Mafia King by L. Steele

20

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.

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—Gesù 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—"

"And you're not a lady, are you, Beauty?" I lean in closer to her and her breath hitches. "You're someone who wants to be treated like a queen in real life and like a whore in bed, isn't that right, Belleza?"

Color reddens her cheeks and her pupils dilate. Merda, that turns her on, all right. Beauty has no idea just how depraved her tastes really are, does she? My cock tightens and my belly hardens. She opens her mouth, no doubt, to protest and I raise a hand. "Don’t bother to deny it," I drawl, "we both know that's true."

She folds her hands over her chest. "You don’t have a clue, what I like."

"And we both know that's a lie."

She scowls, then shifts in her seat. The pulse at her throat speeds up. Porca miseria. At this rate, I am going to pull her over, and have her riding my cock in no time. And I don't want to do that, not yet. Not until I have her married to me.

"So," I widen my legs, trying to make myself more comfortable, "what kinds of clothing would you rather wear?"

She firms her lips, "Doesn’t matter."

I frown. "Tell me," I insist. "I want to know."

She blows out a breath, then shoots me a sideways glance, "I’d rather stitch my own clothing, if you really want to know."

"You would?" Then I nod, "Of course, you would, you are a tailor."

"A fashion designer."

"A seamstress."

"I’m a couturier, you ass."

"What-fucking-ever," I mutter. "You want to create your own clothing; I am sure we can arrange that."

Half an hour later, I watch from the comfort of yet another couch that I have draped myself on in a corner of a well-known fabric shop that also carries any tools she may need for stitching her wedding dress. I had my men talk to the owner, who was only too happy to shut down the shop to the rest of the public so my woman could shop in privacy.

Holdonasecond. Did I just think of her as my woman? I drag my fingers through my hair. Shit, shit, shit. When you start slipping up like that, and your subconscious mind insists on playing tricks on you, then you know you’re really in trouble.

I follow her with my eyes as she literally vibrates with excitement as she examines the fabrics in front of her. Shades of black and gray, and a blue so dark that it could be mistaken for black in low light, a green so deep that it calls to mind the depths of the sea, a purple on the spectrum of—you guessed it, black. Doesn’t the woman like any other color?

Her dark hair dances about her shoulders as she leans in closer to the man behind the counter. She says something to him and he nods. She lowers her head to examine the cloth, whispers something else and he bursts out laughing. He whispers something back to her, eliciting a smile, before he pivots, heads inside the shop, only to appear moments later with an armful of ribbons and fabrics in shades of— See if you can guess. Yes, black.

Together, they examine the cloth. The man glances at her bent head, a positively adoring look on his features.

Something hot stabs at my chest. Damn it, I knew it had been a bad idea to let her off the island.

It’s only a matter of time before everyone else sees what I already know. She’s special. She’s different. Nothing, and no-one else, can hold a candle to her. She is unique, a magnificent creature who seems to breathe life into everything around her. There is something so luminescent about this girl, I wonder how has she survived this far without anyone else recognizing how unique she is?

I had, of course, from the moment I had spotted her. I haven’t been able to let her go since, and look where that has gotten me. Skulking about in the periphery, stalking her like a creepy-ass motherfucker, while nursing a bad case of blue balls, and all because I can’t bring myself to own up to just how drawn to her I am.

I had taken her with the intention of making her pay her father’s debt. I had realized her links to the Seven make her a key asset. I should go through with my original plan of killing her… Instead, here I am, contemplating marrying her. Except, I can never allow for that to be real. If, for one second, I allow myself to think of how it would be to really be married to her… Hell… My groin hardens and my heart begins to race. I’d never be able to let go of her. I’d, forever, have handed over my power to her… And that, I cannot allow.

I am my own man. I built up the authority I wield with great effort and I cannot let anything or anyone get in the way of the empire I have envisioned for myself. It’s all I have —the promise I made to myself that I will be the most powerful of all the Five Families—and I can’t stop until I have achieved that.

I rise to my feet and stalk over to her. I loom behind her, and she glances up at me, "Hey, Michael," her face lights up, "this is incredible. The warp, the weft, the velvets and the chiffons... They are gorgeous. Look at the sheer variety of these decorative ribbons. And this lace—" She holds up a length of an antique, cream-colored mesh-like fabric, "It’s incredible. It’s so old, there are very few of this left anywhere in the world, and Roberto, here, is happy for me to have it."

