Arranged Mafia Marriage

Luca

“You don’t expect us to share that, do you?” She narrows her gaze on the single bed in the room above the pub that I found. The place is far away from the nearest town, and so secluded that I’ll be able to spot anyone coming from a mile off. Thank god the Brits liked their countryside pubs, many of which kept the tradition of hiring out rooms by the night to travelers.

I was able to pay for it with the money stashed in the lining of my jacket, which those stronzii had never found. An old Mafioso tradition which Michael had insisted on keeping alive. Thank fuck.

I shoot her a sideways glance. “Thought you’d have gotten used to the idea by now.”

She scowls at me. “You’re taking this joke too far. And just to remind you, we haven’t spent a night together… so far.”

“Easily rectifiable.” I walk over to place the paper bag with the food supplies on the bed. Then I shove my jacket down my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she squeaks as I shrug off my shirt and drape it with my jacket over the lone chair in the room, then reach for my pants.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a shower.” I toe off my boots and my socks, then shove my pants down, along with my boxers. I fold my pants, drape them over the arm of the chair, drop my boxers on the chair, then turn toward the bathroom.

She pivots around to glance the other way, but not before I notice the flush on her cheeks. Oh, she’s attracted to me, all right; she’s just going to keep fighting it. Fine by me. She’s not the kind of girl I’d want to bed anyway. Too many hang-ups; too many romantic notions. She’s probably the type who expects a man to put a ring on her finger if he sleeps with her twice.

Too bad, she has the most luscious body I’ve ever come across. Those curves bely the litheness with which she can stretch. And when she dances? Gesu Cristo, I can’t look away. She is something special, no doubt about it. Too bad she rubs me the wrong way. Nope, she’s too much work.

Oh, I’d fuck her, all right. Problem is, if I did, chances are, I wouldn’t be content with doing it just once. And that’d only complicate matters. Also, she’s exactly the kind of woman my Nonna would have encouraged me to be with. Which is exactly why I need to steer clear of any entanglements with her.

Ideally, I’ll get her to London, then back to her troupe in Palermo- Shit, that’ll only put her in danger again. There’s nothing stopping Freddie from coming after her again, so unfortunately, I can’t part ways with her yet. I need to make sure she’s safe first, so for the moment, she’s stuck with me, like it or not. I’m not going to change my ways. She’ll have to put up with me; no choice.Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

I stalk into the bathroom and step under the shower. It’s a tiny space, but at least the water is hot.

I reach for the soap and begin to wash myself, when a draft of air hits me. The door bangs shut and I turn to find her walking into the bathroom. Naked. Not a stitch of clothing on her body. And what a body she has.

I knew she was curvaceous, obviously, but Angel without clothes is… My favorite wet dream, come true… Firm breasts, tipped with plum-colored nipples that are erect, a narrow waist that flares into hips which are wide enough to tempt me to grip them when I position her just so as I breach her opening with my cock. As I squeeze those creamy thighs and mark them, before I bend her knee to the side and next to her chest and bury myself balls deep inside her heat.

I take in the flesh between her legs… Plump pussy lips that fold in toward her clit. She slides into the space in front of me and cuts off the flow of water. She raises her head as the water flows over her shoulders, down her back, and over the swell of her butt cheeks. The blood drains to my groin and my thigh muscles tighten. A pulse flares to life in my balls as I take in the spectacle. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I clear my throat.

“The fuck are you doing?” I growl.

“Trying to have a shower.”

“You couldn’t have waited until I was done?”

“You couldn’t have asked if I wanted to shower first?” She huffs.

“Did you want to shower first?” I snap.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She flips her hair over her shoulder. The strands slap against my chest. That crushed rose-petal scent of her seems to amplify, thanks to the hot water.

“Can I have the soap please?” She holds out her hand.

I am about to place it in her palm, then change my mind. Instead, I lather up the bar and swipe the suds down her back. She stiffens.

“What are you doing?” She glances at me over her shoulder.

“Trying to help you have a shower.” I smirk.

“That isn’t why I came in here.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” I drag my soapy palm down the indentation of her waist, over the width of her hips, down her thigh. Her entire body trembles. Her shoulders rise and fall. I sink down to my knees and soap up her calves, the backs of her feet. Then tap the outside of her thigh.

“Turn around.”

Her breath hitches.

“Now, Angel.”

She pivots toward me and I tap her foot. She raises it, and I place it on my palm. The length of her foot is smaller than that of my hand. I soap between her toes, around her ankles, up the front of her legs, her knees, along the outsides of her thighs. A trembling grips her, but she stays steady.

I drag my fingers over the cursive writing inked onto her left hip.

