My Little Star

The fabric felt soft beneath Luna's bare legs as she sat on the oversized cream-colored couch, her manicured fingers absently toying with the hem of her silk camisole. The new house was beautiful, smelling faintly of fresh paint and new wood. Beautiful, but cold. Unfamiliar.

A few of her husband's men milled about, hauling in boxes and muttering to one another in low tones. She wasn't allowed to help. Not with things like this. She was the lady of the house, married to one of the most notorious mob bosses in the country. According to her husband, such tasks were beneath her. Her role was simple--look pretty, comfort, please, seduce. And somehow, she had made peace with it.

He wasn't a bad man, not to her anyway. She didn't regret the marriage, especially since it had saved her family from ruin. Yet...

She didn't love him. Her heart had never belonged to him.

Frank, a broad-shouldered man with a permanently furrowed brow, had his phone pressed tightly against his ear. His conversation with her husband was brief--two or three clipped sentences before he hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket.

"Watch it," he barked at one of the younger guys dragging a box across the polished floor. Then, turning toward the doorway, his eyes shifted to Nico, who had just entered the room.

Luna's heart tightened involuntarily at the sight of him. Nico always carried himself with a quiet intensity that made the air feel thicker when he was near. He didn't even glance her way as he walked in, his face as unreadable as ever.

"Something came up," Frank said, shifting his weight. "I need to head out. You stay and keep an eye on Luna until I'm back."

Nico gave a curt nod, his expression unchanged. Luna's fingers stilled on her camisole as she tried to keep her gaze steady, neutral, uninterested. It was a pointless effort. Her heart always betrayed her when it came to him.

He didn't care for her. Didn't want her. At least, that's how he made it seem.

And yet, she couldn't stop wanting him.

"The boss wants her prepped," Frank said, already on his way out.

Nico's posture stiffened, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He hated this. He always hated it. Luna knew that. The other men... they didn't mind. Some of them even seemed to enjoy it--touching her, playing with her, sometimes more. But not Nico. He never volunteered for the task, and whenever possible, he passed it off to someone else.

Luna's heart twisted, torn between dread and something far more dangerous--hope. She didn't want to be just another obligation to him. She wanted him to want it.

Nico's jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse outright. But then he asked, his voice low and controlled, "Where are the toys?"

"Still at the mansion," Frank said.

Nico's frown deepened. He didn't like this. That much was clear.

"How am I supposed to prep her without them?" he muttered, irritation creeping into his tone.

Frank chuckled darkly, gesturing vaguely at Nico's crotch. "You've got two hands and a cock. Figure it out."

"I can do it, Frank," one of the younger men with the ginger hair offered quickly. Luna hadn't bothered to learn his name--too eager, too rough. She didn't like him, so she didn't care to know him. He was just 'Ginger' to her. "If Nico's not up for it."

"No," Frank said, shooting him a sharp look. "You've been too rough with her. The boss doesn't appreciate it. Until you learn how to handle women properly, you're not to touch her. At all."

Relief swept through Luna, but she didn't let it show. The Ginger's face twisted in confusion, then hardened with offense.

"She enjoyed it," he muttered defensively, his tone petulant.

Frank glanced at Luna, as if silently offering her the chance to speak for herself. She gave a small shake of her head. Let him handle it.

"No, she didn't," Frank said flatly. "Be glad she didn't make a formal request to the boss to have you removed."

Ginger's mouth opened slightly, as if to protest again, but he thought better of it. Frank turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the tension behind him.

Silence settled over the space. Luna shifted slightly, her heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

She glanced at Nico--and for the first time, he met her gaze. Just for a moment. His eyes were hard and he looked away almost immediately, like he couldn't bear to hold the eye contact.

Luna didn't know what to do with her hands, her feet, herself, so she leaned back against the couch, grabbing the book from the coffee table and pretending to read. The men around her kept shuffling, including Nico. An hour passed, and with each minute, she grew more convinced that he'd disobey the order and take the scolding later.

But then the couch dipped beside her. She stiffened, glancing up to find Nico settling next to her, leaving just enough space so their bodies didn't touch.

"Get out," he said, directed at Ginger leaning by the window with his phone.

"What? Why? I like to watch."

