His Mafia Prince
Chapter 289: Against All Odds

Chapter 289: Against All Odds

{TYLER}

(Days later...)

"Are you trying to trick me into reading?" I ask Sasha suspiciously. He’s got me stationed in the library upstairs, next to his study.

"I would never dare," he replies drily. "Now, stay there a second..." He uses the secret door between the rooms to go into his study, and shuts it behind him. I wait, arms folded, slumped on the sofa. He told me he had a surprise for me.

There’s a click somewhere overhead. "Can you hear me?" Sasha’s voice asks.

I sit bolt upright on the sofa. "Holy shit, I can. What—"

"I figured an intercom would be easier for you than listening at doors from now on." I charge through the secret door as Sasha continues, "This way, you can sit comfortably in the library while you eavesdrop."

He’s sitting behind his desk, and indicates the new ornament sitting on the right-hand corner—a small black marble bust of Julius Caesar. He shows me how pushing at a discreet button on the pedestal makes the intercom go on and off. "And I can make it one-way, so no one will accidentally overhear your nasty comments about them."

"I don’t make nasty comments! That’s totally untrue," I protest, but I crack up at the disbelieving look on his face. "So does this mean I’m officially your consigliere?"

He pulls me into his lap and kisses me. "You’ve always been my closest and most trusted advisor, angel, whether I liked it or not. Yes. You’re my consigliere. Just don’t go around shouting about it, okay?"

"I’m not an idiot," I say, and purse my lips.

"You certainly are not," he tells me fervently, and kisses me again.

After a while, I pull away. "You know what?" I ask with a sly smile, "I’ve got this fantasy I’d like to play out. A fantasy of blowing the Boss-Man in his office..." Sasha laughs as I slink off his lap and down to the floor, pushing his knees open. "Oh," I say, "but first—" From my back pocket, I pull out a small tube.

Sasha’s eyebrow cocks. I keep his gaze as I take the lid off the tube of lipstick, wind it up, and then paint it carefully over my lips, blowing him a kiss afterward. "You didn’t let me do this in Venice, the night of the masquerade ball," I say, "but I saw the way you reacted when I suggested it. Or the way your pants reacted, anyway..."

I lean into his crotch and rub my nose up and down his zipper. "Do not get lipstick on my Armani, Tyler," he growls.

"If that’s what you’re thinking about, I’m really not doing my job right," I snark right back at him, and yank open the button at his waist.

His mouth twists into an incredulous smile. He puts a hand at the back of my head and shoves it into his crotch, grinding my face into him. I pull up, gasping, to see deep pink lipstick smeared all over his suit pants.

"Oh, my God," I say faintly. "Proof enough of my love?"

I look up at him. "Seriously, that is not going to come out—"

"That’s fine," he says calmly. "I’d buy a thousand suits to be ruined by your mouth, uccellino." He reaches out tenderly to wipe the smudged lipstick from my chin. "Now, where were we?"

"I was about to suck your brains out through your dick," I tell him, which is exactly what I proceed to do. He doesn’t even complain when I tear the zipper wide open, just to get better access to his balls.

I stop mid-way through to reapply the lipstick to my spit-slick lips; the color has gotten everywhere, so his dick looks like it’s flushed an angry, frustrated red. His mouth is the same color, and I think he must have been chewing on his bottom lip as he fights not to come yet.

I return to sucking him with more delicacy, a slow deep-throating so I can leave a ring of dark pink right at the base of his cock, then another above it, and another, until he’s tired of my teasing and grabs my head again to face- fuck me with no restraint at all.

I grunt my encouragement, cup his balls, and roll them gently in a tender contrast to the thrusting in my throat. He unloads hard, choking out my name, his cream dripping back out of my mouth and adding to the mess all over his suit pants.

To Sasha’s credit, he doesn’t even wince when he contemplates the complete ruin I’ve made of his clothes. "Worth it," he pants, when he catches me eyeing the destruction myself. "Now, as for your pleasure, angel—"

"You can come to bed and eat my ass for a while," I tell him, bouncing back up to my feet. "And then fuck me when your cock has revived from that amazing blow job."

Still slumped down in his chair with his wet dick hanging out, he gives me a mock salute and a lazy grin. "I’m a lucky man. You really are the complete package."

"That’s me, baby. Ass, sass, and class." I wiggle my butt at him as I leave him there to recover. "Don’t keep me waiting too long," I throw over my shoulder at the doorway.

"I really am a lucky motherfucker to have you, baby bird," he calls after me, and I smile to myself as I head for the bedroom.

Sure, maybe he thinks that. But me?

I think I’m the luckiest little bitch in the whole wide world.

As I walk toward the bedroom, my heart swells with a pride so fierce it nearly steals my breath. He sees me. Not just the sharp edges, the quick tongue, or the sway of my hips—but all of me. The fire, the flaws, the unshakable love I’d burn the world down to protect. And he cherishes it.

His voice lingers in my ears—baby bird—a name that started as teasing but now feels like a vow. He’s the one who taught me wings aren’t just for fleeing; they’re for soaring. And goddamn, do I soar with him.

I glance back, though he’s out of sight, and my chest tightens. This man—my man—looks at me like I hung the stars, but he’s the one who lit them. Every smirk, every challenge, every time he matches my chaos with his own? That’s the magic.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind me, but the warmth of his words stays. Lucky? Hell yes. But not just for his love—for the way he makes me unashamed to be this wild, this hungry, this mine.

I grin, stripping off my shirt. Let him think he’s lucky. I’ll spend forever proving we both are.

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