Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

What the hell? What is he up to? He sinks to his knees in between my legs and swipes his tongue up my pussy lips. A groan bleeds from my lips. That’s so hot and so damn filthy. The fact that he’d stop mid-fuck and begin to eat me out is way too much for me to process. My brain cells seem to melt, all at the same time, as I give in to his ministrations. He hauls one knee over his shoulder, spreading me further, then he thrusts his tongue inside my channel, in, out, in. He squeezes my ass cheeks, and pain bursts across my already abraded skin. My pussy instantly spasms, and a groan rumbles up his chest. He slides his fingers between my ass cheeks and brushes against my puckered hole. I draw in a breath as he bites down on my clit, and shudders grip me. My fingers tingle, and I strain against the satin ribbon, which is surprisingly resilient. Goddamit, I want to touch him, want to dig my fingers in his hair and tug on it and hold on as he continues to eat me. Tremors slide down my back, and I squeeze down on his tongue; I throw my head back, knowing I am going to slide over the edge, and that’s when he withdraws. Again. What the-! I snap my eyes open to find that he’s rising to his feet. He grabs my leg, wraps it around his waist, then slides his fingers to my melting core. He scoops up the moisture and smears it across my back entrance.

“N-no,” I stammer, “please no.”

“You don’t get a say in how I take you, Flower.”

My heart begins to race, my pulse slams against my wrists, and my nipples tighten, even as my stomach ties itself in knots. “You’re too big,” I whimper.

“You can take it.”

He slides his finger inside my back hole, then adds another. I grimace, even as my hips seem to rotate of their own accord, allowing him further access.

“Good girl.” He bites on my lower lip with such force that I scowl.

“What the-” I begin to protest, and that’s when he replaces his fingers with his cock. His big, thick, fat cock. He notches the head of his dick against my puckered hole and pushes in.

“Ow,” I burst out. “It hurts, it hurts.”

“Stop complaining,” he says in a mild voice. “You know you want this, Flower.”

My pussy clenches down, and a knowing smile curves his lips. He slides his hand between us and pinches my clit.

“Jesus…” I inhale as he lowers his head and bites my nipple.

“Oh god,” I cry out as the trembling once again overwhelms me.

That’s when he slips in another inch.

Sweat beads my forehead as I bite down on my lower lip. “I can’t,” I murmur, “I can’t.”

“You can,” he says in a hard voice as he plays with my pussy lips. “Let me in, Flower. Now.”

He places his forehead against mine as he slides into me further. Too much. Too full. He’s impaled me, and it feels like I will never be the same again. My arms and legs tremble, and I almost lose my balance.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so hot, so tight … so everything. You are going to kill me.”

He reaches above and loosens the knot around my wrists, the ribbon gives way, and he hauls me to him. He winds both of my legs around his waist, and without pulling out of me, he walks over to the bed. He lowers me onto the mattress, follows me down, and begins to drill into me.

“Jesus,” I moan as he thrusts into me again and again. He grinds the heel of his hand into my clit, and with the other, he pinches my nipple. A line of fire erupts from the point of contact, and all of my nerve endings seem to sizzle at once. I try to pull away, but he has me pinned down with his cock inside me.

He pulls out, then plunges forward, and the entire bed seems to move with the action. He releases my nipple long enough to grab my wrists and position them above me. He wraps my fingers around the headboard. “Hold on,” he growls. Then he tilts his hips and pumps into me, hitting a spot deep inside of me that I never knew existed.

“Christian,” I yell as my entire body bucks. I arch my back, pushing my breasts into his chest. “Christian, I’m going to-”

“Come,” he snaps, and I explode. The climax crashes over me as I squeeze down on his fingers and dick. I cry out, but he swallows the sound. I feel consumed by him, owned, possessed, claimed by this Mafioso, my fake husband-to-be, the man who knows my body, my fears, and my mind more intimately than anyone else.

He continues to thrust into me as the aftershocks grip me. His entire body goes solid, his muscles flex, his features take on an anguished look, and he comes with a hoarse cry. He shoots his cum inside me before he finally tears his mouth from mine. He pushes his forehead against mine and stays there as the tremors course down my body and his. He stays there holding my gaze for a beat, then another. When he pulls out, a whine slips from my lips.

I didn’t like that. I didn’t… Oh, who am I trying to convince? That climax was, by far, the most intense I have ever had with him. And now I feel empty and spent, and not sure what hit me. I glance down to find him shoving the cum that slips out back inside me.

