Page 54 of Marrying the Mobster
Elena clutches at my shoulders, her nails leaving trails of fire as she drags them over my skin. Her hips buck up off the bed, but I slip my hands under her hips, then grip her inner thighs to hold her down and open. Then I’m fucking her with my tongue and letting my teeth scrape against her most vulnerable places. She’s so wet now that my lips are slick, my tongue coated in her tangy sweetness. My dick has swollen to its limit, and I feel precum dampening my briefs as I press my hips into the bed, needing pressure, friction, something to keep me from losing control. I want Elena to come on my tongue until she can’t take anymore. I want her limp and spent and open when I finally lay on top of her and stuff her full of my cock.
I push her knees back and lap up her juices, then let my tongue wander lower. She makes a surprised sound when I tease the tight pucker of her back hole, trying to lower her knees. I growl and keep her where I want her, determined for her to learn that I will touch, lick, and fuck any part of her I want when she gives me access to her body. Nothing is off-limits.
“Oh, God,” she whimpers, slowly relaxing as she grows used to the new sensation.
I add a thumb against her clit to heighten her pleasure, circling and pressing until I sense she’s let go completely. I can’t help but wonder what kind of pansy-ass men she’s been with before me, and how much she’s missed out on. But then, I can’t ignore a surge of triumph knowing I’ll be the one to teach her—fulfill the filthiest and most twisted of her fantasies. The way she responded to her spanking and light choking with the belt, I know she has some hidden desires locked away. By slipping that ring onto her finger, I’ve taken hold of the key.
“Diego,” she moans. “I need to come … please … please …”
I raise my head and slip two fingers into her wet heat, keeping up the stroke of my thumb on her clit. “Come for me,gatita. Come as many times as you please. I want to feel it … all of it.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh of relief, then starts moving her hips in time with my strokes. I curl my fingers to find her G-spot, watching her face twist in a mixture of agony and ecstasy as I work her toward climax.
“That’s it,” I whisper, almost unable to breathe from how badly I want to see her come. “You’re almost there, Elena.”
Her back bows off the bed and she comes so hard I can feel the pulses of it around my knuckles. Her cunt squeezes around me as she grabs at my wrist, urging me to thrust through her orgasms. Her screams fill the room, turning up the intensity of my own arousal until it’s nearly unbearable. I can only wait as long as it takes for her to go limp, panting and staring up at me as if hypnotized. My pants are open in seconds, my briefs pushed down just enough to free my cock. Then, I fall between her legs and give her every inch of me with one quick thrust.
Elena is out of her mind now, moaning and undulating beneath me to match my slow thrusts. I want to make it sweet for her, make love to her like a groom should on his wedding night. But, fuck she’s killing me, her nails digging into my back and one of her legs wrapping around my waist. She’s restless and hungry, wanting more … so I give in. My little kitten likes me rough and raw and ruthless, and I’m a slave to her needs. I take hold of the leg she holds me captive with and push it up until her knee touches her chest. Then I hammer into her, the way made smooth by how wet she is for me. Every stroke produces a drumbeat of flesh against flesh, and the sound of slick flesh around hardness.
“Is this what you want,gatita?” I murmur in her ear. “You want me hard and rough? My dirty little bride.”
“Yes!” she cries, holding me tighter, angling her hips to take me in farther … deeper. “Yes, Diego.”
Her name on my lips pushes me over the edge, and I pound her even harder, trying to reach every corner of her body—every place inside her she’s ever tried to deny me. It’s all mine—body, mind, and soul—and there’s no taking it back. Now that she’s given in to me, she’ll never be free.
When I sink my teeth into her neck, Elena comes again, her slick pussy clenching tight around my cock. I groan and growl as her climax throws me into my own. Instead of pulling out, I surge deeper and let go, spilling every drop inside of her. We lay tangled in each other, Elena accepting the final pulses of my hips as I wring myself dry inside her. I collapse on top of her once I’m spent, my limbs heavy and my head spinning with the euphoria of such a powerful finish.
Elena keeps one arm around me, her hand braced against my back. I nuzzle my face into the side of her neck, surprised to find that I’m content to stay with her. Usually, I can’t wait to be away from the women I fuck. Attachment isn’t my style, and she knows that as well as I do. Still, she hangs on to me, the metal of her wedding ring pressing into my skin in a stark reminder.
I have a wife … and I think I’m falling head over heels in love with her, even though I know she hates me.
I am so fucking screwed.
24
Elena
Amonth as Diego’s wife flips all my previous expectations on their heads. When coming into this forced marriage, I anticipated stepping into a new form of imprisonment. All his promises of new freedoms would come at a price—one I wasn’t certain I was willing to pay. It took me about two weeks to realize that Diego is a man of his word.
I think I realized that a while ago, but our married life has confirmed it.
It’s so strange, thinking of him as my husband. Even though there was a wedding and all the pomp and ceremony that goes along with it, I still couldn’t let myself think of it as real at first. Walking down that aisle was easier when I allowed myself to believe this was a temporary steppingstone to freedom. Every day, Diego pulverizes those assumptions into dust.
I won’t pretend he’s perfect, because he’s far from it. But then, I’m the batshit crazy chick who’s finding it easier and easier to succumb to Stockholm Syndrome.
Two days after our wedding—when Diego finally climbed from on top of me and let me leave the bedroom—I was allowed to resume my work atBellezaand have lunch with my sister before she left town to return to Boston. My staff were surprised and happy to see me, and didn’t question my long absence. After answering a ton of questions about the wedding and my ‘whirlwind romance,’ I was stoked to return to my office, where pages upon pages of designs for my planned swimsuit line were waiting for me.
For the past several weeks, my days have been filled with work—which has always given me joy and an outlet for my creativity. My sketching pencils felt odd in my hands, but after a few minutes of preliminary drawing, I fell back into it as if I’d never left. The satisfaction of a hard day’s works makes other aspects of my new life much easier … even enjoyable.
Diego travels with me into the city Monday through Friday, and we occupy a penthouse condo he owns near the Design District—making the drive to work quick and easy. As promised, a set of guards follows me everywhere I go, and Jovan drives me. It’s surprisingly easy to accustom my employees to their presence. The name Diego Pérez is well-known in this city, so none of them seem shocked to learn that he wants me to have security. The guys are now a fixture around the boutique, so much so that I’ve had to get onto my sales associates for flirting with them. They do their best to stay out of the way and focus on their job of protecting me—but I can’t ignore how useful they are to have around on days when new shipments come in.
Diego has accompanied me toBellezaa handful of times, setting up with his phones and laptop in my office and mostly staying out of sight. But every now and then I glance up and find him watching me through the crack in the office door. Sometimes he looks like he wants to take me to the back storeroom, snatch down my pants, and bend me over. Other times, he seems pensive, thinking things I can never hope to figure out. He’s still such a mystery to me, this man who fucks me out of my mind every night and gives me everything I ask for.
After a few weeks of good behavior, I get a new phone—though it’s been customized by Jaime so that I can only call certain numbers. A laptop follows—also secured and encrypted—but it’s enough. I begin to feel more like my own self; free to shop online, answer my emails, and generally engage in a world I’ve been isolated from for months.
At night I join Diego atCalentaror spend quiet evenings at the penthouse. Everything is luxurious, true to Diego’s style. I’m never without anything I need, and the small staff who take care of us when we’re in the city seem to anticipate my every need before I do. I start to feel less like a prisoner and more like queen.
Weekends at home are filled with girl time by the pool with Marcella, or outings to the country club. I’m in constant contact with my sister and the handful of friends who didn’t abandon me when I went silent.
