Page 17 of Stolen By the Mafia King
Her arsehole brother. He’s lucky I believe in the person most harmed choosing the punishment. Jessa will make the decision in due course.
“We can do whatever you like,” I tell her. We have the rest of the day. Time to spend together in and out of bed. Though I want to give her more orgasms and do dirty acts to and with her, I refuse to hurry.
“Well.” She pauses and thinks. “What about you show me your house? I studied interior design and it’s kinda my thing.” She scuffs her feet against the kitchen island where she’s sitting. Unsure.
“I know.” Soon she’ll be certain that this is her house, that I know everything about her, and she’s mine.
There’s a flash of shock on her face when I take her little hand and squeeze it. “Let’s go.”
I’m mesmerised by her talent and insight as she examines and talks me through the whole house. She’s full of ideas, they spill out and before long I’m moving pictures around at her command, holding them up for her to see in situ then calling my tattooed mobsters to put in fixings where she wants them. She pretends to be convincing me of her case every time. Even carrying a massive potted green thing—apparently it’s a banana plant—from the orangery to the hall, she checks with me if I like it.
I do.
She could paint my whole house fuchsia pink with custard yellow polka dots and clutter it with kitschy knickknacks and I’d love it if she loved it. But while she favours more colour and feminine flowery stuff, I genuinely prefer her changes. I’ve never really given much thought to my house. It’s big and grand and I employed someone to make it functional. But Jessa’s tweaks—her presence—make it a home.
I steal touches. A palm to the small of her back here. Fingertips over her shoulder there. She eases against me when I stand right behind her and lean in to see the sketch she makes of the library. Apparently my library doesn’t have enough reading books. They’re all leather-bound volumes for show, and that is not acceptable, even though I protest that I read on a tablet.
I arrange for lunch on the terrace and she eats the tapas greedily. Then we walk around the gardens and the lake. It takes forever because every two minutes I stop, pull her into my arms and kiss her. She tastes like vanilla and I’m obsessed. I can’t get enough.
In the little gazebo on the far side of the lake I give in, pulling her onto my lap facing away from me. I press my aching cock into her rounded buttocks and hold her to me as I unzip her little shorts and touch her. She’s soaked. It doesn’t take long with my mouth nibbling at her ear and her head thrown back against me when she loses control. She gives up another orgasm to me as I whisper about how good she feels. I pinch her nipples through her top and she squirms against my erection. I tell her she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, that she’s so sweet and wholesome I want to eat nothing but her forever. I tell her that she makes me so hard I can’t think straight.
I bite and suck her neck, a need in me so desperate and savage it can only be satisfied by hard and blunt into soft. I sink my teeth in deep enough to hurt, as she breaks apart in my arms again. She shudders into a fresh wave of orgasm. Adding a second possessive mark beside the first makes me smile with primal glee when I lift my head and see it.
Mine.
In the late afternoon heat she wilts a bit, so we retire to the cool movie room in the basement to watch a film.
It starts off innocently enough. She curls herself next to me and I drape my arm over the back of the sofa behind her. Then like a boy in a bad teen film, my arm slips down until I’m clasping her over the shoulders, tucking her into my side. She snuggles further, her hair falling over my chest. And I swear she starts it. One minute her hand is on her lap, then it’s tracing patterns on my thigh. Then I’m fully hard. Again. I’m in a continuous state of arousal for Jessa.
My cock is rigid and her breath catches when she notices. Tentatively, she brushes her knuckles over the bulge in my trousers.
In exploratory movements while we both keep our gazes on the screen, she revs me up. And though I swore I’d be the one giving orgasms for this day, it feels too good. I can’t stop her as she haltingly frees my erection, peeling back one piece of clothing at a time. Mainly because she wants to touch me.
Voluntarily. I’m not ordering her because I’m her captor and I don’t think she’s seducing me to get away. We’re well beyond either of those things.
She cups the length of my shaft, barely covering half. I can almost hear her thinking through what that means. How big I am and how I would fit. How my thick and long cock would feel in her tight virgin pussy.
I let her play for a while before beginning to get what I need. Her. Naked. I strip off her top and enjoy the moment when she’s bared to me, her arms above her head, trapped by the fabric. She smiles teasingly when I groan as she removes the silk that covers her breasts, but I’m busy with the flies of those tiny denim shorts. I push my hand in and grunt with relief and anticipation when I find her wetness spilling from her slit. She’s overflowing.
“Is this cream all for me, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she breathes, pressing forwards into my touch.
We’re not even pretending to watch the film now. I half lift her, half encourage her to crawl onto my lap, pulling off her shorts and knickers in the process. Her thighs splayed either side of mine, and her dripping sex close—so close—to where I most want her. She’ll look so pretty coming on my cock. We just have to get to the end of today with her understanding that she should stay with me. Forever. Then I’ll claim her in truth, with no bargains to muddy the situation.
Then I’ll push her tight pussy open, fill her up, and make her mine.
She runs her fingertip around the head of my cock and I hiss. Her little hand. Fuck. She’s so lovely, my petite girl.
“I want you to come.” She’s got a determined glint in her eyes.
I look down at her pussy. That’s where I want to come. Inside her. Right up as close to her womb as possible, where it’s most likely I’ll get her pregnant. But one-day bargains don’t have lifelong consequences; that wouldn’t be fair. Despite the insistent drumming of my blood that I must take her, I say, “I will, if you continue doing that.”
Doubt clouds her face, even as fluid beads at the tip of my achingly-hard cock. Desperate. My cock is painful, taking all my attention not to give in to the impulse to plunge into her wet pink folds.
“I want it to be as good as when you make me come. Show me how,” she insists. “I want you to unravel.”
She has no idea. But I’m nothing if not here to provide what my girl wants. I grip my hand over hers on my shaft and stroke up and down.
