Page 68 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
“That’s it. Ride me. Fucking take this cock, Sweetling.”
His fingers find my clit, rolling it between his fingers, and I cry out. Falling forward, I press my hand to his chest to get leverage and fuck him harder.
“I can’t wait to see your belly round with my child, Delilah. You’re going to be so fucking sexy. How will I take you out in public when every man will want you?” He flexes his hips from the bottom to give me a sharp spike of pain.
My orgasm swirls, a light buzz swirling in my lower belly, and it causes me to move faster. With every slide of my hips, my clit rubs against his pelvis.
“That’s it. Use me. Take me. Take everything, Sweetling. I am yours.” The sheen of sweat gathered on his chest shines in the sunlight coming through the window, and the muscles across his broad shoulders flex.
His words send me flying over the edge. I come, and my orgasm lasts longer than ever before. He grips my hips and spears himself in and out of me before driving in one last time. His warmth fills me, then drips between us and causes a mess.
Carmine wraps his hand around the back of my neck and lowers me to his chest, our lips meeting and our tongues dueling while his fingers skim up and down my back.
I break the kiss and nestle my head against his shoulder.
He continues the gentle attention until my eyes grow heavy, and just before I fall into a peaceful sleep with him still inside me, I think
that I’m safe.
I’m home.
I’m his.
Chapter Nineteen
Carmine
Delilah has been different ever since the kidnapping. She’s been closer to me and more affectionate, and I’ve been the same. I don’t hide how I feel in front of my men. I can’t. I won’t. She’s changed me, and I have become softer. There’s no denying that. She deserves softness, silk, and velvet. I want to give her all of that.
I also want to give her some responsibility in this life. The last thing I want is for her to feel like she has no decisions in how our world works. So right now, we’ll talk to Ryan Romano, the teen who ran from his father’s clutches—who isn’t his father. Poor kid probably doesn’t know who his father is.
We haven’t seen much of him since he came to us. He stays in his room. Marie brings him food, or he wouldn’t eat. I don’t want him to think he is a prisoner here. He isn’t. If he is going to be here, I want him to feel welcome. The last thing I want is for him to feel afraid of everyone in this house, so I want Delilah to speak to him. After that, I’m going to take her to school so she can talk to her professor to see if she can make up her exam.
I also plan to surprise her with a visit to her father. She deserves to speak to him. While I want to be the only man in her life, I know that eventually she will come to resent that mindset. I can’t live with that knowledge. Her well-being and happiness are all I care about now. No matter what her father has done, she still loves him. She’ll need him in her life, especially with the baby. She’ll never forgive me if I kept our child away from his or her grandfather.
If there is one thing I won’t live with, it’s her hating me.
Now that I’ve experienced her love, nothing else will satisfy me. Her love is like fresh air after being drowned in hate and darkness. There’s no replacing that. It’s impossible to think anything could come close to the feeling of freedom she gives me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, handing her a fruit smoothie with whipped cream on top. I didn’t ask Marie to make the drink—I wanted to. I want to pamper Delilah myself, so she feels my love.
“Sleepy,” she grumbles as she plops on the barstool. “And I’m wondering if everything that happened was real? I’m hoping it was a terrible nightmare. I can’t understand why this would happen, and why I matter so much so someone who doesn’t even know me. I was scared,” she admits, rambling in her sleep-filled voice.
I bet she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Her eyes are still half closed, and a yawn interrupts her.
“I can’t get him out of my head. He was crazy. I’ve never met anyone like him. People like that should only exist in movies, but I know now that they don’t. He would have cut me up. He would have—”
“He wouldn’t have had the chance to touch you, Sweetling.” I turn her face by cupping her jaw. “I will always come to you in time. I will always save you.”
“But what if you can’t?” she whispers, the question breaking my heart. I hate that fear has been instilled in her now.
“You never have to worry about that.”
“Carmine, you don’t know if you will get to me in time!” she shouts, slamming her palms on the counter. “You don’t know.” The words are a whisper. “No matter how much you wish otherwise. You don’t know.”
“I do know. That is one thing I always know. Look at me.”
She doesn’t.
