Page 74 of Marrying the Mobster
“You’re such a filthy girl,gatita,” he rasps, withdrawing his fingers and pulling his cock out of me. Then, the massive tip of him is pressing against my sore and stretched back hole, demanding to be let inside. “Such a naughty girl, letting me use you however I want.”
“Yes,” I groan, my voice hoarse and ragged, my bones like jelly. “Whatever you want, Diego. You can have me however you want.”
“That’s right,” he says, spreading my cheeks wide and nudging his way into me. “Because you’re mine.”
“Yes!” I cry out, absorbing the slow, deep thrusts of his dick and the stinging slaps of his hands. “Yes, Diego, I’m yours!”
That seems to drive him wild and before long, he’s taking my ass without holding back, reaching places inside me he’s never touched and claiming them as his own. His grip on my cheeks is hard enough to leave bruises, and my skin throbs with the ache of his possession.
I come one last time, nearly blacking out from the intensity of it, but managing to slip a hand between my legs to stroke myself and make it last. Diego follows close behind me, pulling out with a pained groan. I can hear him pumping himself, his thighs trembling against mine as he finishes, leaving hot, sticky streams across my ass. I’m marked, claimed, dirtied and sullied, and so fucking happy I could cry.
Diego wraps his arms around me, not caring about the mess he’s made between us. He yanks me into his body and holds me tight, placing sweet, possessive kisses along my neck and shoulder, whispering slurred words of devotion into my ear.
I clutch at the arms pressed into my chest and hold on to him—my brutal, savage monster. My tormentor and my liberator. My saving grace.
Epilogue
Diego
Three months later
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
There are many things I never thought I’d experience in my lifetime. A honeymoon is definitely one of them—but what else is a man supposed to do after getting married? It seems I’m breaking a lot of my own rules lately, and it began the day I slipped that ring onto Elena’s finger. The beginning of our marriage was marked with danger, uncertainties, and lies. The balance of power between myself and Oleg teetered on a razor’s edge, and avoiding an all-out war was of the utmost importance.
Now, none of that matters anymore. The Yezhov and Pérez families are now one—two factions bonded by kinship and the need to crush a mutual enemy. Viktor has been cast out of our world in shame, his face marked for all the world to know that he’s a coward and a traitor, his body too twisted and broken to pose a threat to anyone.
Elena has become so much more to me than a lover or a beautiful possession. She’s even become more than a wife, or someone to take solace in. She’s my partner, my equal … my queen. She serves as a reminder of my humanity, and she appeals to the weakest, softest parts of me, while somehow making me stronger than ever.
Letting her in on the mechanics of my businesses turned out to be one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made, and her input is already shaping new and future operations into lucrative successes. It’s an outcome I never would have imagined when deciding to marry her. Instead of becoming a pressure point or a liability, Elena has become my best asset.
In a world where women are prized only for their beauty and the safe haven they can offer their men, Elena is showing me—and everyone around us—that she’s worth far more than that. If something were to ever happen to me, I would rest easy knowing thatLa Familiais in good hands. Elena isn’t just a mafia queen … she’s become a fucking boss, just as she wanted.
Leaning back in my beach chair, I bury my toes in the warm sand and watch the silhouette of my wife outlined by the late afternoon sun. A getaway to Rio de Janeiro was just what we needed—a time to rest and truly enjoy being newlyweds before getting on with the rest of our lives. Elena is in peak form, her body tight and sinewy with the muscle she’s built in her sparring sessions with Jaime. She’s turned into a dead-eye shot now that the right guns have been placed in her hands, and Jovan’s patience has resulted in proficiency. My wife never goes anywhere these days without the custom Springfield 911 I bought her as a gift—its silver casing engraved with her name and the face of a roaring tiger.
We arrived in Rio a few days ago with Marcella and Jovan in tow—just in time for Carnival. Elena and I aren’t interested in the crowded festivities, but Marcella has been begging me for months to be allowed to spend her twenty-first birthday here. While Elena and I relax on the private stretch of beach beyond one of several compounds I own across South America, Jovan’s job will be to shadow my sister and make sure she’s safe while having the time of her life. From there, we’ll jet to Colombia so I can introduce Elena to my birthplace and extended family. We won’t return to Miami for a few months at least, but things back home will be in good hands with Oleg overseeing and Jaime working as his right hand in the interim.
