Arranged Mafia Marriage

Seb

She’s killing me. The way she undressed with such confidence, while the flush on her features, and the way her hands trembled as she pushed those pale pink panties down her legs, hinted at her nervousness. She didn’t pause though; she went through with it, and now, she stands in front of me-naked, gorgeous, beautiful. And did I mention? Not a stitch of clothing on her. Nothing except the ring I gave her.

The blood drains to my groin. My shoulder throbs, reminding me I’m not in peak condition to do everything I want to her. Not to mention, I still have my arm in this goddamn sling.

“You want to see me naked? Why don’t you undress me yourself?” I drawl.

Her throat moves as she swallows. She takes one step forward, then another. She reaches the bed and places one knee on the mattress. She swings her other leg over my waist and pauses, kneeling over me. Then she bends and begins to undo the first button on my shirt. Her fingers brush my chest as she unbuttons the next one, and the third. She doesn’t stop until she’s reached the end, then swallows.

She takes in the skin bared to her gaze, and the blood drains from her face. She traces the lines of the letters that run down the bifurcation of my pecs, and reads the letters that spell out:

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

Her chin wobbles. “What’s this?”

“It’s Latin for Fortune Favors the Bold,” I reply.

“I know what it stands for. The question is, why do you have this tattoo?” she bursts out.

“I had it done when I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” She blinks rapidly. “You were barely a teenager.”

“It’s when Michael left us and moved to the US to study. That’s when our father unleashed the full impact of his wrath on us. I was the oldest amongst the brothers left behind. Of course, I wasn’t his legitimate son.” My lips twist. “I was one of his bastard sons, and he’d taken me in with Adrian. Not that it mattered when it came to his beatings. He beat me and Luca, the second oldest of his legitimate sons, equally. You’d think that’d forge a certain level of kinship among us, but it turns out, it only shamed us so much we’d never speak of it afterward. If anything, we went out of our way to avoid each other after each of the beatings. It was what made me realize that I didn’t want to ever become my father. It’s when I knew I needed to find a life beyond the Cosa Nostra. It was during this time that I got the tattoo. Not long after, Michael returned to visit from the US-probably because our grandmother finally told him what was happening-and he moved all of us to LA. Our father didn’t protest. God only knows why. In fact, he agreed to pay for the education of all of us.”

“Did getting the tattoo help?”

“It’s a reminder to be courageous. To never give up.” I tilt my head. “Now your turn.”

“What do you mean?” Goosebumps dot her skin. She turns her head away.

I click my tongue. “Look at me, Elsa.”

She hesitates.

“Now,” I lower my voice to a hush and her shoulders shake, but she turns to meet my gaze.

“Why did the sight of my tattoo elicit that reaction from you?” I ask.

“You don’t know?” She half-laughs, then drags her fingers through her hair. Of course, the action results in her breasts being pushed out, and of course, my eyes drop to her chest. In response, she plays with her breasts, drags her fingers across those dusky areolae of hers, then down toward her pussy. My cock jerks in response. A part of me knows what she’s doing. She’s distracting me. The same thing she did before I was shot by the drone. She’s trying to divert my attention; and succeeding, for I can’t stop my gaze from following her movements. She plays with her pussy lips, and Cazzo, my dick almost pokes a hole in the crotch of my boxers. She slides a finger inside her sopping wet channel and my breath catches. It fucking catches. Heat suffuses my skin, and my fingertips tingle to reach out and push away her fingers, and replace it with my own. Followed by my tongue. And then my shaft, with which I’m going to impale her and…

Fucking hell, stop this right now. I tear my gaze away from her juicy core and up to her face. “Nice try, but it won’t work,” I growl.

“What do you mean?” She holds out her glistening fingers, and Gesu Cristo… Clearly, He hates me, which is why He’s forcing me to watch this vixen tempt me, knowing I must not give in. Must not give in.

“Princess,” I warn.

Her hand wavers, then she flips her hair over her shoulder. “You don’t want to taste me? Fine.” She brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks on them.

“Cazzo.” I grit my teeth. “You will tell me, right now, why my tattoo disturbed you.”

“It didn’t disturb me,” she protests.

“Don’t lie. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“Or a scene from a movie.”

“Explain,” I order.

“Kea-”

I glare at her.

“The-Actor-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in John Wick…” She tips up her chin. “He had the same tattoo across his back.”Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

“And he was part of a Mafia gang in the movie?”

She nods. “A Russian clan.”

“That explains it. It’s not uncommon for some of us to choose this as a tattoo.”

“First, I find out that your second name is the same as the middle name of The-Actor-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Then, you play his favorite song. Now, it turns out you sport a tattoo his character wore in John Wick… It’s,” she shakes her head, “it’s mind-boggling.”

“Or maybe, The-Actor-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is giving you his blessing? Maybe it’s a sign from him that he approves of us.”

“Eh?” She scrunches her eyebrows.

“Think about it. You have a thing for him, and now, I’m your movie boyfriend, come to life.”

“Hmph…” She twists her lips. “You may have a point.”

“I always have a point, baby, and in this case, a very big, blunt point… in my pants.”

Her gaze drops to my crotch and she flushes.

“See how much I want you? You haven’t even touched me, and I’m so hard for you, Princess.”

She reaches down and lowers my zipper, then pushes down my pants, along with my boxer briefs. My cock springs free, and a gasp slips from her lips. A flush blooms over her cheeks, down her neck, to swoop down her breasts-her gorgeous, plump tits, with nipples so peaked that they resemble Johnny Utah’s upright surfboard in Point Break.

A-n-d I have officially lost it. I’m comparing her nipples to surfboards? And not just any surfboard, but to the character’s surfboard in the movie of The-Actor-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named that I saw. And have seen… many times. What? It’s Point Break. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s in it. Besides, I was young. I didn’t know any better then.

She trails her fingers up my cock and my balls tighten. She raises her gaze to mine, and whatever she sees there causes her to part her lips. She gulps and I hold her gaze.

“Just because I allowed you to undress me, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you direct the proceedings.”

A shiver runs down her body. Her breathing grows ragged and her pupils dilate. She’s perfect. She loves it when I command her. When I dominate her. When I order her to follow my directions.

“Suck me off, Princess.”

She firms her lips, even as her eyes gleam. She wants to do what I ask of her, but something in her resists. And it’s that stubborn core of hers which attracts me to her. It’s that obstinacy in her that pushes her to stand firm in the face of my overpowering personality. It’s the fact that, even after everything we’ve been through, she still hasn’t taken that final step of putting her faith in me. Which frustrates me, and intrigues me, and pushes me to find a way to wear her down. To break her. To make her mine over and over again.

“Wrap those pretty pink lips around my cock.”