Unforgivable Ties

Chapter 31

Stephanie

I t was lecture day in my general surgery class. I much preferred field days, days when we could watch actual doctors perform surgery through the window or help them sanitize their tools during the process. Ever since working with Cesare, all the technical jargon had started to bore me.

I still worked hard and absorbed it, of course. But I felt like I used to care more about learning it before I became entangled with the mafia.

My teacher finished up her lecture with a colorful description of the nuances of reconstructive surgery, her eyes glinting with excitement. As usual, her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself sketching out a few extra notes, despite my earlier discontent.

“Well, that’s it for today,” she said. “Please read chapter thirteen and answer all odd questions at the end of the chapter except number nine,” she paused, setting her lecture notes down on the podium. “And Stephanie Reinhardt, if you could see me after class.”

My stomach twisted with anxiety. What did she want from me?

“What is that about?” Preston asked from beside me.

Crap. I had completely forgotten he was there. That was another reason I didn’t like lecture days; it gave him more opportunities to talk.

“I have no idea.”

I picked up my stuff and walked towards the front without wishing him goodbye. The knots in my stomach twisted tighter and tighter as I drew closer to my teacher, hoping that it was good, or at least neutral, news.

“Hi Professor Delaney,” I said nervously, my hand tightening around my backpack strap as I got closer. “You asked for me?”

“Ah, Stephanie. I have some wonderful news for you,” she said.

The knots in my stomach eased. Thank god it was good news.

“Dr. Malden has chosen you to help perform surgery with him and his team.”

“Me?” I asked, pointing to myself.

Dr. Malden hadn’t come around since the initial speech he gave us. So, the person chosen to “help” him perform surgery must solely be based on grades.

I used the term help very loosely. All I’d likely be doing was sanitizing tools and cleaning up after.

“Congratulations,” she said, giving me a smile. “He asked for you specifically.”

My hypothesis about being chosen on grades was wrong. Perhaps he had read a paper I wrote or observed me in class, unbeknownst to me. My mind was reeling with possibilities.

“Why me?” I blurted out, still in shock.

“He didn’t say,” she shrugged. “But you are the top student in the class, so I’d imagine that has something to do with it.”

With my heart pounding like a drum, I nodded, unsure what to say. She sent me off with a light pat on the shoulder and a “Keep up the good work,” before turning back to her notes. I walked out of the lecture hall in a daze of disbelief, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

I had to tell Vincenzo.

I let out a little squeal and power walked towards his car, nearly bursting with excitement. As I hurried across the campus, even with melting snow and frigid cold, the day just seemed brighter.

He was waiting for me in his normal spot, blocking the loading zone. I was surprised he hadn’t gotten a ticket yet.

“Vincenzo!” I said, running up and giving him a hug.

“Steph?” he said, confused but returning my hug nonetheless. “You’re happy today. Normally you’re about to pass out when I pick you up.”

I launched into the day’s events, my hands moving excitedly as I talked about being chosen by Dr. Malden, of how Mrs. Delaney had praised me for being the top student. Vincenzo listened attentively, his eyes warm and a small smile on his face.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, running his thumb along my lower jaw.

I pressed my lips against his, hungrily returning the affection. He wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled me deeper into the kiss, the other snaking up my stomach and resting on my chest.

“I said, excuse me,” an irritated voice interrupted us, and Vincenzo and I pulled away from each other.

A security guard stood next to us, his arms crossed and face set in agitation. I hadn’t even heard his first request; I was too deep into the moment with Vincenzo.

“I’m going to have to ticket you for being parked here. If you don’t move, I’ll be forced to call a tow truck,” the guard said, pulling out his ticketing pad and a pen.

“The fuck you will,” Vincenzo said, grabbing the pad out of his hand and ripping it in two. He dropped it in a small puddle on the concrete and ground his boot into it. “And next time, don’t interrupt us.”

The security guard stood there, mouth agape, as Vincenzo opened the car door for me. The man was used to dealing with college students and professors; not mafia men with a short temper.

“Let’s finish this at home,” he growled in my ear, giving it a gentle nip.

The ride home was torture. Vincenzo’s hand snaked under my skirt, and he was playing with my clit the entire drive home. It was cruel; giving me just enough pleasure to feel amazing, but not enough to tip me over the edge.

My panties were drenched, and my pussy throbbed with need as we waited for the elevator. Vincenzo had his thick, tattooed arms wrapped around me and was holding me in front of him, likely to hide the massive hard on that was grinding into my ass.

