Mafia King by L. Steele

31

Karma

I rub my cheek into the soft pillow and snuggle in. Warmth surrounds me, cocoons me, sinks into my body. I slide my hand across the mattress and the bed is so comfortable. My muscles are so relaxed, my entire body seems to be floating on some kind of cloud. Hmm. I try to turn and find something heavy around my waist holds me down. I try to pull away, and the weight around my middle intensifies. I crack open my eyes, glance down to find a thick arm about my waist. Huh? Thick fingers that lead to a wide wrist, which is attached to a sculpted forearm.

I manage to turn, enough to take in the tattoo of a knife on his tanned skin. It sports an intricate handle and the blade features a single eye. The blade points toward his fingers and the overall effect screams danger and caution. The corded muscles of his forearm wind up to massive biceps which are twice the size of my neck, at least, so it seems. I gulp, follow the arm to where it is attached to wide shoulders, a chest so broad that it blocks out everything else from my sight. A smattering of hair covers those sculpted pecs…which are demarcated by a white bandage that is taped vertically across his sternum. The contrast of the white against his darker skin is a shock. As is the fact that his chest is decorated with tattoos. Tattoos? Whoa, and there are so many of them.

I take in the design of a knife, the blade of which is painted with fire. Next to that is a design of a knife with the blade featuring roses. Then, another tattoo of a knife, with the blade featuring the sun; another one in which the blade is filled with stars; one in which a snake winds around the blade… Wow… And that’s just on the skin I can see. How many more knives does this man have inked on his skin? Why is he so obsessed with them? And P.S. How the hell did I get here? In his bed, with him wrapped around me like a boa constrictor around its prey. Ugh, why the hell did I have to come up with that comparison in my mind?

I tip my chin up, take in that thick hair that falls over his forehead. Those dark eyelashes that fan over his cheekbones, the hooked nose, that thin upper lip, the pouty lower lip, that square jaw of his… And have I told you about his lips? Full, dreamy lips that look so hard but are so soft to kiss.

Again… How the hell did I end up here, anyway? Once more, I try to move out from under his arm, and this time, he hauls me to his chest. "Stop struggling," he rumbles, "I am trying to get some rest."

"You are trying to get some rest?"

I stare at his relaxed features. He looks almost content… Asshole. He’d spirited me away from that stupid cell—not that I miss it, by the way... And also, that reminds me, I need to pee… I really have to pee; I wriggle my hips and something stabs into the valley between my butt cheeks.

It can’t be… Uh, it’s not…uh, his dick? Of course, it is… Bastard’s all aroused and I don’t think it’s only because of morning wood.

"Let go of me," I hiss. "Honestly, how dare you bring me here?"

"Would you rather I’d left you in that cell?"

I still.

"Thought not." His lips curl, "Best get your rest while you can, Beauty."

"I will not."

"Trust me, you are going to need it."

"Oh, yeah, and for what might that be?"

The next moment I squeak as the world tilts. I gasp, then glance up into those deep blue eyes of his. His arms bracket me on either side of my head, and he manages to keep most of his weight off of me, except for his hips, which are flush against mine. His thick length stabs into the soft valley between my thighs, and I almost moan aloud at how good it feels. Oh, yeah, he’s naked under the covers. And so am I…for I can feel every thick, fat inch of his cock as it happily nestles against my core.

My belly quivers, my thighs clench, and my cunt…argh! My cunt seems to curl in on itself in anticipation. Down, stupid pussy, you don’t get to be this needy. He’s the monster who kidnapped you for revenge, remember? He forced you to marry him. And now he’s your husband. And I’m his wife, and uh...! Doesn’t that mean I have to indulge in certain wifely duties? My throat seems to dry up. I lick my lips and his gaze drops to my mouth.

Oh, my god, when he watches me with that single-minded intensity, I can forget that there is a world outside of this cocoon, which is composed of his body, his chest, his scent… His heat, that flows around me, pins me to the bed, the force of his dominance a low-pitched hum that sinks into my blood and coils straight down to my clit. I draw in a breath and he jerks his chin up. His gaze holds mine. Dark, deep, so many secrets and yet, underneath all that there is a vulnerability.

What the hell? This man has no weaknesses. Besides, any possible empathy he had for me is probably gone, now that I took a knife to him. Gah, what had I been thinking, with that pathetic attempt at trying to wound him? I should have known he was much too strong to be disabled that way. But I had gone with my instinct... And see where that got me? Under him…in his bed, surrounded by him. OMG.

I swallow, then slap my palms against his chest, "Let me the hell go."

"No."

"How the hell did you bring me here?"

"How do you think?"

"How the hell did you bring me here without my even realizing it?"

"It’s easy when you sleep like the dead."

My cheeks heat. That much is true. I sleep like the proverbial log… Once I fall asleep, a bomb could go off next to me and I wouldn’t realize it. I purse my lips together, "Some of us sleep with a clear conscience, while others..." I scowl at him, "clearly, are haunted by the screams of those they have killed."

