Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

“Oh, Ch-Christian,” I whisper, “do you m-mean that? D-do you really f-feel s-something for m-me?”

“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” He scowls down at me. “It’s not like I want to, trust me. If I had a choice, I’d have turned my back on you and walked away the first time I saw you, but something about you,” he searches my gaze, “holds me captive. And it’s not only because you’re good-looking.”

“At least, y-you admit that y-you find m-me g-good-looking.”

“Of course, I do. You’re beautiful,” he scowls, “but it’s not about that.”

“Th-then?”

“It’s this goodness that I sense inside you. This need to save the world which is so intrinsic to you.”

My cheeks heat. “P-please,” I huff, “d-don’t m-make m-me out to be a s-saint.”

“But you would try the patience of a saint,” he murmurs.

“N-not that you’d know the f-first thing about th-that, considering y-you are more of a s-sinner.”

“It’s why I intrigue you.”

“You d-don’t.”

“Oh, please.” He smirks. “Admit it. You wanted to know how it would be to bed the beast.”

I raise a shoulder. “The thought m-might have crossed my m-mind. B-but you spoiled it by nego… tiating w-with m-me about the s-safety of my f-family.”

“It was the quickest way to get you to agree to my condition.”

“You c-could have asked,” I point out.

“Would you have consented to being my fake wife?”

I look away.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with some satisfaction.

I stare into the flame. “N-now what?” The heat from the fire envelops me. But the man at my back is like a wall of warmth. My fingers and toes begin to hurt, and I moan, “Shit, I’m b-beginning to th-thaw out.”

He reaches down and massages my hands, then moves over to rub my feet. The twinges shoot up my arms and legs. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to tamp down on the pins and needles sensations in my limbs. A trembling grips me, and I cuddle even closer to him.

Not lying; that dip in the icy pond scared me. My eyes begin to close, and as a doctor, I know it’s because of the shock wearing off, but as a woman I can’t refute the fact that being held in his arms brings a sense of security that blankets me. Heat from his body is like a furnace that surrounds me, driving away every last bit of cold from my bones. I yawn so widely my eyes tear.

“Guess that incident took it out of you, eh?”

He pushes the hair back from my forehead, and the gesture is so soft, so tender, that I glance at him confused.

“Christian…” I fight the waves of sleep that envelop me. “Just because you s-saved my life doesn’t mean that I have forgiven y-you for what you coerced me into d-doing.”

“We’ll see.” His lips curve in a smile. My eyes flutter shut. Something brushes my hair. Did he kiss my forehead?

I come awake slowly. Warmth, delicious warmth pours into my bloodstream. Every part of me feels toasty. I wriggle my toes and hit something hard. I dig down with my heel and encounter living, breathing flesh. I draw in a breath, and the scent of dark coffee laced with brandy, his scent, fills my lungs. My belly trembles, and my core clenches.

I try to turn, but something heavy around my waist stops me. I close my hand around it and encounter hair roughened skin. I drag my fingers up the length of his arm and brush against corded muscle. My limbs quiver. To say I am turned on right now would be an understatement. Somehow, being next to him, surrounded by him, with my arse pushed into his groin and his thickness stabbing into my hip, all I want to do is turn into him, lick up the demarcation of his pecs, slurp on his skin, taste the salt of his sweat as I wind my fingers around that hard, heavy part of him that I want to feel inside of me.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

I try to turn again, and his grip tightens around me. Shit. He’s awake. Of course, he’s awake. As is his length, that seems to thicken and lengthen against where it is tucked between us.

I glance around us and realize I’m on a bed, which means that he moved us to the bedroom at some point. I’m facing away from him and toward another fire, in which the embers glow, keeping the room warm. A dull, bluish light streams in from the windows behind us. It must be early still. Did I sleep the night away? Did he carry me here? Of course, he must have. Clearly, I’d been out of it to not awake even then.

He pulls me closer, if that were possible, and every part of my back seems plastered to every inch of that hot, warm, hard, sculpted front. I gulp. Sweat breaks out on my brow. I dig my fingertips into his corded forearm, and a sound of agreement rumbles up his chest. My nerves seem to ignite, and all of my brain cells melt.