"And I don't like being watched." Nico's tone was sharper this time. "So get the fuck out."

Ginger sighed dramatically but didn't argue further. He trod out of the room, dragging his feet, and closed the door behind him with a reluctant shove.

For now, Luna was alone with Nico. They both knew it wouldn't last. The men in the house came and went as they pleased. There was nothing Nico could do to stop them from looking at her--or even touching her. Some of her husband's men had privileges. But even with privileges, there were rules.

No one was allowed to kiss her.

No one was allowed to make her orgasm.

No one was allowed to finish inside her.

Beyond that, they could do almost anything they wanted, so long as they didn't hurt her or leave any marks.

Like it was now, with Nico sitting so close. Nico, the man she'd been in love with since the night she met him--coincidentally, her wedding night. Her husband had been too drunk that night, leaving Nico with the task of watching over her. She'd been nothing but a frightened young thing back then, and Nico had been unexpectedly kind. He'd even made her laugh. She remembered falling asleep against his shoulder. He had carried her to bed.

But that was three years ago.

She had learned, too soon, that she had misjudged him. Because after that night, Nico had been nothing but distant. Cold, even.

She could count on one hand how many times he'd "prepared" her before. Every time, he had done it without touching her. He used toys with a detached efficiency, never lingering, never showing a hint of interest. It was clinical, mechanical. And yet, despite his coldness, she had still enjoyed it in ways she didn't want to admit.

But tonight would be different.

There were no toys. He would have to touch her. And no matter how wrong it was, the selfish part of her was alive with anticipation.

"When did he say he wants you ready?" Nico asked, breaking the silence.

For a second, she couldn't believe he was speaking directly to her. He almost never did. "I expect him back by eleven. So... I assume then."

Nico checked his watch, a scowl darkening his face. He really didn't want this. Her heart ached.

"You don't have to do this," she blurted out. "I'll pretend it was done. He won't know."

Nico's head snapped up, his gaze locking on hers. "You'll pretend?"

She nodded, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.

"Are you that good of an actress?" His voice was low, almost a growl. "That you can pretend it doesn't hurt when he fucks your ass and you're not ready?"

She flinched, though she knew she shouldn't. All the men used language like that. But from Nico, it felt different. More personal. More painful.

"I've done it before," she admitted quietly. "Not many men here are... skilled at getting me ready."

Nico's gaze didn't waver. "So you've just been taking the pain? So they don't face consequences?"

"Yes."

His nostrils flared, and she could see the struggle in him--the battle between wanting to say something more and keeping his cool. Eventually, he leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.

"You shouldn't have to take the pain," he said, his voice low but fierce.

"That's not what this is supposed to be. He's assigning this so you don't get hurt. Lying about it, pretending you're ready, doesn't do him any favors. And it sure as hell doesn't help you."

She blinked, startled by the conviction in his tone.

"Nico..." she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

His gaze flicked away, as if the moment had passed and he regretted letting anything slip.

"Let's just get this over with," he said. "Lay on your side."

She obeyed, shifting onto her side on the couch, knees drawn up to her stomach to give him easier access. The tips of her toes brushed against his thigh, a brief, almost innocent contact that made her pulse quicken.

When his hand rested on her knee before sliding slowly up her thigh, her heart stuttered and then raced ahead, each beat thudding in her ears.

That simple touch, it was more than she'd ever gotten from him. And more than enough to make heat pool low in her belly.

She tried to stay still, tried to control her breathing as his fingers traced a deliberate path higher. When he reached the hem of her dress, he paused for a heartbeat before grasping it and sliding the fabric up over her hips. The cool silk dragged across her skin like a whisper, a contrast to the warmth of his hand.

She hadn't bothered with underwear, already knowing what her husband had planned--already knowing this moment would come. So there was nothing to hide her from his view. Not that it should've mattered. He'd seen her before. This wasn't anything new to him.

And yet...

Yet, for a fleeting moment, she thought she heard his breath hitch.

He released her dress, his hand sliding lower, grazing over her cheek before slipping between her legs. His fingers found the curve of her ass, pulling her cheeks apart slightly, as if inspecting what he had to work with. Then, just as quickly, his hand moved back up to her cheek, tracing slow circles against her skin.

