Arranged Mafia Marriage

Christian

Maledizione! It’s goddamn difficult to walk when you are sporting a hard-on, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

With every step I take, my cock stabs into the crotch of my pants. With every step I take, the remnants of her scent cling to my skin and tease my senses. With every step I take, the sensations of how her gorgeous curves felt against my chest when I held her seem to be imprinted into my skin. The way she looked, all bound up with the wool, all knotted up into the beauty of my creation-the image is seared into my brain.

I’ve bound others… But no one… No other woman responded this openly, this incredibly generously. She shared all of herself with me in the little time we spent together; she didn’t hide any part of herself. She was giving and trusting… Despite her hesitation to be part of what I had in mind for her, she gave herself over to me, and that’s not something I expected.

Hell, I also didn’t realize that it would affect me so much. Nor did I expect her to see past my words or my need to tie her up. I have to have her naked and knotted and begging to come, I have this constant need to withhold from her and see her wanting and open and needy. I need to come all over her and mark her. Fuck! I curl my fingers into fists at my sides as I stare into the fire in the living room.

I left her without any aftercare, stalked out here, and now, I can’t stand to think of going back in there and attending to her, which is so wrong. But this woman… She’s gotten under my skin to such an extent that if I stood there for one more second, I would have said or done something, revealing just how much I’m affected by her.

“You’ll catch a cold if you don’t put on your shirt.” She appears next to me. “Are you sulking or something?”

“I don’t sulk,” I snap.

“So, are you angry about something?” she retorts.

“Should I be angry about something?” I set my jaw.

“You tell me.” She walks around to stand in front of me. “One minute, I was sure you were going to fuck me. The next, you ran out of there like you were being pursued by your monsters or something.”

“I don’t run from anything.” Which was the truth, until I met her. “You forget, I am the monster in this relationship.” That last? Not a lie.

I’m the person who introduced her to the world of kink, and she took to it like a kid opening up presents on Christmas Day. She may have been hesitant at first, but the more she unraveled the layers of herself that had been locked away for so long, the more she basked in the sensations they evoked in her. Only, she isn’t aware of just how much she has revealed to me… Or to herself, yet.

She peers up into my features, still naked, by the way. The logs crackle behind her, the heat from the flame turning her skin rosy. Her cheeks flush as she searches my face.

“You’re not wearing clothes either,” I point out.

“Thought you wanted me to be naked?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Not so sure about that anymore.”

A line appears between her eyebrows. “Why, because you feel threatened by how you react to me?”

I scowl. “I’m not threatened by anything or anyone”-I look her up and down-“and definitely, not by an overweight doctor who has so many issues that she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with anyone else.”

She pales. The next moment my head snaps back. Pain blooms on my cheek. Before I can stop myself, I swoop down and grab her wrist. “Did you just slap me?” I growl.

“Yes,” she spits out, “and unlike you, I don’t hide behind lies.”

“You’ve done it now.” I bare my teeth. “How dare you raise your hand to me?”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that.” She tries to pull free, but I tighten my grasp on her. “Let go of me, you jerk ass, you … you imbecile, you complete wanker. I thought there was something inside you, some part of you which hadn’t been corrupted by your background or the experiences you have been through. Hell, I was sure that you turned away from me because I had touched on something that was sensitive, that I had hurt you; but maybe, I was wrong.” Her breath heaves. “You are beyond redemption, and immature, and have the brain of a goldfish.”

“What?” I open and shut my mouth. “A goldfish?”

“No, a cockroach. A toad, actually. The kind who is poisonous, so when you lick them, you get high first but then find yourself on death’s door.”

“You are not making sense.”

“Good, because after how you insulted me, I can’t understand how I allowed myself to feel anything for you.”

“You felt something for me?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Her chin trembles. “After what you said earlier… I … I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Good, because I don’t want anything to do with you either.”

“Fine,” she spits out. “You’re an arrogant baboon who thinks just because his father emotionally and physically abused him, it gives you the right to get off on other people’s pain. You twisted, perverted, weirdo!”

Anger thrums in my veins. My guts twist. Only when she makes a sound of protest do I realize that I have tightened my hold on her. I release her, and she stumbles back. We stare at each other for a few seconds, then I turn and stalk out of the room.

Six hours later, it’s dark outside, and I’ve spent the last few hours working out. After 500 pushups, 500 sit-ups, and as many biceps and triceps curls using the heaviest book that I found in the bookshelf in place of weights, I lie in a heap on the sofa and pick up said book-In Search of Lost Time, a translation of a French novel about, you guessed it, the loss of time and lack of meaning in the world.