Jesus, I shouldn’t find that hot, but I do. How depraved am I really? On a scale of one to ten, right now, I am a hundred.

He reaches up to unwrap the ribbon from around my wrists. Then he hauls me up to a sitting position and yanks on the wool that’s wrapped around me. He unwraps me slowly, like I’m a Christmas present that he’s anticipated for so long that he can’t wait to see what’s inside; except, he’s already been inside of me. He pulls off the yarn, tosses it aside, and takes a few minutes to peruse my body. Then, he throws himself down next to me. He pulls me down and tucks me close to him. “Sleep,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes and drift off.

When I wake up, I’m alone in the bed. I throw off the cover he must have pulled over me before he left, roll off the bed, and pad toward the bathroom. My back hole twinges with every step. My nipples ache. My core clenches, and I’m reminded of just how empty I still feel.

I step under the shower and stand there until the water begins to run cool. Feeling more alert than I have in a long while, I dry myself with a towel, wrap it around me, and walk out to find my bathrobe laid out on the bed. Did he come here and lay it out earlier? I shrug into the bathrobe, then walk into the living room to find him on the settee. He has my shirt in his hands, and he seems to be stitching buttons onto it.

“Hold on a minute,” I burst out. “Are you really-”

“Mending your shirt?” He glances up at me. “I tore off the buttons, so I’m fixing it for you.”

“Wow…” I blink rapidly. “Didn’t think you could sew.”

“I can knit too,” he murmurs as he brings the thread to his mouth and uses his teeth to cut it off. He rises to his feet, then walks over to me. “Here,” he holds out the shirt, “you should be able to wear it now.”

“Did you say that you can knit?”

“Remember, you asked me what I do to destress?”

“You … knit?” I widen my gaze at him.

“I use yarn for my kink; it stands to reason that I respect it enough to learn how to use it in other ways too, right?”

“A sadist with a moral code.”

“I wouldn’t be a sadist if I didn’t have one. After all, being a Dominant is no joke. It means being totally committed to your sub and ensuring that she lacks for nothing. And I couldn’t do that if I didn’t have a very strong sense of right and wrong.”

“Oh…” I blink rapidly, not sure how to reply to that.

“Also, the knitting really does help me destress, not to mention, it helps me find my feminine side.”

“Feminine side?” I look him up and down. “There’s nothing feminine about you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He thrusts the shirt at me, so I have no choice but to accept it. “Now, go change, so I can feed you.”

Ten minutes later, we are back in the kitchen. This time I’m at the table, watching as he pulls out frozen vegetables and lasagna sheets.

“You sure you don’t want me to cook?”

“I took your ass; the least I can do is cook for you.”

I scowl. “Just don’t go making it a habit,” I mutter to myself, but of course, jerk face catches it.

“I’ll take your ass when I want, how I want. And you’ll deal with it.”

“You don’t expect me to agree to that, do you?”NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

“Sure, based on the way you were screaming through your orgasm earlier.”

My cheeks redden. “Yeah, I climaxed; doesn’t mean I have to like how I got there.”

“Stop whining,” he drawls. “You like the pain as much as the pleasure that accompanies it.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I know he’s right, dammit. As much as the thought of anal still worries me, the way I climaxed around his dick… It was spectacular. And when he spanked me, it hurt… But hell, if it hadn’t also aroused me. Does he know my body better than I do? Is that what this is about?

I lean my hip against the table. and watch as he pulls out a baking tray, then begins to layer the lasagna.

He catches me watching and winks at me. “Why don’t you take a seat.”

“Umm…” I redden. “No, thank you. I prefer to ah, stand.”

“Is it because your ah, ass is sore?” He smirks.

“No, it’s because I need the exercise.”

“If you feel like you need more exercise, I could simply keep you in bed longer.” My nipples tighten, and tendrils of pain vibrate out from where the shirt I pulled on slithers across the already sensitive skin. Bet that’s why he mended the shirt and asked me to wear it-just so it would remind me of how he touched me and made me come earlier.

When I don’t reply, his grin widens. Asshole! I take a seat, my arse protests, but actually the pain is not as bad as I expected. “There,” I murmur, “happy?”

“Hmm…” His brow furrows. “Clearly, I haven’t fucked you enough if you can actually sit down.”

“What the-” I throw up my hands. “There’s no winning with you, is there?”

“Relax.” He chuckles. “I was only teasing you.”

A likely story.

He turns back to his cooking. When the sauce begins to boil in the saucepan, he tastes it and makes a humming sound.

“Thought you said you prefer not to cook?”