The gentle touch, the tender deliberation, made her pulse race, and for a moment, she wished he would stay there, tracing those delicate circles, not moving further.

"There's no lube," he murmured after a moment, his voice laced with something raw. "So I'll need to..."

She knew exactly what he was implying, but when his fingers slid lower, slipping between her folds and finding her already soaked, he stilled.

"You're fucking wet," he whispered, more to himself than anyone.

She didn't respond. What could she say? Yes, of course, she was wet--she'd been waiting for this, imagining it, for far too long.

But the thought was gone the instant his fingers began to move. They glided through the slickness, each stroke deepening the heat between her legs. She was certain by now he had all the lubrication he needed, but still, he didn't stop. He continued to move, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver of pleasure with each passing second.

Just when she thought he would stop to drag his finger back between her cheeks, he paused again. Her eyes stayed shut, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her.

She gripped the edge of the couch tighter, her knuckles whitening as anticipation coiled tighter in her stomach. The breath she'd been holding escaped in a sharp gasp when, with one smooth motion, he slipped his finger inside her.

The moan that broke from her lips was involuntary, echoing in the quiet room.

"Shh," Nico said. "Don't moan."

"Why?" The question was barely more than a whisper.

"Because I fucking said so." His tone was cold steel, sharp and final.

That intensity only stoked the fire burning in her, a fire that demanded more. She pressed her lips together, desperate to obey, desperate to please him.

He shifted slightly, and the new angle allowed his finger to sink deeper. Her breath hitched again as he withdrew, only to push back inside a second later, slow and deliberate. The motion was maddening--just enough to drive her wild but not enough to give her what she craved. Keeping quiet felt impossible.

She wanted more. Needed more. But she knew better than to ask.

When he added a second finger, it was almost too much, her muscles locking.

"You're tight," he observed, as though surprised.

She hesitated, unsure whether to confess that it was all because of him, but her voice faltered. "I..."

"Relax, stellina," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The words settled in her like a quiet storm. Stellina. Even though she didn't speak much Italian, she understood that--little star. There was an intimacy in the way he said it, something that felt just for her. But then again, maybe it was just something Italian men said to all women, a sweet nothing thrown out without meaning.

She parted her lips to speak, to say she knew, to offer him reassurance, but before she could, he added, "Much."

The shift in his words barely registered before his fingers slid out of her pussy, only to move between her cheeks. One finger pressed in without warning. No preparation. No easing in.

A strangled sound slipped from her throat, part moan, part gasp. It lasted only a beat, then he withdrew, his finger resting against her back entrance, rubbing gently.

Her body tensed, unsure of what to feel. She wanted to tell him that he was doing it all in the wrong order, but the thought felt absurd. He clearly knew what he was doing.

He circled her entrance with the patience of someone who had all the time in the world. But despite his slow, steady movements, she couldn't relax. Each shift of his finger had her bracing for the next push, her anticipation making her body taut.

Part of her wanted him to take her now, to end the teasing. But a deeper part of her loved that he was taking his time, drawing out the moment.

His free hand slid up her ankle, across her leg, and up to her knee, the pressure gentle but firm. He didn't rush, taking the time to trace every inch of her skin before moving back down again. "You're too tense," he murmured. "Come here."

She made a surprised sound as he effortlessly pulled her closer, both hands gripping her hips with the sort of strength she could only ever dream of possessing. He dragged her down the couch, pulling her against him. Her ass settled on his lap, and she felt every inch of him, his warmth, his scent, the hard press of his cock against his jeans.

His finger returned between her cheeks, resuming its slow, teasing circles, but his other hand moved up to her neck.

"I'm going to teach you how to relax, stellina."

Then, he squeezed. Hard.

The pressure on her neck cut off her air, a sharp shock that made her body freeze. She didn't know how that was supposed to make her relax, but then something strange happened. As soon as she felt the rush of panic, he released it, letting her lungs fill with air again. And then, just as she was catching her breath, he squeezed again. Slowly, methodically.

Each time he applied and released the pressure, her body grew more pliable, the tension in her muscles slowly draining away. The release was like an electric pulse of relief, each rhythmic squeeze coaxing her into deeper submission. It was a balm to her frazzled nerves, telling her, it's okay, let go, and she did.

