Her sharp gasp was simultaneous with her hand freezing.
But she didn’t pull it away.
Angela’s uncertain tone contradicted her words, “Of course I want you to leave. Whatever could have made you think anything else?”
I curled her fingers around my cock, and naturally caught my breath as my squeeze sent a frisson coursing throughout my body. I squeezed again. I knew she could feel my penis twitch, pulse eagerly against her. After the third squeeze I whispered, “When you went to the ladies room 10 minutes ago you freshened your perfume and lipstick, teased your hair, and undid another button of your blouse. It’s very sexy, Angela, and it totally worked. But you really didn’t need to. I was hooked, totally into you already. I’ve been like this,” my fingers contracted, pinching hers on the evidence, “for half an hour.”
Her eyes stayed wide, maybe in amazement, maybe with wariness when she said, “This is very flattering, John, but I’m a married woman. I can’t do this.”
Despite her objection, Angela’s fingers continued my rhythm of relaxing and gently tightening, even after I removed my hand and it returned to her thigh. She shuddered slightly when it alit. I looked deeply into her eyes and again simply told the truth. “Of course you can, Angela. You can do whatever you want.”
Her hand froze, but remained on my cock. Mine eased closer to the juncture of her hips. Warmth, real heat was emanating from her. She eventually quit biting her lower lip and said, “No, I just can’t. It would be wrong. I want you to leave.”
“No, no you don’t. You want me to do what I said, to eat your pussy. If you don’t want that, why are you so wet, Angela?” The flickering of her eyelids and her soft moan as she unconsciously clamped her thighs together told us both I was right.
I dropped a 50 on the table as I stood. She took my offered hand and I helped her up.
**
Angela Mancuso’s silky lips nibbling up and down my cock felt fantastic, and, even though it had already deposited two loads in her pussy and one in her mouth, her skillful tongue, and the avid, arousing sounds she made as she slurped, began to have their way with me.
The taxi had dropped us at the corner behind her father’s building. I’d kept my eyes forward during the ride, impassive in case the driver glanced back. Angela’s eyes also looked ahead, but they did glaze over several times when my fingers teased into the crease between her inner thighs.
She pointed out the security camera and I followed her lead, hugging the side of the building to evade it. I made a show of turning away when she typed in the number code which opened the outside door to Tony Galliano’s secret escape elevator, but my phone recorded the series of beeps.
Yes, Tony Galliano’s secret elevator. The one from his exclusive Hyde Park South condo taking up the entire top two floors. Angela Mancuso, née Galliano, was Tony’s daughter. Theodora had run into her months earlier, when Teo had come to Chicago to assume the identity of Katrina Reese, potential juror in Tony’s trial. As daughters of prominent mafiosi they’d met often and decided to have lunch to catch up.
After a couple glasses of wine, which Angela swore had her pediatrician’s blessing, she had vented. First about her father, who was forever embittered that the complications from Angela’s birth made his wife incapable of having more children. And that his own Catholic upbringing made divorce impossible. In addition to the years of psychological and physical abuse he heaped on Angela for not being the son he wanted, he had forced her to marry Federico “Manny” Mancuso, his favorite capo.
Manny flushed Angela’s birth control pills on their wedding night and knocked her up soon after. He went into a rage when the ultrasound revealed she would deliver a useless daughter, and vowed to keep putting babies in Angela until he had a baseball team of sons. While Manny philandered incessantly, having sex with many women, he cut off Angela completely after she conceived. She became virtually a prisoner in their home, her celibacy and captivity enforced by Manny’s domineering, controlling mother.
After she had purged her pent-up anger at her father and husband, Angela had felt better and began to play a game, making up fanciful life scenarios for various other diners in the restaurant. Sympathetic, having fun and liking the edginess of her friend, Teo played along. One guy in particular appealed to Angela, and she imagined that he was one of those fellows who just happen to love fucking pregnant women.
Giving her fantasy free rein, Angela predicted that, after they finished eating and Teo left, he was going to walk over, sit down, tell her how unbelievably beautiful she was, how irresistibly sexy, and then describe in minute detail how he was going to make love to her.
Teo had gone along, titillated and intrigued, but had foreseen the obvious problem. Where could such an assignation take place? It could be fatally dangerous to go somewhere unknown with a man she’d just met, and Angela certainly couldn’t take him home. Mother-in-law-dearest ruled that roost, and, as The Outfit had eyes all over Chicago, a hotel would be very risky. When Angela suggested she might sneak him into the guest room at her dad’s condo while he was out, Teo argued that the surveillance cameras and doormen would see her entering with an unknown man.
Angela had leaned close and whispered, sotto voce, that her father had a secret passageway, an elevator that went directly from his 9th floor study to street level, opening in a nook at the back of the building. Angela knew the key codes and could get both in and out of daddy’s place unseen.
The morning after her parents and husband had left for a meeting in Vegas, I emailed Angela the 40% off coupon for the one-day-only sale at Dee’s Maternity Boutique. I arranged for one of H’s operatives to drop the diamond-studded hair clip in Angela’s purse when she wasn’t looking, and, when it set off the alarm as Angela exited, I saved her. Told the manager that she had to check her security camera footage, knowing it would show some other woman doing the deed.
Angela was very grateful, accepted my invitation for coffee, and now here I was, doing my best to embody every aspect of her fantasy. And surreptitiously recording the series of beeps while Angela entered the code to her father’s secret elevator.
I did the same when she typed the different code at the door to Galliano’s 9th floor study. She’d pointed out that there were no cameras in the elevator or landing areas, just before she kissed me. It was a hungry kiss and grew more ravenous as we rode to the top. My hands discovered just how firm and shapely her ass was, while hers went back to squeezing, ensuring I’d stay hard. Which was hardly necessary.
She took my hand and led me to her bedroom after I declined the offer of another glass of wine. I could tell she was nervous – it’s one thing to have an erotic fantasy, another to have it suddenly come to life – and I kept my hands on her, touching exciting places. Once we had shed our clothes and she could see the genuine desire in my eyes, and elsewhere, she relaxed.