Arranged Mafia Marriage

Michael

What the hell is wrong with me? Why the hell can’t I keep away from her? And after what I did to her yesterday, you’d think I’d have the decency to give her a wide berth? Apparently, not. Apparently, taking her virginity with a knife handle is not enough. Now, I have to jump her in a changing room cubicle and make her come all over my fingers.

I had planned this excursion with the purpose of trying to make up, somewhat, for what I had done. I’d thought a quick outing, doing what women seem to love most-shopping, buying new clothes-would take her mind off of what had happened, off of what a sick fuck I am. And maybe, in some way, I hoped to make amends for what I had done. Okay… I had been shamelessly trying to buy my way into her good books. The plan had been to leave her alone, to let her browse and choose the clothes she loved, but the situation had backfired on me.

I hadn’t been able to wait while she changed her clothes. All I had been conscious of was that she was behind closed doors slipping out of what she had been wearing… She was probably naked and stepping into one of the new outfits. She’d pull it up and over her breasts, cover her flat belly with it, allow it to flow around her knees. I had tortured myself with visions of how the silent cloth would feel against her skin, as it caressed her nipples and slithered in between her legs, slipping across the newly-exposed and extra-sensitive skin there.

Before I’d realized it, I had made my way to the changing cubicle and stepped in. The thought of making her come in a public place had only added to the excitement. It had been hot and so damn sexy, seeing her respond to my ministrations. Clad in that green dress that had enhanced the emerald of her eyes… I had taken great pleasure in tearing it off of her body.

And she had shattered and wanted more. I had seen the need in her eyes, knew if I threw her down on the floor of the changing room, she’d have parted her legs and welcomed me into her weeping cunt. And I had wanted to take her right then and there. Make her mine, tie her to me, ensure I’d imprinted myself on every cell in her body. And it was precisely that overwhelming compulsion which had made me pull away.

This woman is like crack. Every time I see her, touch her, smell her fragrance, I want more. When I am with her, I lose sight of everything else… Everything except this need to bury myself between her legs and taste her, sniff her, absorb her essence into my body. It’s crazy, the intensity with which I want her, and that urge only grows with every encounter.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

When I am with her, I lose sight of everything that I have worked so hard to achieve. I am perilously close to throwing it all away for one more hour with her and that…is dangerous. For me, for my family, for my men who depend on me for survival. For the way of life that I chose a long time ago. How can I let one slip of a woman sweep in and displace all of that?

No, I have to keep my distance from her. I have to rush through this wedding, then ensure I use her to get to the Seven. Secure my empire and my position within the Cosa Nostra, and then I’ll be free of her.

I thought I could, with a few more weeks, give her time to adjust to the idea of a wedding, but I guess I don’t have that luxury. I need to get on with it. No more wasting time. She simply has to get on board with what is going to happen to her.

I watch from my position against my Maserati as she walks out wearing another dress. A dark blue, almost black colored, outfit that clings to her like a second skin. It stops just above her knees, and the neckline is high, except for the heart-shaped cut-out just above her breasts that shows off the shadowy valley between the mounds.

It is very different from the outfit she’d been trying on earlier, the one I destroyed. It is also much more her. More complex, more in keeping with the feisty personality that she has.

Have I bitten off more than I can chew with her? Did I make a mistake in taking her, in the first place? If I’d known just how much she’d turn my life upside down, would I have kidnapped her? Did I even have a choice in the matter?

As soon as I had seen her reciting Byron to herself in that moody voice as she gazed out over London… I knew that I had to have her. And here she is, within my grasp. So why am I still hesitating to make her mine? What is stopping me from taking what rightfully already belongs to me?

I track her progress as she walks over to the car, she holds a bag in each hand. I take them from her and she slides inside the car with a whisper of fabric and that luscious scent that is so very Beauty.

I shut the door, dropping the bags in the trunk-Gesu Christo, the woman’s turning me into a chauffeur-before rounding the car to the driver’s seat.

I fold my length inside. “Thought you didn’t like anything you saw in there.” I jerk my chin toward the shop.

“Guess I saw a few things which could suffice.” She sniffs, “Besides, they are a step up from what’s in the closet back at the house.” She shudders.

“I take it the outfits in the closet back home are not to your liking?” I say dryly.

“Let’s just say, they leave a lot to be desired, especially in terms of color.”

I scowl. “What’s wrong, in terms of their color?”

“They’re all pink and beige and shit.”

“So?”

“So?” She turns to me, “Hello, take a look at me.” She waves a hand at herself, “Do I look like someone who wears those girlie colors? And their fitting…” She scoffs. “Not that they are not of good quality. That’s their only redeeming factor, but seriously, they have this ladylike air about them-“