Arranged Mafia Marriage

Elsa

I hesitate. I pushed him to do this. I asked for this. I knew that once he took on the role of my Dom, he would take his responsibilities seriously. He wouldn’t stop until he’d made me his in every way. And I… I’m not going to make it easy for him.

“The simple act of paying attention can take you a long way.”

“What?” He blinks.

“It’s a Keanu Reeves quote-”

His lips twitch, before he firms them. “Don’t ever mention another man when you are with me, you understand?”

I scowl.

“Do you, Princess?” His voice lowers to a hush. A shiver runs down my spine. Oh, my god, when he uses that tone, I can’t deny him… but I am going to try. I back away from him on the bed, toward the other side.

His forehead furrows. “What are you doing?”

“Um…” I reach the end of the bed, then throw my legs over the side and stand. My knees support me, at least, so there’s that. He watches me as I take a step back, and another.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is soft, but underlying it is something dangerous. A shudder grips me. Ohmigod, ohmigod, am I actually going to do this?All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Did you hear what I told you earlier?”

I shake my head. His gaze widens. “You dare sass me?” A growl rumbles up his chest. The sound is so hot, so sexy, so dominant.

OMG, my pussy clenches. Moisture beads between my thighs. I begin to lean toward him, then stop myself. I want to be bad, so he’ll discipline me and give me time-outs and talk to me in a stern voice and spank me. Yet, I also want to hold my own against him, just for a little while, so he realizes that he’s not going to be able to just walk all over me. I know I’m going to submit to him eventually, but surely, I can make him work for it?

“Princess, come back here.”

I shake my head.

“Do as you’re told.”

“Sometimes life imitates art. It’s uh, another Keanu Reeves quote, just in case you were wondering.”

His nostrils flare. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Oh?” I pretend to blow on my nails and rub them on my upper arm. Because I don’t have my shirt on. Guess he took it off last night before he put me to bed. Oh wow, he put me to bed. And not that he hasn’t seen me without clothes on before, but how did I not wake up when he did that? How did I sleep through the act of him stripping me?

“Go.” He jerks his chin toward the door.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Run, Princess. I’ll give you a head start.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“You’re wasting precious time. You broke the very first order I gave you. When I catch you, I’m going to spank you so hard, you won’t be able to sit down without feeling my palm print on your ass.”

Heat flames in my lower belly and spreads to my extremities.

He takes a step forward. I gasp. My nipples tighten and my breasts hurt. Adrenaline laces my blood. I have this sensation of being hunted by a predator, and it’s both scary and thrilling, and it shouldn’t turn me on. But oh, god, it does. He’s going to catch me, I have no doubt, but I can, at least, try to evade him for as long as possible, right?

He bares his teeth. I shiver. He stalks around the bed. I turn and take off out the door, down the corridor, then down the stairs. I take the steps two at a time, then reach the landing. I hear his footsteps behind me, and my pulse rate ratchets up. I pivot, careen past the living room, and into the kitchen. I round the island and head toward the pantry at the far end. I twist the handle open and step inside. I shut the door behind me and slide back until I’m flush with the wall. The scent of cinnamon and spices fills my senses. It reminds me of his scent… and strangely, that comforts me. My heartbeat slows down. I wrap my arms around myself, and stare at the crack of light in the space between the doors.

I hear the heavy tread of his footsteps approach. The rhythm of his gait tells me he’s in no hurry. The footsteps stop, then start again. They come closer, closer. I stiffen, and hold my breath. The crack of light cuts out as he passes in front of the pantry door. I hear him round the island again and head toward the exit. Then I don’t hear him anymore.

Wait, what? Is he leaving without opening the pantry door? Did he miss me? It’s not possible, is it? Could I have beaten him at his own game? The tension leaks out of my muscles, and I sag against the wall. In the silence, time stands still. When it feels like I’ve waited long enough, I slowly push the pantry door open. I peek outside, and as far as I can tell, there’s no one in the kitchen. I wait for a few seconds more, then slip out.

“There you are.”

I hear his voice a second before his heavy hand descends upon my shoulder. I scream, twist my body, and slip from his grasp. I jump forward, but he’s too fast. He grabs me around the waist and hauls me to him.

A giggle breaks free, even as heat flushes my chest. Fear twists my belly, and a sliver of anticipation zings under my skin. “Let me go,” I pant.

“No.” He swings me around so I face his chest. He took the time to change into a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants before coming to look for me? Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d give me a head start.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” he growls.