All of which I could have told you for free without having to read the book, considering time once lost never comes back, so really there’s no point looking back, for the past doesn’t exist. Neither does the future. And there’s no meaning to events; it’s all one long string of happenstance. Shit happens; deal with it.

Like I dealt with our father’s physical and emotional abuse. I managed to protect Xander from the worst of it. Oh, our brothers thought that he had left us alone because we were too young. On the contrary, he’d wait for Xander and me to be left on our own before he’d corner us, then proceed to tie us up before hitting us. All in the name of disciplining us. I often begged him to let Xander go, and he’d oblige on condition-that I’d take Xander’s share of the punishment. Which meant he’d hit me twice as hard, often until I blacked out.

So yeah, she’s right. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where I got my need for tying up women before fucking them.

Each time I have, they’ve developed feelings for me, which is why I have stuck to the rule of fucking them once, then moving on.

Just like I should do with her… Correction-just like I have done with her already. I turn over on my side, toss the book aside, and sit up.

She walks out of the bedroom, dressed in her now clean pants and shirt. Which is fine. This is best, us behaving like strangers. After everything I said to her-none of which I meant-I deserve the insults she hurled my way. It was uncharitable and immature, to say the least, and I hit her where it would hurt the most.

I hunch my shoulders. Not my fucking proudest moment either. But the woman drives me crazy. Hell, snowed up in this lodge instead of celebrating our delayed Christmas with the rest of the family is crazy. Not that I had looked forward to spending time with my brothers. Every time I am with them, it only highlights the fact that Xander is gone.

I draw in a breath. He’s fucking gone; he’s never coming back. I dig my fingers into my hair and tug. The pain ripples down my back. Good. I deserve to feel that and more.

If I could, I would take your place. You know that, brother, don’t you? I wish I had reached there just a few minutes earlier; if I had, I’d have been able to help you. But I hadn’t, and I’ll always blame myself for it.

The sound of dishes being clanked in the kitchen reaches me. The scent of cooking tickles my nostrils. My stomach grumbles.

Yeah, Xander is gone, and I’m still alive and hungry. My twin will never feel these basic urges again. These sensations that confirm to me that I’m alive. And fuck, if that’s not messed up. Why the hell can’t I will my body to shut down? To go through what he did. To feel, for one second, how it would be to not feel, to not exist. To not have to worry about feeding or clothing myself. Or wanting to be inside her again.

Why is it that I want to resist her, but I can’t? Every time I see her, feel her, smell her, all I want is to fuck her one more time? Why is she everything opposite to what I want to be right now? To shut myself off and mourn. That’s what I should be doing.

Instead, I’ve put myself in a position where I have no choice but to go through this fake marriage with her. To feel alive every time I see her. To long to possess her every time I smell her. To need to mark her as my own every time I touch her. And I, apparently, can’t stop myself from hurting her.

“Cazzo!” I spring to my feet and head for the kitchen. I burst inside to find her standing at the island, mixing something in a bowl.

She glances up as I barrel toward her. “What are you-” she begins to say, but I push aside the bowl, then grab her by the shoulders and apply enough pressure so she bends over the counter. “What the hell, Christian?” she splutters. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I release her shoulders, only to grab her one wrist, then the other. “This is all your fault,” I rage. And I know I sound unreasonable, but fuck that. Ever since she’s come into my life, everything has turned upside down. “If you hadn’t helped Karma escape, then none of this would have happened.”

“If I hadn’t aided Karma, she and Michael would still be at loggerheads.” She glowers up at me. “Which doesn’t explain why the hell you’re holding me down?”

“You make me crazy; you know that? Every time I think I know you, something happens that completely overturns what I think of you.”

“Join the crowd.” She snorts. “You’re the most annoying, frustrating man I’ve ever met. Speaking of, you really are a bully; you know that?”

“Took you so long to figure that out?” I glance around the kitchen and spot the apron hanging over a chair. I grab it and begin to tie her wrists with it.

“Christian, what the hell?” she explodes. “I was making dinner, and you just interrupted the proceedings.”

“Fuck dinner,” I growl as I complete tying up her wrists. She tries to straighten, and I push my palm into the center of her back. I hold her there, then reach around to unhook the waistband of her pants.

“Stop that,” she yells.

I pause with my fingers on her zipper. My chest rises and falls. I hold her gaze, and she stares back. Color smears her cheeks. Her pupils are blown, her lips parted, and her hair flows about her shoulders.

“Do you really want me to?” I drawl. “Or are you so turned on by the fact that I couldn’t keep away from you, that I had to come in here as you were midway through making dinner and throw you over the island and am ready to take you now, you can barely stop your arousal from leaking down your inner thighs?”

