Arranged Mafia Marriage

Theresa

The spatula clatters on the counter and drops of fat singe my skin. “Ouch.” I grimace and bring my hand up to my mouth to suck on it.

He catches my wrist. “Let me.” He lowers his mouth to the back of my hand and drags his tongue across the reddened skin.

Goosebumps pop on my skin. My toes curl. He closes his lips around the hurt skin and sucks on it. I feel it all the way to my core. He continues to lave my skin and my nipples tighten. Hell, I had just been in his arms, in his bed, and he’d been inside me several times last night, but apparently, I’ve not had enough of him.

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. He lavishes attention on my hurt skin like it’s the most important thing in the world. The way he gently holds my wrist with his other palm cradling my elbow-the contrast between the darkness of his skin and my more pale one is almost obscene.

“I am fine,” I insist, but all he does is walk me toward the sink. He turns on the tap and holds my arm out under the running water. The pain instantly fades away. A sigh spills from me.

“I am sorry I surprised you,” he murmurs. “I saw you in my shirt and stopped thinking.”

My cheeks burn. I shoot him a sideways glance to find him focused on keeping my arm under the running water. A-n-d, he’s bare-chested. He’s wearing his pants that ride low on his hips. His biceps bulge as he keeps my hand trained under the tap. Gosh, he’s ripped. I’d felt those cut planes of chest last night, but seeing him in the light of day, standing in front of him in all his gorgeous glory, sends vibrations of lust shooting down my spine.

“It’s nothing,” I insist, “it barely even hurts anymore.”

He switches off the tap, then raises my arm to examine it, “It’s best to put an anti-burn ointment on it so it doesn’t scar.”

“It’ll be fine.” I try to pull away again. Not that he lets me.

He levels that hypnotic, blue gaze on me, then guides me to a chair at the kitchen counter. “Sit,” he commands and I sink down into the chair.

“I am really okay,” I plead.

“Let me be the judge of that.” He points a finger at me, “Don’t move.” He walks over to one of the shelves at the far end of the kitchen.

I drag my gaze up those powerful thighs of his that are outlined in the pants, and my belly trembles. His butt is compact, his waist trim, and at the small of his back, he wears a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. I bite the inside of my cheek. “You’re never unarmed, are you?”

“It’s just a precaution,” he says without turning around.

“You must have felt naked without your gun all the time you were a guest of the Sovranos.”

“I managed.” He opens the door, removes a first aid kit, then walks over to me. Uncapping a tube of salve, he proceeds to spread it over the splotches of red on my skin. Any remaining burning sensation instantly subsides. The tension oozes out of my shoulders.

He blows on the skin, then glances at me from under those thick eyelashes. “Better?” he asks.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Somehow, this, being the center of his attention, is both unnerving as well as something I enjoy far too much. I could get used to it.

He places my arm on the table, then reaches over and cups my cheek, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” I chuckle, “I was just surprised; didn’t expect you to creep up on me like that.”

“What were you singing?” He jerks his chin, “Earlier, when I came in, you were humming a tune.”

“BTS,” I clarify.

“BT who?” His eyebrows knit.

“BTS.” I stare, “You don’t know who they are?”

“Nope.” He smirks, “I take it, they’re popular?”

“They are only the biggest band in the world right now. They’ve also won almost every music award there is to win.”

“Hmm,” he stares at my mouth and I wriggle around in my seat.

“They are, uh, like, really influential on social media,” I murmur.

“Are they now?” He drags his thumb across my lower lip and I can’t stop the moan that spills from my lips.

“Um, I think we should finish breakfast before it gets cold.”

He finally raises his gaze to mine, “I think I’d prefer something else for breakfast, actually.”

Moisture laces my core. I glance away, then back at him. “But I already started cooking,” I point out, “and it’s not good to waste food.”

“It isn’t, hmm?”

I shake my head.

“Okay, then.” He leans in and presses a hard kiss to my mouth. By the time he straightens, my head is spinning.

I stare as he caps the ointment and sets it aside. Then he saunters over to the counter, proceeds to plate the bacon, along with the toast that has already popped in the toaster.

“How do you like your eggs?” He turns to me, “Let me guess, scrambled?”

I nod.

He heads to the refrigerator, pulls out eggs, then returns to the gas range. He proceeds to make the eggs, plates them and returns with two heaped plates, one of which he sets in front of me. He moves back to the drawer near the stove and grabs cutlery that he slides over to me before he takes his own seat.

“Eat.” He points at my food.