“You keep saying that.” I tip up my chin. “I’m beginning to wonder if you mean-” I yelp as he lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder. My hair falls down over my face, and my nose bumps into his back. I draw in a lungful of Seb and my head spins. I grab at that trim butt of his-to steady myself, of course- and whoa, now I know what they mean by buns of steel. Seriously, this man has not an inch of fat anywhere on him. I dig my fingers into said buns of steel, and that’s when his palm connects with my backside. A zing of fire sears up my spine. I scream, “What the hell, you asshole!”

“Language.” His voice rumbles up his chest, and via our connection, up my lower belly. My thighs clench, then I gasp as he slaps me on the left cheek, then on the right, and the left, and the right.

“Let me go, let me go!” I squirm in his hold, then cry out when he brings his palm down on the space where my arse meets my upper thighs. Who’d have thought that was such an erogenous zone in my body? But it clearly is, for when he slaps me there again, my pussy clenches. My toes curl. “Oh, god,” I groan, “oh, my god!”

He stops spanking me long enough to close the distance to the island.

He grabs my waist and lowers me to the countertop. I barely have time to wince at the contact of my inflamed flesh with the smooth, cold surface when he shoves his bulk between my thighs.

“Will you ever mention another man’s name when you are in my bed?”

I purse my lips.

“Will you, Princess?”

I jut out my chin and raise my gaze to his in time to see his lips twitch.

“This is not a joke, you jerk-face.”

“No, it isn’t. And I shouldn’t be jealous of an actor-a man you’ve never met, and probably never will-but I can’t bear to hear you speak of another man.”

“Wait, what? You’re jealous of Keanu?”

Color flushes his cheeks, then he plants his big palms on either side of me. “You seem to have a crush on him.”

“Only because he says the most profound things.”

“Right. He’s an actor, a creation of the media, an image honed to life from his movies; you know that, right?”

“You are jealous of him.” My lips curve into a smile. “Aww, so cute. You know, I only quote him because I find what he says quirky.”

“Like I care,” Seb grumbles. He pushes his face into mine so our eyelashes entangle. “Why can’t I stay angry with you for long, even though you refuse to obey my commands?”

“Because you have a thing for me?”

“I have a thang for you, all right.” He closes the distance between us so the bulge in his sweatpants stabs into my weeping core… Yes, exactly there. Oh, god. A whine bleeds from my lips. His nostrils flare. “Your fictional crush can’t do that to you, can he?”

“Seb,” I plead, “please, Seb.”

“What do you want, Princess? Tell me.”

“You.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I want your cock inside me, your fingers in my mouth, in my arse, wherever you want to take me.”

“Is that right?” He smirks.

“Anything you want, Seb. Anything.”

He holds my gaze for a second longer, then releases me. He leans back. “No,” he says in a cold tone.

“Wha… what do you mean, no?”

He pushes away from me, then grasps my waist and lowers me to the floor. “On your knees, Princess.”

I sway closer to him and he puts more distance between us. “Get on your knees.” He lowers his voice to a hush, and the hair on the nape of my neck rises.

Only when my knees hit the floor do I realize I’ve obeyed him. I push aside the pain from the impact and peer up at him.

“On all fours,” he orders.

I lower my palms to the floor. The ring on my left hand thunks when my fingers connect with the wood. OMG, I’m married to him. I. Am. Married. To this guy who is bent on breaking me down. I asked him to make me submit to him, so why do I feel so confused about it? Is it because I’m not used to showing this wanton part of myself to anyone except strangers? Only, he’s not a stranger anymore. He’s my husband.

“Now, stay there.” He walks over to the refrigerator, pulls out eggs, milk, cheese, then places them on the kitchen counter before reaching for a skillet.

“What are you doing?” I snap.

“Making breakfast.”

“And you want me to stay here?”

“Right. As you are, baby.” He busies himself at the counter. I hear the sound of the whisk clinking against the bowl. Guess he must be beating up the eggs. Then the light whoomp as he lights the flame under the skillet. Within minutes, he has a bialetti on the flame for espresso, bread in the toaster, and I hear the sound of the egg mixture hitting the skillet. A few more minutes and he pours himself a cup of espresso, plates the omelet, and the toast, brings everything to the island, and draws up the stool nearest to me. He sips the espresso, then balances the cup and saucer on my back.