She swallows.

“Say the word, Flower, and I’ll leave right now.” I release her, step back, and hold up my hands. “Do you want me to untie you and stop touching you? Do you, Aurora? Just say the word, and I’ll do so.”

“I..” She shakes her head. “I…” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I want you to fuck me, Christian.”

The blood drains to my dick. “Open your eyes and tell me when you are looking at me.”

She blows out a breath, then snaps her eyes open. “I thought you didn’t like how I look.”

“Cazzo!” I drag my fingers through my hair. “I was pissed off, okay. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Are you sure?” She trains her gaze on me. “It didn’t seem like that when you shared your real opinion about me.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” I lower my arms to my side. “I promise you I didn’t mean a word of what I said earlier.”

“Why should I believe you?”

I blow out a breath. “Because the opposite is true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because I love your curves. I love the heaviness of your breasts, the slight bulge of your stomach-”

She winces.

“No … no, don’t be ashamed of it. It makes you so human, so womanly. It makes me want to tie you up every time I see you, so I can see your flesh crisscrossed by the marks when I take them off.”

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” She half-laughs. “I don’t know if you really mean it or if you are simply saying it because you want to get in my pants again.”

I close the distance between us and push into the curve of her ass. She stiffens, then a shudder runs up her spine.

“Do you feel that?” I demand. “Can you see how much you turn me on? How much I want you? How crazy you make me, Flower? Every time I see you, I want to be inside you. Hell, even when I’m not with you, I want to fuck you. Every time the events of the past crowd in on me, I want to stuff myself into your hot, slick hole while I finger your ass and cram my fingers into your mouth.”

“That’s”-she clears her throat-“an oddly specific image.”

“Not to mention that I want to take your ass.”

She purses her lips. “Not that again. What is it about guys and anal, huh?”

“What isn’t it about anal?” I laugh. “Don’t mock it ’til you try it, Doc.”

“Exactly.” She blows out a breath. “As a doctor, I can tell you that, that particular part of your anatomy is not meant for that particular type of use.”

“When it’s someone you are obsessed with, when every curve of their body is imprinted in your mind’s eye, when you can’t stop thinking of their gorgeous behind, and how it’d look to have your handprints etched into the beautiful swell of their butt, then-I can assure you- that particular type of use takes on a whole new meaning.” I lean in until I can place my mouth next to her ear. “And when you are tied up and aroused to fever pitch, it’s even more fulfilling.”

“So, you’re telling me that it won’t hurt?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“You’re not selling this to me.” She huffs.

“Not trying to.” I tuck a stand of hair behind her ear.” Just as I hope you’ll accept it when I say that I love everything about your body. But especially, your thick thighs and your gorgeous behind. I’m so turned on by you; it’s why I’ve been pushing you away. It’s why I-”

“Insulted me earlier?” She murmurs, “And by the way, I’m not sure you calling my thighs thick is supposed to be romantic.”

I slide my hand down to her thigh and squeeze. “Believe me, there’s nothing like having these gorgeous curves to hold onto while I take you from behind.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I have a confession to make, as well.”

“Oh?”

“When you bent me over and shoved your hand down my pants, and I was resisting you, but you didn’t stop?”

I nod slowly.

“It really turned me on.”

I pause, then step back. “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

She straightens, then turns to face me, her hands still bound behind her back. “You said earlier that you wanted to push my limits; did you mean it?”

The hair on the back of my neck rises. “Yes.” I school all emotion from my face. “Why do you ask?”

“What if I said that I liked what you did?”

“You have to be more specific than that.”

“When you came tearing in here and pushed me onto my front and reached for my zipper, I thought-”

“That I’d take you by force, even if you said no?”

“This is not the only time,” she confesses. “The time you barged into my home, and you were so angry with me that you ripped my dress.” She shivers. “I was sure, then, that you would take me against my will.”

Ah! I hold her gaze. “And it excited you, didn’t it?” In a flat voice, I add, “You expected the worst of me because I’m from the Mafia. So much so, you were sure I wouldn’t take no for an answer. In fact, you hoped that I wouldn’t take no for an answer, because then you could have blamed the entire experience on me.”

Her cheeks redden. “That’s true,” she admits. “In a way, it would have been easier if I had not been one of the consenting parties. Then, I wouldn’t have to hate myself so much for enjoying what you do to me.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re getting at.”NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

“Are you really sorry for what you said earlier?”

I nod.

“Do you want me to forgive you for what you said earlier?”

“Yes, of course. ” I lower my chin to my chest. “What are you getting at, Aurora?”

“Consensual non-consent.”