Page 108 of Broken Mafia Bride
“Shh,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “You said to be quiet, didn’t you? So let’s see how good you are at it.”
Before I can catch my breath, his hand slips between my legs from behind and plunges into my dripping heat. I bite my lip hard, stifling a moan as he pumps his fingers deep and curls just right to hit that spot that makes my knees buckle. His other hand snakes up, wrapping around my throat—not tight, just enough to hold me there, to claim me. The pressure’s a tease, a promise, and it sends my pulse racing.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he rasps. “You love this, don’t you? Me taking you right here, where anyone could see.”
I whimper, the words igniting something feral in me. He’s right—I shouldn’t want this, not here, not like this, but I do. I crave it. The danger, the thrill, the way he unravels me. His fingers slip out, and I hear the clink of his belt, the rustle of denim as he shoves his jeans down just enough. Then he’s there, the thick head of his cock nudging against me, teasing my entrance.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he demands. His hand tightens slightly on my throat, tilting my head back so his lips graze my jaw. “Say it, Giulia.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I choke out, barely a whisper, my body trembling with anticipation. “Please, Raff?—”
He doesn’t wait for more. With one hard thrust, he buries himself inside me, stretching me, filling me so completely I nearly cry out. My teeth sink into my lip, drawing blood as I fight to stay silent. He groans against my neck, low and guttural, and his hips snap forward again, driving deeper. The fridge rattles with every thrust, the cold metal biting into my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of him behind me.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters, his pace brutal, unyielding. His hand slides from my throat to my hair, fisting it, pulling my head back as he pounds into me. “So tight, so perfect—so fucking mine.”
I’m lost in it, the rhythm of his body slamming into mine, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the dark kitchen. My hands scrabble against the fridge, nails scraping, desperate for something to hold onto as he takes me apart. He shifts, angling just right, and I see stars and pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I can’t hold back the moan this time, and his hand clamps over my mouth, muffling it.
“Still not quiet, baby,” he teases, and there’s a wicked edge to his voice, like he loves pushing me to the brink. His fingers dig into my hip, guiding me back to meet every thrust, and I’m spiraling, the pressure building again, coiling tight and hot in my belly.
He pulls out suddenly, and I whimper at the loss, but then he’s turning me again, shoving me down until my knees hit the tiled floor. I catch myself on my hands, gasping, and he’s behind me in an instant, yanking my hips up.
“Ass up,” he orders, and I obey, too far gone to care about anything but him.
He slides back into me, slower this time, deliberate, letting me feel every inch. His hands grip my ass, spreading me open as he thrusts, and the angle—god, it’s deeper than before, hitting places that make my vision blur.
“Look at you,” he groans. “On your knees for me, right here on the fucking floor. You’re such a mess, Giulia, and I love it.”
I can’t speak, can’t think, only feel. He leans over me, his chest pressing against my back as he uses one hand to rub tight, fast circles on my clit. The other grabs my wrist, pinning it behind me, holding me exactly where he wants me.
“Come for me,” he growls, his lips at my ear. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
It’s too much, the stretch of him inside me, the relentless pressure on my clit, the way he owns every inch of me. I shatter in a choked sob breaking free as my orgasm crashes over me,waves of heat and light pulsing through my body. My arms give out, then I collapse forward with my cheek pressed to the cool tile and ass still up as he drives into me harder, chasing his own release.
“Fuck, Giulia—” His voice cracks, and with one last thrust, he spills inside me, hot and deep, his grip bruising as he holds me there. His breaths are ragged, matching mine, and for a moment, we’re still, just purely satisfied bodies locked together on the kitchen floor.
He slumps over me, breathing fast. His lips brush my shoulders softly. “You’re mine,” he whispers, voice raw. “Always.”
I don’t answer—just breathe, sprawled out beneath him, the tiles cold against my skin, his heat seeping into me. The kitchen’s silent again, save for our panting, and I wish I could pause time and be like this forever.
But his next words shatter that haze.
“Marry me, marry me, Giulia.”
I raise my head and blink at him. “W-what?”
“Say you’ll marry me.”
I gape at him, trying to wrangle my thoughts back into place. “Raffaele, please not this again.”
“Not what?”
“You’re really asking me that?”
“Yes, I am, Giulia. Please enlighten me on the terrible thing I must have just done because I have absolutely no idea.”
“The thing you just said. I c-can’t. Are you crazy? We just buried Isa and?—”
“So that’s why you are reacting this way? Everybody knows that I never loved her. I feel sad that she’s gone. Trust me, I do,” he tells me. “She was my friend, regardless of the lies she told, but everyone knows that you and I—we’ve always been meant to be.”
