His Mafia Prince
Chapter 250: You’re No Tower Princess, Baby

Chapter 250: You’re No Tower Princess, Baby

(TYLER)

Sasha releases my thumb with a wet suck. "You have been an asset. You taught me how to behave, how to dress, which shoes to wear—"

I grab the back of his neck and his eyes widen a little. I still have the capacity to surprise him. "Giving you a fucking makeover is all well and good. But that bullshit was always just the tip of the iceberg."

"You don’t understand what you’re asking."

"Yes I do, Sasha. Yes. I do."

His eyes, almost grey in the cold light of the bathroom, flick over mine, and then he leans in to kiss me. "I’ll think it over," he says afterward.

"Sasha—"

"Tyler." He says my name affectionately but firmly, and I know I’ve run up against a brick wall. "I will think it over," he says again. "Now—"

"No fucking," I warn. "Nothing too strenuous." I almost add, You know what Darla said, but that would just piss him off. But it’s true; Darla told him he still needs at least another week of recovery before he can engage in vigorous physical exercise—including sex. He was outraged when she said it, but she was implacable.

"I’ll be happy to suck your dick, though," I say, grinning.

"I never thought I’d say this," Sasha sighs, "but I think I’m tired of blow jobs."

I recoil in mock-hurt. "Tired of my mouth?"

He laughs, turning me under the water so my back is against the tiled wall. "Definitely not tired of your mouth." He brushes his lips against mine, his hand wandering over my body, thumbing at my nipples as we settle into the kiss. His mouth opens mine and I let his tongue in, let him push it into me, a substitute for what I know he really wants.

I’m tentative at first, trailing my fingers over his body as lightly as the water itself, until I’m sure it doesn’t hurt him.

Our kiss changes, gets deeper, faster, until he’s devouring his way down my neck, sucking and biting in a way that I know—and he knows—will leave marks. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and encourage him.

I want every one of our enemies to see how much he’s recovered; let them guess and gossip about what we’ve been doing during our time away.

Sasha returns to my lips, the intensity of his kiss deepening. He rubs his face against mine, his unshaven skin scraping against my skin; he catches my bottom lip between his teeth and presses down, sucks at it, releases it.

"You’re so perfect," he murmurs as he gathers up my dick and his in one hand, jacking us together, taking his time. It’s too much and not enough; I’m burning all over but shaking like I’m cold. One second I feel like my orgasm could be right there, one twist of his palm away, and the next I could do this for hours, let Sasha edge me forever.

He’s sucking on my neck, his fingers pinching cruelly at my nipples and then soothing when I arch my back or whimper a protest. He knows just how to play my body. He hasn’t forgotten. I’d become used to regular sex, used to the notion that we’d always have each other, that Sasha would always be there to light me on fire and then help hose it down.

It breaks my heart to think I ever took him for granted.

"You okay?" he murmurs, as I choke back a cry. His fingers splay against my neck, tip my chin up so I have to look at him, look into the ocean of his eyes.

I clear my throat. "Yeah," I assure him. "Yeah, it feels good. You feel so good, Sasha, you always have..."

He recaptures my mouth, a new kiss so delicate, so tender, so in tune with my heart right now that it undoes me. The pleasure spikes in a sudden, welcome wave, but it’s unlike my usual orgasms, those ones that explode out of me, pulse through my junk and leave me exhausted.

No; this time it flows through my whole body, radiating out in ripples as though every nerve ending in my body wants in on the bliss. I hang on to Sasha’s strong shoulders as he works me through it, and just when I think I’ll have to pull my dick out of his hand, just when it’s too much, he comes with a gasp of relief, his cock quaking against mine, painting me up to my nipples in his cum.

We hold onto each other as we come down from the high, and then I adjust the water to a cooler temperature to help wash us down from our mixed, sticky cum.

We kiss again under the water flow as we sluice down, a messy, open-mouthed kiss with more tongue than lip, drinking each other in.

When we get back into the bedroom, Sasha pulls me into his arms once more. "One more thing, baby. You’re no princess in a tower. No matter what you might think, or what Marco calls you. You’re my king, Tyler Adonis. Don’t you ever forget that."

I give him a lazy blissed-out smile. "And you," I tell him, "are my emperor. Make sure you rule over me wisely."

He laughs at that. "There’s no one alive who could rule over you, angel, not unless you allowed it. I’d be a fool to think otherwise."

He knows me, this man of mine.

He knows me.

***

"What next?" I ask the following morning, once we’re both showered and dressed and ready to face the day.

Wafting up from the kitchen, I can smell pancakes, and I smile. Hudson is too kind to us, really. I’ll have to make sure he knows how much I appreciate him.

"Well," Sasha says slowly, and I turn to stare at him.

"You’ve been thinking," I say sternly.

"I have," he admits. "I want to go back and look through the old house again."

That’s not what I expected. At all. "Why?"

He gets this weird look that I can’t place. It’s almost embarrassment. "I just..." He sighs. "There’s something that’s been playing on my mind. We went through all the safes after Angelo died, as you know. He left the combinations, encrypted. But there was this one combination that didn’t work on any of the safes. So I’d just like another look through the house."

"Miles’ been ripping out walls, adding shit back. They never found anything, another hidden safe?"

"No. But I’d still like to have a look for myself."

I never go to the house, and I’m not too sure I want to go now, either. But just last night I gave my grand speech to Sasha about being his partner in everything. I can hardly back out now, otherwise he’ll just keep on using me for fucking fashion advice.

Although it must be said, I do give great fucking fashion advice.

I try to sound nonchalant as I ask, "When do you wanna go?"

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