Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Jesus Christ, I want to sink my cock into her.

I’ve almost had enough of her bucking against my hand, but then she turns her head and kisses me like she’s never kissed me before. It’s fucking rough and full of teeth.

My other hand slips out between her legs and I bring it to her face. She pulls away from me, her lips swollen as I move the finger covered in her juices over her mouth. Her tongue teases my fingers as she sucks every last drop.

Then my fingers fall from her mouth and she gives me a plaintive look.

I feel her ass riding against my stiff cock, and more than anything I want to watch myself bang her in front of this mirror.

With a few swift jerks my slacks fall to the floor, and Beatrice shudders as she feels my length against her back.

“I want you to watch yourself as I bury my cock in you.”

And then I tug down my briefs, hissing as the cool air hits my shaft. I pull a condom from the nightstand and rip it open, rolling it over me. Then I pull her lips apart, guiding my cock into her wet heat.

She gives such a high gasp that I’m sure I hurt her, until she collapses against the mirror.

Oh God, the fucking relief. It washes over me the moment I sink into her and ram my cock home. All the bullshit in my life fades away, and I only care about giving her my cum.

“Hands against the mirror.”NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

Beatrice spreads her legs wide and places her hands on the mirror, bending over to give me a nice view of her ass. I flip the skirt over her back and watch her face contort with pleasure and pain.

Fuck, she feels good. Her cunt is like smooth silk over my cock, warm and welcoming. It opens up, letting me in deeper, until my balls crush against her pussy and she lets out a sharp moan. The rhythmic slapping gets my blood boiling, the feeling of her hips in my hands, and even seeing myself pounding this bitch.

I spank her ass once, twice, watching blood rise to the surface of her skin. I watch it move in tandem with my fucking. She balls her fists on the mirror and cries out.

“More, Jack!”

I reach forward and grab a ponytail of hair. I yank back, forcing her to arch.

“Shut up and take my cum.”

The friction gets intense, and I feel my balls heating up. Close. So close. Loud smacks fill the room as I fuck her harder. She’s screaming so loud that we’re going to get the cops called on us.

I wrap my arm around her waist and I swing her upright, crushing her against the glass as I drive into her. My other hand still yanks her hair, and I dig my fingers deep. I find her pussy and I press down over her clit, and her moans deepen.

“Holy shit, Jack!”

Then I feel it ripping through me. Her muscles tighten around my cock and I thrust hard, releasing my cum into her. I have to keep fucking her. Everything inside me wants that cum shoved as deep as possible, but of course the condom catches it all. Her pussy contracts beneath my fingers as I pulse in and out, the wave of pleasure receding.

I slip out of her and she turns around, wrapping her arms around my neck and digging her fingers into my hair. It feels amazing.

She lifts herself on her toes to kiss me, and incredible warmth fills my chest. Then I wonder if she’s becoming mine or if I’m becoming hers.

BEATRICE

My eyes feel like sandpaper and my head pounds. I run my finger along the sharp edge of the blade, and I think about what my dad wanted me to do. There’s a way out, if I had the courage to do it.

Slit his throat while he sleeps.

A visceral, gut-wrenching feeling makes me drop the knife. No. Jack might be a bastard, but he doesn’t deserve to die. I’m the one who deserves to be punished. I’m the one carrying this big, awful secret around. His brother’s death eats him alive. I see it every day, when he buries himself in drinks. I still haven’t said a word.

I stand up from the couch, staring at all the boxes, and I walk aimlessly to another room. All I know is that it’s been a week into our marriage, and I’m losing my damn mind.

He beat the shit out of Paul just for showing up at my doorstep.

I bend down and pick up the knife that I know I won’t use.

My stomach roils with it. He’s completely the opposite of me-a maniac who flies off the handle. I’m a mouse by comparison.

Grabbing my purse? I decide to go out for a walk. As I stroll into the brilliant rays of sunshine, unease settles in my stomach. I’m not used to this Italian neighborhood yet. I feel like an intruder even though I’m married to one of them.

I sling my purse over my shoulder and fighting the tinge of nausea when I see three guys loitering on the sidewalk, smoking. The way they won’t stop staring at me gives me a really bad feeling. They look older and very rough around the edges. Degenerates. My insides clench and I look down as I pass them.

“‘Ey, pitoune!”

“How are you, sweetie? Hey!”

Fuck.

I walk right between them, keeping my head down as I head straight for the corner store. The glass doors slide and I stumble gratefully into the air-conditioned grocery. I grab a basket and fill it with a few things and then I notice the voices speaking at the register in melodic Italian. I’m just getting a couple things for dinner, and as I weave through the aisles I listen to them talking. It’s so much prettier than French.

There’s a man in dark jeans leaning over the counter at the register. He sees me approach and leans back, digging a cigarette out of his pocket. The girl behind the counter gives him a secretive smile and turns to me.

“Si, prego.”

“Oh-I don’t speak Italian.”

She nods and rings me up. I pay her with a hundred-dollar bill and take the change from her blindly. The man makes a remark in Italian and the girl laughs. The harsh sound hits my ears and I grab the plastic bag.

I get out of there, the sunlight doing nothing to lift my spirits, and those guys are still there. They whistle at me as soon as I exit the store.

God fucking damn it.

“Hey, why you don’t like us?” Just don’t look at them. Ignore.

“Vache.”

The insult hits me right in the face and tears spring to my eyes as I walk away furiously. It’s not until I’m several blocks away that I realize that the cashier gave me the wrong change. She shorted me by about forty bucks.

Jesus.

I look back, but the guys are still there. The idea of walking through them again and confronting the girl makes me want to vomit, so I keep going. Even though I hate myself for it.