He’s using me as a table. He expects me to stay still and allow him to use me as needed. An inanimate object, in this case. It’s demeaning and a classic lesson in subjugation and I, surely, can’t find it arousing. Can I? He reaches for the cup of espresso, takes another sip, then places it back on the saucer on my back. The sound of cutlery hitting the plate reaches me, and the scent of the food almost drives me out of my mind. My stomach rumbles and the backs of my thighs and butt feel like they’re on fire. The weight of the cup and saucer on my back is a reminder that he expects me to obey him. Anger twists my guts, even as heat flushes my skin. He reaches down and holds out a piece of omelet on a fork to my mouth.

The scent is delicious, but I turn my head away. “How long are you going to make me stay like this?” I snarl.

“Until you’ve learned your lesson. Eat now,” he orders.

I stare at the food, then open my mouth. He pops the piece of omelet between my lips. I chew on it, swallow, then eat the next mouthful of food he feeds me. He continues to feed me until my hunger is assuaged. He takes the cup of espresso and holds it to my lips. Since I can’t tilt my head back, I slurp from the surface. The strong taste of the brew revives me. He lets me have another sip, then brings it to his mouth.

I start to straighten, but he places his big palm on the small of my back. He applies enough pressure that I have no choice but to stay down. He removes the saucer from my back, and I hear it clink on the counter. Then, he slides off of the stool and stands in front of me. Wide feet, tidy nails, the edges of his sweatpants that brush his ankles. My belly quivers, my core contracts, a-n-d it’s official… I have a foot fetish, and a butt fetish, and a cock fetish-when it comes to this man.

“How are you feeling?” he drawls.

“Like I want to sink my teeth in your skin and bite you,” I snap back.

“So damn spirited.” There’s a note of wonder in his voice. He crouches down then grips the hair at the back of my head and tugs. I have no choice but to tip up my chin.

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“Let me up and I’ll show you just how beautiful I can be,” I spit out.

He laughs, then releases me and straightens, only to walk around to stand behind me.

“What are you doing?” I glance over my shoulder to find he’s studying my backside. He bends his knees and crouches behind me, then massages the curve of my arse. Pinpricks of awareness dot my skin. “Seb please,” I groan as he runs his fingers over my skin and between my legs. He plays with my pussy lips, and a whine bleeds from my lips.

“So fucking wet.” He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. “So sweet.”

“Oh, god.” I lower my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Pleasure convulses up my spine. My toes curl. So annoying that I find everything he does to me such a turn on.

He runs his fingers down the seam of my pussy, and my entire body jolts. He slides a finger inside my sopping wet channel, then adds another. A moan wells up my throat, and I bite the inside of my cheek. I will not plead with him. Will not. If I do, he’s bound to say something stupid like I haven’t learned my lesson yet, or something similar. I flex my fingers into the floorboards and push out my butt, trying to chase that sensation of having his fingers inside me.

He chuckles, then begins to weave his fingers in and out of me. Each time he thrusts his digits inside, a shudder grips me. My clit feels swollen, and I try to squeeze my thighs together.

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t move, Princess.”

He increases the intensity of his movements, adds a third finger, and a fourth. I am so full, so stretched, yet I know having his cock inside me would be so much more satisfying. He curves his fingers inside me and a trembling grips me. My skin feels too tight for my body. My scalp tingles, and heat zings out from my core. I arch my back, knowing I’m close. So close. I angle my butt, trying to hold his fingers inside of me, trying to plug that emptiness that yawns at my center. The climax threatens, and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting… waiting… He pulls his fingers out.

“What the-! Why did you-?” I snap my eyelids open.

“Consider it a reward for doing as I told you.” He pats my bottom, knowing full-well how sensitive my skin is, then walks around to stand in front of me.

He holds out his hand. “Up, Princess.”

I grab his hand and lift to my knees, then glance up at him, take in the T-shirt that molds those cut abs, the flat stomach that tapers down to the waistband of his sweatpants. The tent at his crotch, now at eye-level. My mouth waters as I mentally prepare for what I’m sure he’s going to demand next.

Instead, he hauls me to my feet, then scoops me up in his arms, bride style. Which is appropriate, considering we were married yesterday. So, he’s as affected as me, but it doesn’t seem to bother him that he’s denying himself. I touch the bandage on his arm. “Does it hurt?”

“A little, but it’s fading already.”

“So now what?” I lean my head back against his shoulder.

“Now, I’m going to take care of you.”