Page 74 of Runaway in the Mafia
I wanted him.
“Two”
One last time.
“Three.”
Then I’d tell him.
My breath spilled out of me in a gasp as he surged into me. My shoulders smashed into the wall. His chest drilled me to it. We went at each other like animals. He was malevolent. I was reckless. “One final time,” I whimpered, and he laughed with dark amusement.
“Never.”
I didn’t argue. Was too busy ripping his belt off and unzipping his pants. He shoved my dress up and ripped the satin into two parts. Then he came at me. Slid into me. A weapon custom-made for me. Armed. Loaded. Aimed to destroy me. I welcomed him. It felt like heaven. Like we’d left the norms of culture and tradition and found an alternative universe. How was this so good? How was this so addictive? I couldn’t think. Could only feel. I couldn’t figure out where he ended, and I began. Need, passion, desire, lust. My hands pulled. I never wanted to let this go. But I had to.You must, Ahana.He was insane. He proved it by pounding into me like a madman. His grip on my hips were bruising. Yet this was the only time I wanted bruises to mark my skin. The only time I wanted more of them. Again and again. I wanted to be painted only by his airbrush. Only by his touch and his words.
“I’m fucking tired of you,” he growled angrily.
My heart cracked.
“Fucking sick of you always running away.”
I didn’t want to.
He yanked my hair and bit my lip. My back scraped along the wall as he pulled my ass along with him and throttled back to the wall. I gasped at the force behind it. “You’re fucking mine.”
I was out of it. Couldn’t get myself to disagree with him. My world tilted. Spiralling out of control. Again. I didn’t even see it coming. The cliff. The drop. The climax. We came together. Half-standing, half on the floor. My blood burned on my lips. His cum spilled all over me. Yet again, I’d take a morning-after pill and pray to the Gods because I’d lost my mind. Again. Let him in. Again. I was in a vicious cycle, and I couldn’t pull myself out of it.
I’d thought I was so strong. Turned out I was nothing but weak. One look from this man, I spread my legs and begged him to take me. When I should have been thinking of my family. The shame I would bring them. The heartache to Papa—with an angry scream, I shoved him away from me.
“No.”
“Too late.”
“No. No. No.” I stormed away. Came to a stop a few feet from him. “I’m not yours.”
“Oh yes, you are.”
“Don’t you get it?” My sigh was heavy. It numbed my insides. “I’m not mine to be yours.”
Silence. My heart beat wildly. I knew he’d back off. But knowing and wanting were two different things. “Say something,” I said to the darkness before me. A beat passed. Two. Then the brightness of the light hit me. A painful glare in my eyes. Just like reality.
“What the fuck are you telling me?”
My eyes squinted and squeezed. Adjusted to the lumens and focused on him. He was ten feet away from me, one hand on the wall, the other fisted in his unzipped pants.
“I’m not yours,” I whispered.
“Yeah, yeah. So you keep telling me.” His gaze sparked. “Whose are you then?”
I moved my throat. Words refused to cooperate.
He took a stride, and I jerked back. His gaze thinned. A fisted hand came to his jaw to rub thoughtfully. “Spit it out.”
I swallowed the painful lump in my throat. “I’m married,” I croaked, and he jerked to a stop halfway up to me. The temperature dropped to ice-cold. Then it morphed into morbid heat. His gaze twisted. Darkened and burned. His body vibrated with malignant energy. Malice splintered on his face. Like an icy lake defrosting, it cracked and spread. If venom had a look, this would be it.
“Dead,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“No.” I shook my head. “I have a husband.”