I peer through my aviator shades at Elena, who’s leaving the water and making her way toward me over the sand. She’s fucking gorgeous in this environment, framed by the bluest waters and the lushest, greenest mountains, with a clear blue sky overhead. She’s wearing a custom bikini from her new line of swimwear—set to be debuted at her first summer fashion show in a few months. I financed the event myself, wanting this new venture to be her most successful. The suit is a pure white with a shimmery finish, tiny straps crossing her belly and giving tantalizing glimpses of skin baked to a bronzed finish by the sun. I’ve memorized the look of it from behind—backless and nearly nonexistent, the thong cut giving me full access to her perfect ass.
She grins when she gets close, drops of water rolling down her body and making her soaked hair cling to her neck. “You sure you don’t want to come in the water with me? It’s the perfect temperature.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I reply, pulling her down between my legs on the chair.
She spends most days swimming and riding the waves on her brand-new surfboard. She’s shit at surfing, but seems to enjoy being thrown around by the waves, battered by the elements of nature. I’ve never been much of a swimmer, but I’m content to sit here with my cooler full of beer, my jeans rolled up to my knees, and my chest bared to the sun. We’re both sun-kissed, and Elena’s hair is starting to take on natural golden highlights.
Elena lays against me, one hand braced on my chest as she stares at me. “Is this how you’re going to spend our entire honeymoon—laying around and getting drunk? If you aren’t careful, those beers will make you pudgy.”
I grunt when she pokes at my stomach, then capture her hand and suck her index finger into my mouth. “I’m up for my morning run at six sharp without exception. A few beers aren’t going to have that much of an effect. Besides, I can think of a way to work off some calories.”
Elena gasps when I haul her up my body, spreading her legs so she’s straddling me. Her lips part and her breaths come harder and faster as I start unbuttoning my jeans. I’m as hard as a rock just from watching her cross the distance from the shore to where I’m sitting, and don’t even care how pitiful that makes me. I’m addicted to this fiery woman, which isn’t a problem when she’s always close enough for me to get my fix.
“Let’s make a baby,” I murmur, moving the scrap of her bikini aside and pushing into her. The tight clench of her around me is perfect, and the slight undulation of her hips driving me wild.
“Dr. Molena said it may not happen as fast as we want,” she says, bracing her hands on my chest and moving with the upward pulses of my hips. “I’ve only been off the implant for a month.”
“All it takes is once,” I remind her, letting my head fall back and closing my eyes. Our movements are leisurely and slow, our bodies well attuned to one another. “In the meantime, let’s just call this practice.”
The decision to end Elena’s birth control and open ourselves to the possibilities of expanding our family wasn’t an easy one. So much of my stance against having children was shaped by my past, but Elena proves to me every day that I don’t have to be ruled by my past. My life doesn’t have to be like my parents’, something that’s plainly obvious right now, as I make love to my wife on the beach during our honeymoon. I can’t imagine being privileged to hold a tiny human that’s part Elena and part me, and want to do anything other than protect them and love them with everything I have. With a mother like Elena and a father like me, none of the evils of our world will touch them, and none of the horrors of my childhood will have any place in our family. My kid can be whoever and whatever they want to be … even something as imaginative as a pro baseball player.
Elena moans, taking my hands and holding them over her breasts. “Hmm … I like practice.”
“Good,” I tell her, gripping her neck and pulling her down so I can kiss her lips. “Because I’m going to …practiceon you for the rest of our trip. Every morning, every night. Lunchtime, too.”
She laughs, and the sounds melts into another moan, her legs shaking on either side of me as she approaches climax. “I like the sound of that.”
I grip Elena’s hips and drive up into her one last time, coming at the exact same time she does. We cling to each other, shaking sharing panted breaths as I pump my hips and give her every drop of my finish.
“So do I,gatita.”
