Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

“Tie me up?” He rises to his feet. “You want to tie me up?”

“You tied me up,” I point out.

“That was different.’

“Oh, yeah?” I tip my chin up. “How is that?”

“I’m the dominant in this relationship; you’re forgetting that, Flower.”

“No, I’m not. It’s because you are the aggressor that I am asking for this.”

He glowers at me. “You know what it means if I allow myself to be tied up by you?”

“That you trust me?” I say softly. “That you’re ready to strip yourself of all ego and put yourself in my hands to allow me to do with you as I want?”

“Which, I admit, is not a bad scenario at all,” he murmurs.

“So, you’ll let me-”

“Yes,” his massive chest rises and falls, “I’ll let you tie me up if it means you’ll forgive me.”

“You will?” Jesus, he’ll actually do that? He’ll actually swallow his ego and his machismo and that dominance that drips from every pore in his body and allow me to have him at my mercy? A pulse throbs to life between my legs, my pussy clenches, moisture laces my core, and honestly, I don’t know why, but the thought of having this big brute of a man tied up and in my power is so freakin’ hot.

“On one condition.”

A-n-d, there it is, alphahole’s ego always means he has to have the last word.

“I didn’t think this was a negotiation.” I pout.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Oh, I’m always negotiating, Flower.” He smirks. “You know that.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“I think you’d enjoy it more if you did…” His smile widens. “Go on; you know you want to find out what I want in return.”

“Hmm…” I hunch my shoulders. Am I actually going to give in to this ploy of his? Am I going to fall for this, the oldest trick in the book? Don’t agree to it; don’t agree to it. I jerk my chin. “What do you want in return?”

“For you to wear my ring.”

“I’m already wearing your ring.” I hold up my left hand with the wedding band on it.

“You know which one I mean.” He pinches my engagement ring between his thumb and forefinger. “Wear it for me,” he murmurs, “please, Flower.”

And fuck, I can’t refuse him when he asks me in that soft voice of his. Goddamn him. I hold out my hand, and he closes the distance between us and slides it onto my left ring finger. I take in how the two rings complement each other. I angle my fingers, and the light from the window bounces off of the golden stone in the center. The tiny diamonds sparkle, and my vision blurs for a second. I blink away the moisture in my eyes, then pull my hand back from his.

“You got what you wanted,” I whisper. “Are you happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when you take me back.”

“So, you’ll let me tie you up now?”

He holds out his wrists. “If that’s what you want…”

“I want,” I lick my suddenly dry lips, “to have you at my mercy.”

His gaze intensifies, and a flush stains his cheeks. “Do it,” he orders.

I almost laugh. He can’t stop himself from ordering me around, can he?

“Wait here.” I spin around and head for the bedroom, only to hear his footsteps behind me. I scowl at him over my shoulder. “Thought I told you to wait?”

“Not good at following orders, Flower.”

I toss my hair as I reach into the bottom drawer of my dresser and pull out a length of satin-covered rope.

“Well, now,” he murmurs, “you’ve been planning for this, I see.”

“Maybe I have.” I jerk my chin in the direction of the bed. “Lie down.”

He seems like he is about to refuse, but finally, he nods. He prowls over and sprawls out on my bed. It’s a queen-sized mattress, and the man seems to take up every inch of space on it. He spreads his legs, and his pants stretch across his thighs. The fabric at his crotch tents; the throbbing in my core intensifies further. Damn it, I haven’t even touched him, and already, I’m so turned on.

“You still plan on tying me up?” he drawls.

“What?” I raise my gaze to his face.

His lips curve in a smile that lights up his features. “It’s okay if you are admiring certain parts of my anatomy.”

“Go to hell.”

“Only if you’ll come with me.”

I snort. “Only you would say that and think it’s romantic.”

“If I’m with you, baby, it’s always romantic.”

A hot sensation stabs at my chest. Why does he have to be so charming? It makes it so difficult for me to maintain my distance from him. I flounce over, then clamber onto the bed and into the ‘V’ between his legs. He holds his wrists out, and I loop the rope around them. I knot it once, twice, then loop it again.

The heat of his body embraces me, and his scent intensifies. I’m very conscious of how he doesn’t take his gaze off of my face as I complete my task.

“Stop staring,” I mutter.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

No, it actually is insanely hot, but I’m not going to tell him that. When I’m certain that his wrists are secure, I push his wrists up and over his head. Which means I have to lean over him. My breasts brush his chest. The neckline of my shirt gapes. I glance down to find his gaze transfixed on my cleavage.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” The words are out before I can stop myself.