Oh hell, just being in the same room as him affects me, and now… When I am flush against him, with my neck supported on his bicep, I feel tiny, helpless, fragile. Prey caught in the jaws of this beast, to toy with, to break apart. To lick me up from head to toe with particular attention to the parts of me that crave his attention. An empty sensation gnaws at my core. I squeeze my thighs together to find some relief.

“Flower,” he whispers, “if you wriggle any more, I’m going to come right here, and that would be very embarrassing, especially since I’d rather spill my cum inside of you.”

“Oh,” I squeeze my eyes shut. That was filthy-exceedingly so. My pussy throbs, like every word he spoke was addressed to that part of me.

“If I slide my fingers inside of you, will I find you wet?”

Yes.

Yes.

“No,” I clear my throat, “of course, not.”

“Liar.” He laughs. The sound rumbles up his massive chest, sinks into my blood, arrows straight down to… You guessed it, my center.

He slides his fingers down my chest, over my belly, until his fingertips brush the strip of skin between my core and my stomach. He leaves it there, and I squirm. I try to bring my hips up, wanting, needing to feel his fingers brush against my aching pussy.

“You want me to touch you, Flower?”

Yes.

No!

I bite the inside of my cheek. My nipples pebble, my belly trembles, and my thighs feel like they have turned to jelly. “Christian,” I finally plead, “please.”

“Please, what?”

He grazes his fingertips against the top of my pussy lips, and moisture beads my core.

“Bloody hell,” I whisper, “what are you doing to me?”

“Do you know you sound even more British when you’re turned on?”

I huff. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s certainly different. Most people relapse into the accent of their childhood in situations of high emotion. You, however, have gone the other way.”

“My time in England was one of the happiest times of my life.” I swallow. “I guess I wanted to cling to the British accent because it has such good memories for me.”

“And you never were happy to be from a Mafia background.” He brushes his lips against my temple. “Yet here you are, in the arms of a Mafioso, begging him to fuck you.”

“Fuck,” I squeeze my eyes shut, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I didn’t say it to make you regretful, Flower.”

“You’re right, though. I spent all my life running away from the Mafia; I should have realized that your background always comes back to haunt you. That you have to face your past before you can move on.”

“I’m not your past, Flower,” he says in a hard voice. “I’m your present and your future.”

“No,” I shake my head, “I don’t want that.”

“Fine.” He pulls his arm from under me and rolls away. The cold instantly overpowers me. I shiver, goose bumps pop on my skin, and I drag the cover up and under my chin. It’s no substitute for the warmth from his hard, naked body, which had cocooned me.

I hear him pad over to the other side of the room. A door snicks shut, and I realize he’s stepped into the bathroom. I swing my legs over the side, pull the cover up and over my shoulders, then walk into the living room.

I take in the comfortable sofa flanked by two chairs in front of the fire. Next to it is a side table with a basket of yarn, complete with knitting needles. Also, there is a sewing kit which is open, with satin ribbons trailing from it. Next to it is a chess set and various board games. Whoever furnished this place knew to provide various ways to amuse yourself inside.

I turn to find him walking into the living room. Still, completely naked. I rake my gaze down his sculpted chest, his concave stomach, the divots that run down each side of his belly to his groin, forming a perfect Adonis belt, and between that, his cock, which is already standing to attention. Hell, doesn’t this guy believe in downtime?

He smirks, and my cheeks heat.

He walks in the direction of the back of the lodge then returns with our clothes in his arms. “Here.” He hands mine over to me.

“You ran them in the wash?” I blink rapidly.

“Figured we’d need our clothes this morning, so…” His tone is casual.

“So, you woke up in the middle of the night and ran the washing machine so we could have clean clothes in the morning?”

“Your point being?” He scowls.

“Hmm,” I tap my cheek, “so you don’t think of doing laundry as a woman’s job or something suitably chauvinistic?”

His eyes gleam. “Now that you mention it…” he drawls.

My scowl deepens, and his lips kick up.

“Take it easy, Flower, I was just kidding you. I admit, I have a housekeeper who comes in daily to do my laundry and take care of my place, but yeah, in a pinch, I can run a washing machine.”

“Don’t do us any favors.” I raise my gaze skywards.

He chuckles, and hot damn, the sound is so masculine, so growly that it tugs at my nerve endings.