Vincenzo was immediately on his knees when the elevator door shut behind us. He pushed up my dress and yanked my soaked panties down to my ankles. I gasped, leaning against the elevator wall as his mouth latched onto my soaking pussy. His tongue swirled around my clit, his fingers delving inside me. I whined and moaned, my hands grasping on to the handlebar on the side of the elevator.

“Vincenzo,” I whimpered, clutching his hair as he took a long lick up my slit.

“Gonna make you come before we reach the top floor,” he promised in a husky voice. His words sent vibrations through me, adding to the delicious torture. He was true to his word. My world exploded into ecstasy right as the elevator dinged the arrival at our floor.

After being edged so long in the car, finally getting my release was pure euphoria, and my knees buckled out from under me. Vincenzo caught me on the way down, lifting me up and walking us into the penthouse.

He sat me down on the nearest surface, the island table in the kitchen. He sucked a hickey into my thigh, the mark that both claimed me and served as a reminder of the heaven that came with his hell.

“Again,” he growled, his tongue flitting back to my clit.

He was relentless, his expert tongue working me back up into a frenzy of pleasure. My hands were tangled in his hair as I arched my back, the cold granite of the island table contrasting with the searing heat of Vincenzo’s touch.

His touch was a sinful dance, knowing exactly where to push, where to linger, where to tease. I gasped out his name again and again; the sound echoing in the open space of our penthouse.

Vincenzo took me to the very edge, holding me there with the skill only he possessed, drawing out my pleasure until I thought I would explode. His fingers curled inside me while his mouth torturously focused on my clit, the dual stimulation driving me wild.

“Vincenzo!” I screamed as my second climax hit, my world narrowing down to just him and the rippling waves of pleasure he coaxed out of my body.

I was so dazed coming down from my high that I barely noticed him marking my inner thigh again, always claiming me as his. He flipped me onto my stomach and pressed his body against mine, the heat of his skin radiating against my own. I felt the evidence of his need poking into my thigh, hard and unrelenting.

“I haven’t had my fill of you yet, Cara Mia,”

I had no idea what the Italian words meant, but the way he said them made my heart and core flutter.

Flipped on my stomach, I couldn’t see him undressing himself. All I could do was listen to the sound of each button on his shirt come undone, the clink of his belt as he unbuckled it, and the whooshing noise the fabric of his pants made as they dropped to the floor. There was something extremely erotic about being blind to his actions, only able to anticipate what was to come next.

Without warning, he slid inside me with a force that made me gasp aloud. Every nerve in my body hummed with the sensation, the overwhelming feeling of being utterly consumed by Vincenzo. His thrusts were long and rhythmic, an infernal drumbeat that echoed in my very soul.

“Siamo fatti l’uno per l’altra,” he growled in my ear, and I whimpered in response.

I wished I knew what he was saying to me. But even though I couldn’t understand it, the way he was saying it was so sexy, and I wanted more.

Vincenzo clung to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he dragged me back, aligning our bodies with each thrust. The pace was brutal, every stroke of him hitting that sweet spot inside me that had me arching my back in pleasure.

When he moaned another phrase in Italian, the last thread I was holding on to snapped, sending me spiraling into another explosion of bliss. I screamed his name, my fingers clawing and slipping against the cold granite counter top. The world blurred, reduced to Vincenzo and the ecstasy he so skillfully induced.

The tremors hadn’t even ceased when he pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and sheathed himself back inside of me. He cradled his hand underneath my head, making sure it wouldn’t slam into the countertop as he continued to thrust into me.

But he wasn’t far behind me. He pressed frantic kisses against my lips, his strokes becoming erratic and uneven, signaling his impending release. His eyes held mine, a mixture of need and raw desire burning within them. The intensity of it was enough to start another fire deep inside me.

He gasped as he pressed his forehead against mine, his thrusts slowing down but not losing any intensity. The feeling of another orgasm drawing near had me wrapping my legs around Vincenzo, wanting him as deep as possible when I came.

“Come with me,” I whimpered, dragging my nails against his chest.

And he did. The moment my walls fluttered over his length, he pushed as far deep inside as he could go. I felt the warmth of his release filling me, a primal satisfaction seeping into my consciousness.

“Sei la mia vita, Cara Mia,” he moaned through his release, holding on to me as tightly as possible.

His whispered endearments twined around us like invisible silk threads, binding us together in the afterglow of our shared pleasure. His hands, rough and calloused from years of being in the mafia, traced soothing patterns over the sensitive skin of my shoulders.

Slowly and quietly, the invisible thread of sweet nothings broke. I had a feeling that whatever he was saying to me in Italian was something he would never tell me in English. So, as much as I wanted to know, I wouldn’t ask.