I glance from her to the middle-aged man who watches her with stars in his eyes. Testa di cazzo! I can’t stop the growl that rumbles from my chest.

Roberto pales; his throat moves as he swallows. He looks up at me, blinks rapidly. "Signor Capo," he mumbles, "I am more than happy for the Signorina to have whatever she so desires."

"The Signorina desires that you wrap up everything—" I rake my gaze across the heaps of fabric, and the various other sewing tools and other odds and ends that she's chosen. "—Everything that she has liked so far, and have them delivered to my place on the island." I jerk my chin toward the door, "Now, get out of the shop and leave us alone."

"But," he glances down at the heaps of fabric, then back up at me, "Signor, Capo…" He swallows, "Uh, the payment."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake." I shove my hand in my pocket, pull out my credit card and hand it over. "Charge the whole damned thing, and anything else she’ll need for creating her trousseau, to it."

"Yessir." The man grabs the card, turns to Beauty and smiles, as I fight the urge to bash his head in. He nods, “Signorina,” then scampers off. The door shuts behind him as Beauty whirls on me.

"What the hell are you thinking? You gave him your credit card?"

"So?"

"And you’re not going to check what he’s charging to it."

"He won’t dare pull a fast one on me. Besides," I smirk, "it’s just money."

She scowls, "I can’t accept all of this."

"You will."

"I don’t want it." She all but stamps her foot.

Aww, how cute."You do want it," I murmur. "You just don’t know it."

"What will I do with so much fabric?" A line appears between her eyebrows. "It’s more than I have bought in my entire life."

"Good," I bare my teeth, "you can use it to stitch your wedding gown."

"No." She shakes her head, "No, no, no."

"Yes." I allow my grin to widen, "You can and you will."

"I will not."

"Is that right?"

She folds her arms across her chest, "I refuse to participate in this sham of a wedding that you keep threatening me with. I refuse to give in and act all helpless."

"Pity, you’d make a great damsel in distress."

"But you are no knight in shining armor."

"I am glad you recognize that." I bend my knees, peer into her face, "You will do as I say."

"And if I don’t?"

I glare into those bright green eyes. Eyes I can lose myself in, eyes that are angry and frustrated, and yet, so filled with life that they take my breath away. "If you don’t, I will—"

The phone in my pocket buzzes. She glances down at my pocket just as I whip her phone out, stare at the message. "If you don’t, I won’t let you see the message that your sister sent you."

"My sister?" She cries, "Summer? That’s a message from Summer?" She stretches out her hand for the phone and I hold it up and out of her reach.

"Give it to me," she huffs.

"First, agree that you will stitch your wedding dress."

"No."

"Then you won’t see this message from your sister."

She hesitates and I glance at the screen. "Don’t you want to find out how she is doing? How her husband is treating her after the wedding? Where they are going for their honeymoon—"

"Bastard," she snarls.

I arch an eyebrow, "Now, you are definitely not going to see her message."

I swipe the screen and she frowns.

"Hold on. My phone is profile protected. How the hell did you unlock it?"

I lower my chin, "Really, that’s all you are concerned about? How I hacked your phone?"

"Jerk." She sets her jaw, "Guess you got someone to get around the security."

I tilt my head, and her color deepens. "Show me the message."

"Apologize first, for being so impolite."

"I won’t."

"Fine."

I dance my finger across the screen, reach for the delete button, and she snaps, "Okay, fine, I apologize."

"That didn’t seem like much of an apology."

"What the hell?" she snarls. "Do you want me to get on my knees?"

I arch an eyebrow and she pales.

"No," she says through gritted teeth. "Of all the annoying, stupid, humiliating things, you'd ask me to do that?"

I yawn and she snaps her teeth shut. Then she lowers herself to her knees, tips her chin up and purses her lips together, "Happy?"

"Not yet," I tilt my head, "open your mouth."

She pales.

I glare at her and she swallows, then parts her lips.

"Good girl." I slide my thumb inside her mouth, then lower my voice to a hush, "Suck on it." She doesn’t take her gaze off of me as she curls her warm tongue around my digit.

The blood rushes to my groin. Fuck. I press down her tongue, as she parts her lips further. The thought of those lips wrapped around my cock… Goddamn it to hell. A surge of need races up my spine. To think, I’d thought I’d be able to stay away from her. I pull my fingers out, then jerk my chin, "Get up."