I dig in and the creaminess of the eggs combined with the salty flavor of the bacon fills my palate. “Whoa,” I glance up at him, “these eggs are good.”

“I had to learn to cook when I was very young. Otherwise, I would have starved.”

“Oh,” I glance up at him, not sure what to say.

“She was too busy earning a living. After the incident with the fire, we moved out. She made sure she never brought clients home after that. She also began making a lot more money, but it meant she had to be out of the house a lot. And when she was home, she was always too tired to cook. So I took over.”

“How old were you?”

“Six,” he replies.

“You were so young…” I pause with my fork half way to my mouth.

“I grew up fast.” His lips twist. “Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t all bad. I do have happy memories of being with my mother, too. She tried to spend as much time with me as she could, when she wasn’t exhausted. I was young, but even then, I could tell how bone-weary she was. I tried my best to make life easier for her.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to. You were just a child. Those were the years when you should have been carefree and naughty and able to do as you wanted.”

“We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

I bring the fork to my mouth and slide the food into my mouth.

“You have to go after what you want. What else is there in life, if not our dreams?” I finally say.

“The Tilting Tulip,” he narrows his gaze on me, “that was your dream?”

I nod. “I love flowers, always have. Until he retired, my father was the gardener for the Sovrano family home, what is now Nonna’s house. I used to go over to their house with him when I was young and would try to help my father while he was pruning their bushes and planting flowers. Those were the best times of my life.”

“And your sister? Did she come along too?”

I pause. “How did you know-”

“That you have a sister? I saw her at your wedding. Also,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I saw it on your Instagram feed.”

“You stalked my social media feeds?” I stare.

“Also, as the memories started filtering back, I remembered having researched you,” he admits.

I place my fork back in my plate.

“You began recollecting your past much earlier than you let on.” I swallow.

“Indeed, within a few days of regaining consciousness, my recollections had started trickling in. I remembered that I had turned up at Christian’s wedding with the intention of throwing a scare into the Sovranos. It’s also why I had waited until he and Aurora were separated from the rest of the family during their Christmas getaway. My intention was to make them feel insecure. To make them realize that they were not as invincible as they professed to be.”

“Because you wanted revenge on the Sovranos for what they did to your mother?” I ask.

“And because I was an undercover officer embedded in Freddie’s gang. I needed him to put his trust in me and confide about his own activities. My aim was to put him away, along with the Sovranos.”

“And now?”

“Now, the Sovranos are my family. I’m still undercover, but I’m also one of them,” he shakes his head as if he doesn’t quite believe he just said those words, “and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t think I can continue as a cop.”

“What if he comes back for you?”

“The house is secure.” He leans back in his chair. “I wouldn’t take any chances with your safety, Sunshine.”

I glance away. I am still not used to him calling me that.

“Hey.” His fork clatters as he drops it on his plate. Then he leans over and grips my chin, “What’s upsetting you?”

“Nothing,” I swallow.

“It’s something.” He rises to his feet, then comes around and squats down in front of me.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

I shake my head and tears prick the backs of my eyes. What the hell? Why am I feeling teary now? I didn’t cry when he pulled a gun on the Sovranos, or when he hauled me out of there, or when I realized that we were boarding a plane out of Italy, so why is it that I feel like bawling now?

I sniffle, and he cups my cheek. “Hey,” his voice softens, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because you are crying?”

“I am not crying,” I insist, even as a teardrop rolls down my cheek. He scoops it up then brings his fingertip to his mouth and sucks on it.

“Why did you do that?” I scowl.

“Because I wanted to know how you taste? I want to know everything about you, Sunshine. Your laughter, your tears, how you look when you sleep, how you moan when I make love to you, how you look first thing in the morning when you wake up in my bed.”

“What about my favorite flower?”

“What is it?” He peers at me expectantly.

“It’s a tulip-a black tulip,” I add.

“I’ll fill the entire garden with black tulips if it makes you smile. In fact, I’ll buy you a tulip farm in Amsterdam if that would make you stop crying.”

A chuckle spills from my mouth, “What would I do with a tulip farm in Amsterdam?”

“Fine, I’ll buy you a tulip farm in the English countryside,” his brow furrows, “assuming there are tulip farms in the English countryside?”

“There are a few,” I narrow my gaze on him, “not that I want you to do that.” I add, “I’d be happy expanding my business and opening a branch of my flower shop in London.”

“You can do anything you want, baby.”

“I can?”

“I know you’re a savvy business woman. I bet you’ll have it up and running in no time.”

