Page 67 of See Me After Class

Leaning down, my tongue circled them until they grew stiff in my mouth, craving more attention.

She moaned and arched the crescent moons of her breasts right into my hands as I explored the sweet, honey-like alchemy of her skin with my tongue and teeth, grazing and licking, hoping and worshiping.

What is happening to you, Viktor? Get a grip on yourself.

My sane mind could worship a thousand other things, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop. I was falling. I went lower to grasp a luscious handful of her softness, kneading her buttocks in my palms. She gasped and ground against me, her hands reaching up to grab fistfuls of my hair.

I licked her nipples before biting down, sucking greedily. Reaching down, I hooked a finger under the line of her panties and brushed the mounting heat rising from her mound, relishing the feel of her wetness against my skin.

She moaned angrily, pressing her thighs hard to keep my hand stationed where it was.

I stroked upward to the tiny, delicious nub of nerves, making her quiver as I pressed down.

"That's it," she snarled, pushing me back suddenly. "Fuck me." She slapped my chest, her eyes burning. Was it rage? Was it lust? Was it… confusion?

It didn't matter.

I picked her clean off the ground and carried her over to one of the benches. I sat down, with her straddling my lap. She undid my pants, working on me until my cock sprang free. I pushed the line of her panties aside, freeing her soaking pussy.

She didn't give me a second to prepare. She moved like a fox, going slightly up to grab my cock and impale herself with it.

"Yes," she sighed, her hands coming to rest around my shoulders. Her lips were close to my ear. "Come on, Viktor. Show me what you can do."

I let out a snarl and began drilling her, the pace slow at first. I released her panties, letting the line hit against my cock. It felt exquisite. I bit down on her tender nipples as she moaned.

She clamped her hands on my shoulders, bouncing up and down on my erection until I couldn't take it anymore. I steadied her with an iron grip and drilled into her, moving as fast as I could.

"Harder," she commanded.

I began moving faster, ramming my shaft in and out.

My nails dug into her skin as hers did in mine as she matched my frenetic rhythm. "Tell me," she whispered in my ear. "Who is undoing whom?"

My mind was circling with an abyss of thoughts that made no sense. There was her, only her. Only she made sense in this dark, useless world.

"Come for me," she murmured, clamping down hard on my cock. I shuddered, feeling her orgasm tear through her body and mine by extension as I flooded her with my hot seed.

She smiled victoriously before angling her head to look at the two other men in the greenhouse.

"Who's next?"

27

Leon

Seventeen years ago

A string-bean of a boy with eyes the color of espresso trailed behind his mother, Sophia Lorena. The boy was yours truly.

My mother's ebony hair, usually a river of glossy ink cascading down her back, was a tangled mess. Her face, etched with the laughter lines of a thousand summers, looked increasingly tired and tight, rouge smeared beneath her eyes like angry tears.

We were late for Zia Rosa's weekly gathering. I knew the drill. Mama, her voice a hoarse whisper, would recount the latest drama of her on-again-off-again romance with my father, Antonio Vincenzo, a baker with promises that crumbled faster than his biscotti.

The aunts would cluck their tongues, the uncles would mutter about family and honor, and Nona would sigh. Mama would take all the sympathy the same way she took her tea—greedily. We'd go home and repeat the same thing all over again.

The sun was a molten lemon smeared across a cobalt sky, casting long veils across the cobbled streets of Palermo. Zia Rosa's house was a riot of geraniums and sun-bleached terracotta. The aromas of simmering ragu and garlic bread spread the moment we set foot inside. It was always familiar but also always comforting.

Laughter was muted, tinged with the low hum of gossip. My mother, with her shoulders slumped, entered the kitchen, where the family's women had gathered around a scarred wooden table.