Out of the ash

“I rise with my red hair,

And I eat men like air.” I complete the rest of the stanza at the same time as her.

Silence descends for a beat, another. I glance up to find her watching me with a strange look on her face.

“Didn’t think I could quote Sylvia Plath?” I twist my lips.

“No offense. I don’t expect most people to recognize the words.”

“I’m not most people.”

She swallows. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

“Why this specific poem?” I ask.

“People think the poem is about death because she wrote it in the months preceding her suicide. And it does touch on her previous attempts at trying to die by her own hand. But it’s also about her resurrection and taking revenge on her enemies. It’s that spirit I identify with. According to Plath, dying is an art. You have to keep at it until you perfect it. As an actress, I do the same. Each time I go on stage, I die a little and am reborn. And I’ll keep doing it until I perfect it. Only, there is nothing like a perfect performance, for you’re only as good as your last one.”

Her words sink into my blood and head straight for my groin. My cock extends further. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on as when she’s speaking with such passion.

“You’re not like most people, either, Angel.”

A blush smears her cheeks.

I carefully place her foot down on the floor, before I grab her hand and place it on my head. “Hold on.”

She grips my hair and tugs; a shiver zips down my spine. My dick lengthens further as she raises her other foot. I treat it similarly, and as I run my fingers up her inner thigh, a moan bleeds from her lips. I stop short of brushing against her clit, and her grasp on my hair tightens. I place her other foot down, then lather my palms before the soap slips from me. I grip the tops of her thighs, rise up slightly until my face is opposite her pussy. I slide my soapy fingers around to grip her ass cheeks and squeeze.

“Oh, god, Luca,” she gasps.

A thrill coils in my chest. My name from her lips… It sounds different. It sounds right. It sounds… like something I need to avoid… In the future. Right now, though- I close the distance to her melting flesh and swipe my lips up her slit.

“Luca,” she half-screams. “Please, you-”

I strum my lips across her pussy lips, then curl my tongue around her swollen clit. She moans as I stab my finger inside her soaking channel, even as I massage her ass cheeks and pull them apart. I continue to slurp on her cunt as I slide a finger inside her back hole, and that’s when she goes rigid. She rises up to her tiptoes and I follow. And thrust my tongue inside her again and again. I curve my finger inside her as I pull out my tongue from her channel, only to latch onto her clit. I bite down and she cries out. Her back curves. She digs her fingers into my scalp, and that’s when moisture bathes my tongue as she comes. I lap up her cum as I grab the soap and lather it again, then reach up to cup her breasts. I wash them with quick strokes and she bites her lips.

“Luca, stop. I can’t think when you touch me.”

“That’s the idea.” I glance up into her tawny eyes, pupils blown as she holds my gaze. She releases her grip on my hair, and I rise to my feet without breaking the connection. I peer into her face as I cup her breasts, then pinch her nipples.

She shudders. “This is not why I came in here.”

“But you stayed.”

“I did,” she whispers.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She swallows.

“Do you?”

She nods.

I raise my hands and step back from her, then pop my head under the stream of water. I run my fingers through my hair to rinse the dried blood from the back of my head. The wound itself, though, seems to have started healing. I walk out of the shower and head for the door, grabbing a towel on the way. The door shuts behind me.

I dry myself, then fling the towel on the nightstand before I clamber into bed. Cazzo. What was that? It’s not like I’ve never seen a naked woman before, but seeing her without her clothes completely floored me. It’s like I lost my mind, overwhelmed by the sensations of lust, and something more… A need to take, to possess, to claim her. To make her orgasm so she knows just how much she affects me.

I’m not a selfish lover, but I’ve never put a woman’s pleasure before my own desires. What is it about her that made me want to floor her with desire, to overwhelm her with endorphins so she couldn’t think clearly anymore? So she’d be pliant in my arms as I took her and ravished her and showed her just how good it could be between us. So I could love her…

Che cazzo? I barely know her. I can’t be falling for her so quickly, can I? Nah, it’s just lust talking. The kind that overwhelms me every time I step into the room in Venom-the nightclub owned by me and my brothers-where I perform in front of a crowd. Where I bring women to pleasure as I get myself off. It’s been a while since I did that. That’s the only reason I wasn’t able to hold back. That’s why I felt overwhelmed. I just need to see her to safety; then I can be rid of her and return to my life. Yep, that’s it. I pull the sheet up to my waist, then fling my arm behind my neck.

By the time she steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her tight little body, I have my eyes half-closed. I track her as she walks around to the other side of the bed and slides under the covers.

She keeps to her side, which, considering how narrow the mattress is, means she’s almost falling off. Too bad it’s best we keep distance between us.

That’s when her stomach growls.