My cheeks heat. I am not used to praise from him, or from anyone else, for that matter. I’ve always done my thing, but done it quietly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Partly because Xander had loaned me the money to open my shop in Palermo, I’d preferred to just focus on the business, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention to me. Even though I’d known the Sovranos well, thanks to my parents. and to Xander. Still… I had never been completely comfortable with the fact that I indirectly owed my success to the Cosa Nostra.

“I want to do this on my own.”

“You are going to do this on your own,” he murmurs.

“I mean, I don’t want a loan from you. I’d prefer to raise the funding for the shop on my own.”

“And your shop in Palermo?” He searches my features, “What would you do with that?”

“My friend Elsa could continue to manage the day-to-day operations. I’ve already made her the general manager. I’d oversee it, but she could run it.”

“And you wouldn’t miss it?”

“I’d still be involved,” I tip up my chin, “but this is a chance to expand my brand in a new country, and this time, I’d own the place completely.”

He holds my gaze, then nods, “Good.” He straightens, then holds out his hand. When I take it, he draws me up to my feet. He peers into my eyes, his own gleaming with intent.

My belly trembles and my thighs clench, “Umm, what are you doing?”

His lips kick up, “Raise your arms.”

“Wh…why?”

“So I can undress you, of course.”

Heat flushes my skin.

He grabs the hem of my…well, his shirt, then pulls it partway up. “Do it, baby,” he coaxes, and his term of endearment slides down my chest and settles between my legs. I raise my arms and he pulls the T-shirt up and off me.

He takes in my naked body and his nostrils flare. “Jesus, all this time you weren’t even wearing panties?”

“As you may recall, someone tore off my panties last night. And I wasn’t exactly afforded the opportunity to pack. Besides, I was in a hurry to come down and start breakfast.”

He smirks, then turns earnest. “You don’t have to cook, you know?”

“I wanted to,” I murmur.

“And I do have a housekeeper who comes in daily to make sure the place is clean and stocked up. She also cooks when I ask her to.”

“I’d rather cook for you.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Why do I find that so hot?” He leans in close enough so our breaths mingle. “Why do I find you so hot?” He grasps my hips and drags me up to my tiptoes. “Why do I find every part of you so delectable?” He licks my lips and a moan bleeds from my lips. He hauls me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He kisses me deeply, his tongue in between my lips, his big hands squeezing my butt cheeks as he pulls me into him. He turns, places me on the edge of the table, then shoves aside the plates and the cutlery, all of which crash to the floor.

I start, then groan when he flattens his palm onto the center of my chest and urges me to lay back. He drags his gaze down my breasts, my waist, to the flesh between my thighs.

“Fuck,” he says in a hoarse voice, “I can’t wait to taste you again, but first,” he reaches over and grabs the jar of honey and holds it poised over my chest.

“What are you doin-” I gasp as he drizzles the honey across my breasts, then trails a stream down to my navel and across the soft flesh between my belly and my pussy. OMG, he’s going to… ahh. He places the jar of honey somewhere above my head, then leans over and slurps up the honey around one nipple.

“Oh god,” I slap my palm against the table as he curls his tongue about the nipple, then bites down on it. A groan spills from my lips as he continues his journey to my other breast. He slurps on the nipple and I feel the tug all the way to my core. He massages my tits while I dig my fingers into his hair.

“Jesus,” I huff, “this is insane.”

I sense his lips curve before he proceeds to lick his way down the trail of honey to my belly button. When he laps at the indentation, my entire body shudders. I tug on his hair and a growl rumbles up his chest. He slides down my body, then proceeds to lick up the honey from below my belly. My core clenches and my pussy quivers. I want him to lick me there, but if he does, I am going to come apart right here on the kitchen table. He blows on my swollen flesh, and I almost scream in frustration.

He presses tiny kisses on either side of my core. My scalp tingles. He stays poised over the most intimate part of me. His hot breath sears my pussy. Moisture pools in my channel. I yank at his hair, trying to get him to lift his head. At the same time, I can’t stop myself from raising my hips, trying to chase that feeling of having his lips on that part of me which is currently crying for attention.

A low chuckle rolls from his lips and the vibrations shudder over my skin. My nerve endings seem to detonate, my toes curl, and my nipples grow so hard that pain shivers out from them.

“Goddam you,” I snarl, “what are you waiting for?”

He glances up at me from between my thighs. “This.” He bares his teeth, “Ask for it, Sunshine.”

I firm my lips.

“Do it.” He lowers his voice to a hush, “Ask for what you want.”

No.

No.

I swallow, “Make love to me, husband.”Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.