He pulls on his clothes, and yes, I want to watch those muscles flex and bend. Instead, I get dressed. Under the sheet it’s challenging, but I manage. I toss aside the sheet and turn to find him smirking.

“What?”

He holds up his hands. “Can’t I look at you without getting called out for it?”

“You’d never do anything as innocent as just ‘looking.'” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “More like, you’re already planning on how to get me out of these clothes.”

He looks me up and down. “I could always ask you to undress,” he drawls.

“And I could always refuse.”

His grin widens. Damn him, he knows that if he orders me to take off my clothes, I’ll have a hard time refusing. His gaze intensifies, and my pulse rate kicks up. The space between us seems to thicken with unspoken emotions. My belly flip-flops. Heat flushes my skin, and suddenly I feel like I have too many clothes on. Damn it, another minute or so and I’d probably strip without his asking. I tear my gaze away from him, then walk over to the window and glance out at the completely white world. The snow is still coming down in thick tufts, and visibility is less than a meter.

It’s so silent, so calm.

The heat of his body curls over my back, and I stiffen.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice sounds from somewhere above me. “We could be the only two people left in this world.”

“Except, we’re not. We’d best try to contact your family; they must be worried about us.”

“I spoke to them earlier today.”

“You did?” I glance at him over my shoulder.

“I woke up earlier, but you were out of it. So, I let you sleep. Checked on the status of our phones.” He nods to where the devices are laid out in front of the fire. “Luckily, mine is waterresistant, and it had enough charge left that I could speak to Michael.”

“What’d he say?”

“We are in the middle of a snowstorm, apparently. They haven’t had so much snow in so little time in the last hundred years.”

“That’s what the weather guys do best: exaggerate.” I sniff. “So, the next thing you’re going to tell me is that we are cut off, no one can come to get us, and we can’t leave because the way to get to them is treacherous?”

He blinks and looks surprised. “How did you guess?”

“I’ve watched enough Christmas holiday movies to know that’s the most likely scenario here.”

“That’s what Michael told me. He also said that we should stay put here until they can send help,” he adds.

“Which would be when? Tomorrow? The day after?”

“As soon as the weather clears.”

“Which would be?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He scowls. “I don’t have a crystal ball and no access to news or the weather.”

“A likely story.” I huff. “This must be a ploy for you to keep us here. In fact,” I prop my hand on my hip, “I’ll bet it was you who put Nonna up to this stupid treasure hunt.”

“Scavenger hunt.”

“Whatever,” I snap, “and it must have been you who decided to team us up together.”

“That was fate,” his jaw hardens, “and believe me, it’s not like I was happy about it either.”

“After the way you crept into my room two nights ago, you expect me to believe that?”

“Trust me, the last thing I want is to be trapped with you in an enclosed space with no means of escaping.”

“Well, that’s what marriage is like, so get used to it.”

He frowns. “Thought that was supposed to be my dialogue, and what do you have against marriage, anyway?”

“You mean, what do I have against being a slave to a man who’ll spend his day doing Mafia business and come home with blood-splattered clothes and expect me to clean them?”

“The only thing I’d expect you to clean is the cum off my dick.”

My belly clenches, and my core quivers. That was filthy, like really filthy, so why am I so turned on?

“If you think I’m going to stand here and be insulted by you, then you thought wrong.”

“What’s insulting and what’s wrong with being upfront with my expectations for our relationship?”

“Fake relationship,” I correct him.

“Didn’t seem that fake when you were begging me to let you come.”

“Aargh!” I bunch my fists at my side. “Typical male chauvinistic behavior. But then, I’d expect no less from you.”

“What, because what I said is the truth of our last interaction?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” I scowl at him. “First, you propose this crazy fake relationship thing because of some cock-and-bull story of how you want to fool your family into believing that you’re marrying me, only so you can separate from me later and get on with your philandering ways and now, you actually seem to believe that we’re in a real relationship.” My breath comes out in little puffs. Blood thuds at my temples, my cheeks heat, and honestly, I feel so mad that I’m sure if I stay here a second longer, I’m going to slap him or throw myself at him and beg him to impale me with his monster cock and put me out of my misery. Or both. Preferably.

“Sod this.” I race for the door.