“You’re wrong,” he mutters. “I’ve missed the feel of your breasts in my palm. I’ve missed squeezing them, massaging them, then pinching your nipples until you cry out. I’ve missed sucking on them, and playing with them, and tweaking them until I bring you to orgasm.”

“You’ve never brought me to orgasm by playing with my nipples,” I scoff.

“Untie me, and I’ll show you.”

“Ha,” I snort, “if you think I’m going to fall for that, you’re wrong.”

“Oh, well,” he smirks, “it was worth a try, and for the record, I’d wager I can bring you to climax by touching your nipples and no other part of you.”

“We’ll see.” I secure his wrists to the headboard, then sit back on my heels. His gaze is locked on my face as I take in the sculpted muscles of his triceps, the cut of his shoulders, the chiseled planes of his chest which strain his shirt. A bead of sweat slides down his throat.

“Take it off,” he orders.

“What?”

“Take off my shirt.”

I reach for his buttons, begin to undo them, then stop. “Nice try,” I pull back my hands, “but you don’t get to dictate what I do next.”

“Okay.” He smirks. The sneaky bastard smirks, knowing he’s already made me do exactly that. On the other hand, I really do want to see those glorious pecs of his in all their naked glory. So, I reach down and begin to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He chuckles, and the sound rumbles up his throat.

“Stop gloating.” I scowl.

He firms his lips at once. “Whatever you say.”

“Are you making fun of me?” I push his shirt aside to reveal the expanse of cut planes. Santa Rosalia, he’s even more ripped than I remember him to be. Each individual muscle of his chest stands out in relief. Each plane and dip as if carved out of granite. I shove the shirt down his arms-or rather, up his arms, since his hands are over his head-and take in the scar on his bicep. I trace the marks made by the stitches I put in him. It was the best I could do with the tools I had then, but I still regret spoiling the perfection of his skin.

“I marked you,” I murmur. I trail my fingers down his chest then pause. “Wha … what’s that?” I whisper as I trace the letters he’s tattooed onto the space over his heart. It’s the only part of his chest that was left untouched by his tattoos, and now he’s filled that in too with my name. “When did you get this done?”

“Before I found your ring.”

“It … it’s…” I take in the bright yellow and blue colors he used to fill in the letters of my name. It stands out among his other tattoos which are all in black, “… beautiful.” I sigh.

“And now, I will forever carry it on my body. You’re a part of me, Flower, whether you like it or not.”

I drag my fingers down the grooves between the planes of his chest, and he hisses.

“When you left me, it was like a part of me had walked out with you. I felt like I had hit the rock bottom that exists below the rock bottom.”

I glance up at him. “That was almost poetic.”

“Seems you inspire even someone like me to express myself in verse. You.. make me feel things I never have before. You make me feel like I’m alive for the first time. You fill gaps in my life that I didn’t even know needed filling. Like experiencing the first warm, sunny day after a really long and shitty winter, except it goes on for longer.”

I chuckle. “You really are pulling out the stops, aren’t you?” I flatten my palm against his abs, and the muscles ripple in response. It’s like touching a powerful beast and finding out every part of his anatomy is responsive and sensitive and so reactive to every contact.

My throat closes, and my mouth seems to dry up. I slide my palm down his concave stomach, and my fingertips brush his waistband.

A growl rumbles up his chest.

I glance up to find his gaze hooded, and his skin is more flushed than usual.

“You make me feel like I’m lost in the right direction. You just feel right to me, so right that I want to haul you to me and never let you go. In fact, if you untie me I’ll bury my cock inside you and pleasure you until you come over and over again.”

My toes curl, my thighs clench, and a bead of sweat trickles down the valley between my breasts.

“Untie me, and I’ll show just how much I want you,” he murmurs.

“You never give up, do you?” I cup the length of him through the crotch of his pants, and another growl rumbles up his chest.

My belly trembles, even as a sensation of power fills me. So this is what it feels like to be in control. To have another person at your mercy. This is how it feels to know that you can do whatever you want to him, and he has no choice but to bear it and enjoy it… Even if it feels painful in the moment.

I lower the zipper on his pants, then tug down on his waistband. He raises his hips, and I shove his pants down, along with his briefs. His cock springs free, thick and fat and so gorgeous… The head swollen purple, with a bead of precum lacing the slit. I fist his shaft, and he jerks his pelvis up and toward me.

“Fucking hell,” he growls. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I lick my lips, unable to take my gaze off of his length, then I bend and take him in my mouth.