Her body melted against him. She could feel herself sink deeper into his lap, her arm hanging loosely off the side of the couch, fingers grazing the soft rug. There was a growing hunger in her for the next wave of relief.

He squeezed her neck again. This time, the pressure lingered longer, suffocating her in a deliberate, intoxicating way. When he released her, she felt herself inhale in a slow, shuddering gasp. As soon as the air flooded her lungs, his finger slipped inside her ass, and it was like silk gliding into warm, melted honey.

There was no sting, no struggle. Just the fluid motion of him pushing deeper, and she felt like she could take all of him. Every inch.

"Brava," he said.

The simple praise filled her with warmth and pride.

"You're already ready for more."

He didn't wait for her to process the words, proving them true as he pushed a second finger into her with the next controlled squeeze around her neck. It slid in smoothly, but there was a momentary sting. It quickly melted into an overwhelming pleasure as his fingers shifted inside her, slowly stretching her with deliberate, steady rotations.

A heat bloomed low in her stomach, igniting a fire that swelled between her legs, sending a moan tumbling from her lips.

"I said don't moan." His voice was sharp, and the force of his punishment followed swiftly--without warning, he pushed a third finger into her.

She gasped at the sudden, almost painful fullness. Her body shuddered in response to the sharp sting, then jolted in a completely different way when he released the pressure around her neck. Instead, his hand moved between her legs, brushing over her clit in an almost tender way.

The combined sensations--fullness and pleasure--sent her spiraling toward the edge. She couldn't hold back. She moaned again, her body reacting, betraying her to him.

He clicked his tongue, disapproving. "Don't. Moan."

"Why not?" she breathed, desperate.

"Because I don't like it," he said, his voice cold with command. "Because it makes me want to fuck you like you're mine, and you're not."

The words hit her like a spark to dry tinder. She couldn't stop herself from sinking deeper onto his fingers, riding his hand and moaning again. The need was too great, the desire too raw to be contained. Even knowing the rules, knowing she wasn't allowed to orgasm except for her husband's claim, she didn't care.

She couldn't care.

Nico's growl was low and feral, thick with frustration. "God damn it, woman."

He was so close, his control on the brink of snapping. Luna could feel it, the raw tension, the heat between them. She wanted him to lose it, to take her, but just as he shifted, the door creaked open.

Georgio walked in.

Luna's heart sank. She liked him--Georgio had always been nice, respectful even--but in this moment, he was a curse. Nico froze. Luna whimpered, frustrated, her body aching for release.

"Aren't I a lucky man?" Georgio said, voice smooth as he took in the scene. His gaze lingered on Luna with an open, hungry appreciation. "Where's Frank?"

Nico tensed. "Out," he muttered. "Said something came up."

Georgio nodded. "Bellissima," he murmured, stepping closer without any sign of hesitation, his eyes never leaving her body. His gaze was hungry, but it wasn't possessive, not like Nico's had been. For Georgio, Luna was a gift, shared freely by her husband.

Georgio reached out and Luna could feel the difference immediately--Georgio's touch wasn't about domination but about simple gratification. He traced a finger over her bare arm, down her shoulder, and to her lips.

Nico's jaw clenched, but he didn't speak.

"Wet?" Georgio asked, his eyes flicking to Nico.

Nico hesitated, then he answered, "Soaked."

Georgio's fingers dipped into her pussy to confirm what Nico had said. He groaned, low and appreciative. "You've gotten her well and ready, Nico. Who knew you had such talent with her."

Georgio pulled his hand back, his gaze locked on her lips. His fingers worked quickly at his fly, freeing himself. He barely gave her time to react, guiding the tip of his cock toward her mouth. Without hesitation, he pushed forward, sliding into her mouth with a groan.

Nico's hand returned to her throat, resuming the rhythmic squeeze-and-release that both grounded and claimed her. It was like he needed to dominate what little he could, and it worked. Luna's focus blurred, the sensation of Georgio's cock nearly fading as Nico's fingers tightened, digging into her skin, stealing her breath. The pressure held too long, until all that mattered was air--her desperate need for it. Georgio became a distant ache in the background.