She rises to her feet and I flip the phone so she can peruse the screen. She reads the message, once, twice, then swallows. I lower the phone, frown down at her, "Well?"

"What?" She glowers back, "What do you want now?"

"What’s your reply?"

"Oh," she blinks, "you’re going to let me answer her message?"

"I am going to allow you to tell me what you want to say and I am going to type it out for you."

"Don’t trust me, Capo?"

My vision tunnels and my balls harden. Shit, the sound of my title from her lips... It’s so damn erotic. I toss the phone at her and she catches it.

"Go on, answer the message."

She blinks. "So, you do trust me?"

"I trust you…to say the right thing, Karma. If you don’t, I know exactly where your sister and her new husband are right now, and trust me, they’ll pay for your impertinence."

She scowls, "Fine, fine, you don’t have to go all Godfather on my arse. I know you’re too clever to simply hand the phone over to me to reply without having your own checks and balances in place."

She glances down and her fingers race across the screen. The sound of the message being sent fills the space. She straightens, then hands the phone over to me.

"That wasn’t too bad, was it?"

"If you mean my having to beg to use the phone which, honestly, is as crucial as breathing…then yeah, it sucked balls."

"I need to wash out your mouth," I fix my gaze on her lips, "and it’s not going to be with water."

"Whatever." She flips her hair over her shoulder, "You’re all talk and no action, you know that?"

"Are you trying to get under my skin or are you trying to get under my skin?" I slide the phone into my pocket.

She tosses her head, "If that was a joke, I don’t get it."

"Good," I widen my stance, "because by the time I am done with you, you won’t be laughing."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" She twists her fingers together, "I mean, seriously, you are worse than a B-grade Hollywood flick, Capo. Have you heard yourself lately?"

"How about we settle for hearing you as you come?"

"What?" She glances around the space, "Here?"

I twirl my finger in the air. She huffs. I glare at her and she pales.

"Do it, Beauty," I murmur. She spins around and faces the counter.

I press my palm into the small of her back and a shiver trembles down her spine. I push forward and she leans over beautifully. I glide my palm up her spine and fix my fingers around the nape of her neck. The length is so slender that my fingers meet around the front. She turns her head, and I urge her to press her cheek into the glass counter. Another trembling grips her. I increase the pressure around her neck and she subsides.

"Relax," I murmur, "I am not going to hurt you."

"No, you did that already."

I glance down at her face, at where she’s staring up at me from the corner of her eyes, "And you enjoyed it."

She shakes her head, and I increase the pressure around her throat, "Don’t lie to me." I lean in close enough for my breath to raise the tendrils of hair at her temple. "You loved every minute of riding my knife handle; you enjoyed coming on my fingers in the changing cubicle. Even now, bent over the counter with your arse up in the air and at my mercy, you can’t stop your cunt from dripping for my touch, for my fingers to be crammed inside of you, for my mouth pushed up against your slit as you ride my tongue."

"N...no…" she stutters, "that’s not true."

"It is." I close the distance between us so my pelvis is pushed up against her curvy rear end, so my dick nestles in the valley between her ass cheeks. So there is no doubt about just how turned on I am. How at my disposal she is. All I have to do is yank up the fabric of her dress, lower my zipper and—"

"If you’re going to shag me, why don’t you simply do it and get it over with?" she huffs.

"Because that would be too easy?" I bend and place my mouth so close to hers that we share breath, "Because I am not going to put you out of your misery that easily. Because you can fool yourself all you want, Beauty, but the fact is, under that innocent exterior beats a heart that is every bit as perverted as mine, a soul that yearns for every depraved thing I can do to you, a mind that is, even now, racing ahead with the possibilities of exactly in what positions I can tie you down, how I can restrain you, how I can render you helpless and willing to take my cock in any position that I choose to give it to you…or not."

A low moan bleeds from her lips, and my dick instantly lengthens. I cup her ass cheek and her entire body grows rigid. I drag my finger down the fabric that clings to the cleft between her butt cheeks and her thighs clench.

"Shh!" I slip my hand under the slit that runs up the back of her dress, my fingers brush the back of her thigh, and a whine spills from her lips. I thrust my thigh between her legs, pry them apart as I slip my fingers in between them and freeze.

"You didn’t wear panties?"