was only thinking with my d!ck.

Her blue tipped nails raked down my torso as she leaned up to whisper in my ear. “And what exactly do you want, Demetrio? Want me to get down on my knees for you? To suck you off? Or how about I bend over for you right now? Would you like that.” 

She stroked me softly, cupping my e r e c t i o n with her eager hands and I gripped her fiercely, a deep groan escaping my throat. “You’re still so hard for me, it’s pathetic, you know. You’re pathetic,” she whispered venomously. ”F u c k you, Demetrio.”

 She stepped away from me and was about to turn away and leave but I gripped her shoulder and hips and bent her over the counter, her ass up, her head forced down. 

Grabbing her ponytail, I yanked her head up and pressed my hardened e r e c t i o n hard against her ass. “Want to repeat that again, sweetheart?” I growled icily against her ears, rocking my hips roughly into hers, unable to get my release fast enough.

She struggled beneath me, yelling at me, “what the f u c k is wrong with you? Get off of me!”

“I don’t think so,” I rasped, taking her tiny cotton shorts in my hands, I ripped it off, tearing it off of her easily, groaning when I saw her beautiful pert a s s on display for me. 

MY hand splayed flat on her a s s and slid up her slender hips. “How about I teach you a lesson on finishing what you started.”

“Demetrio,” she warned.

“Fratello,” I growled.

“What-”

“If you want me to stop, call me fratello.”

“What are you doing? Don’t you dare- ah!” she groaned loudly when I thrusted two fingers into her dripping w e t pussy.

F u c k, she was even wetter than I imagined.

“Ah, look how wet you are, Sorella.” I taunted. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s pathetic, huh, you f u c k i n g sl*t.” I hissed, f u c k i n g her fast and hard with my fingers. "Look at you, taking it in like a good-" I thrusted roughly, making her cry out in pleasure-pain, "good girl."

She mewled at my words, her sweet, sweet p ussy, contracting around my fingers.

"If you want to come, you'll have to get on your knees and beg for it like a good little whore."

She struggled against my tight hold and my hands clamped harder in her hair. "Over my cold dead body," she growled.

"You'll regret that," I promised darkly.

"I hate you- ah!" she convulsed when I pressed down hard on her clit, slowly rubbing the knob with my thumb and kissing down the side of her neck.

"You see, Cellie. Actions do have consequences," I growled, pinching her c l i t as she trembled and quivered muttering incoherent and unintellgible words over and over again.

When I noticed that she was about to come, I drew my fingers back and started going at an agonizingly slow and shallow pace, denying her orgasm.

“What the hell, Demetrio,” she rasped, her knuckles tightening against the counter. “Get me there.” She sounded so hot, so desperate. I would have given her anything. I would have given her what she wanted.

“F u c k i n g beg for it."

“F u c k you!”

“With pleasure,” I growled, undoing my belt and pants and thrusting in between her thighs, denying her the full pleasure of penetrating her sweetness.

She was so wet, so f*cking dripping that I almost came in an instant.

She was so wet, so f*cking dripping that I almost came in an instant.

“Put it in me, Demetrio!” She commanded, her voice trembling with desperation, her long nails clawing at my arms.

I pushed her head down until her cheek rested against the flat, cold surface of her kitchen counter and clamped her wrists behind her back, relishing her helplessness and watching her futile struggles.

I gripped her hips even tighter, thrusting harder and harder until it felt like my lungs would burst and my veins would explode from the orgasm that tore through me. I pulled out and spilled all over her ass and spine. I was panting hard and relishing the sight of my come dripping between her plump cheeks, her golden skin was reddened in some places where I had gripped on too tight.

Something dark, violent and explosive lighted up with satisfaction in me at the sight of her thoroughly desecrated body. 

Mine, it seemed to say, but that can’t be, because now that I finally had her out of my system, I could forget all about her and move on with my life.

She turned around and glared at me and the thunderous, frustrated dissatisfaction on her face was thoroughly delighting. “Really?” She demanded.

I shrugged, calmly pulling up my zipper. “Look for your apology somewhere else. You’ll be getting none from me.”

“I sort of expected that, f*ck you very much,” she growled and losing my patience, I wrapped my hands around her slender neck and pushed against her until her back pressed against the edge of the counter.

Looking deep in those icy blue eyes that fought for breath and failed to hide her fear, I said in a deadly whisper, “be careful how you talk to me, how you look at me. I’ve killed for far less and noone will miss a mannerless whore.”

Something vulnerable; hotter than rage and colder than fear, passed through her eyes before I let her go. She refused to look up at me, staring down at the floor as I left her apartment.

Moments later, I sat in the driver seat of my car, staring at her apartment complex.

I was in the middle of an enormous drug deal with the Mexicans, territory negotiations with the Polish and the Bratva were finding newer, more creative ways to get under my skin but here I was chasing after my stepsister. 

I raked my hands through my hair and contemplated my actions. One that won’t repeat itself; I promised myself before I drove off.