His gaze intensifies. For a second, the expression on his face is bleak, then he nods, "That much is true."

I blink. "It is?"

He nods. "I was twelve when I killed my first man. It was my father’s idea."

"What do you mean?"

"He put a gun in my hands, told me it was time I became a man. He had his men drag out a traitor from among them, and—"

"It was your job to kill him?" I whisper.

He nods.

"And you did…kill him?"

He nods again, "One shot between the eyes." He forms his fingers into the shape of a gun, places his forefinger and middle finger in the center of my forehead. "Boom." He mimes pulling a trigger and I flinch.

He drags his fingers down my nose, across my lips, to the hollow at the base of my neck. My pulse rate speeds up as he swipes his fingers down to the already healing scratch between my breasts… The tiny wound that he had inflected on me with his knife.

"Does it hurt?"

I shake my head and he digs his fingers into the scratch, reopening it. A sliver of pain fires across my nerve-endings. I wince. He glances down and I follow his gaze to find the blood seeping down my belly. He removes his fingers, only to bend his head and slurp at the open wound. A shiver of something—lust, fear, maybe a mix of the two?—ladders up my spine. He licks the scratch again, then glances up at me, "Does that disgust you, Beauty?" He tilts his head, "Me drinking your blood."

"No." My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "No." I shake my head, "Strangely, I find it reassuring."

"Reassuring?"

"It confirms to me that you are human, for some reason. It tells me that you don’t hide your proclivities. It..." I swallow, "it affirms that you don’t shy away from what your heart wants, and that… That is something."

"Is it?"

I nod. "Most people go through life trying to ignore what they really are deep inside, but not you." I peer into his face. "What you see is what you get with you. You wear your likes and dislikes on your sleeve; you don’t hesitate to declare what you want and go after it. You are brutally honest about your intentions, and for that, I am grateful."

"You are, huh?" he says in a strange tone. "I kidnapped you, Beauty. Held you to the marriage that your father had promised me."

"And I stabbed you for it."

"I locked you up in a cell as punishment. I withheld orgasms from you—"

"It’s called edging," I murmur.

"I’m aware." His eyebrows rise, "Though I am not sure how a nineteen-year-old fashion designer whose claim to fame is hawking her clothes—"

"Designs." I scowl, "Thought I corrected you on that already."

"—at a flea market—"

"Camden Market is a world-renowned space for artists," I counter.

"—knows the term for an S & M technique, is something I am keen to find out more about."

"It’s just…stuff I picked up along the way."

"Is that right?"

I nod, "Just like you learned everything about knives… Let’s just say, I read up a lot of informative literature about BDSM."

"You did, huh?"

I bite the inside of my lip. "For example, I know that you like to indulge in knife play."

"Oh?"

"And blood play."

"Hmm." He tilts his head, "Tell me more about my depraved, filthy tastes, Beauty."

"What if I told you that I have always wanted to know how it would feel to be at the receiving ends of both of those?"

"I wouldn’t think you meant it."

"And what if I said I do?" I tip up my chin.

"Then I would call you a liar."

"Why would you say that?" I frown.

"Because you don’t know what you are talking about. You don’t know what you really want."

"And I won’t know, either. Until I try it." I set my lips.

"And what if it’s too painful for you?"

"What if it’s exactly what I was waiting for? What if that’s why you were attracted to me in the first place? Because you saw me and knew that I was the kind of woman who you wanted to tie up, and deny orgasms, and use your special talents to get me to submit?"

"What if all of this is just you trying to pull a fast one on me?

I blink. My heart begins to race. "Wh…why would you say that?" I flutter my eyelashes. "Haven’t I fought you every step of the way? Am I not the one who stabbed you?"

"And then you decided to bring yourself to the brink of orgasm not once, but twice, in front of the cameras, knowing full-well I would be watching."

"Did you like it?" I breathe. Shit, what the hell am I doing? Pretending to be all worldly-wise and knowing what I am doing, and trying to beard the lion in his den…or in this case, in his bed. "Did you?" I hold his gaze.

"And if I say I did?"

"Then I’d reply that it doesn’t matter what my motives are. I am here, aren’t I? Willing and ready to do as you command."

"You think you can throw the right words at me and get me to do what you want?"

"Am I succeeding?"

"No."

"Oh…" I pretend to pout, "So then, why are we still talking?"

"My point exactly."

He pushes off from the bed, stands over to me, only to lean down, then swing me up and over his shoulder.

"Put me down."

He doesn’t answer. He marches to the bathroom, shoulders his way past the door, then heads for the toilet and places me on the seat.

He stands above me and I blink. "What the hell are you up to?"

"You needed to pee."

"Says who?"

He raises an eyebrow and I flush.

"So, what if I do? I could have walked here on my own."

"I carried you instead; deal with it."

"And how did you know that I had to, you know—"

"Urinate?" He smirks. "You can say it. It’s a bodily function, just like fucking. Or would you prefer if I said fornicating?"

I scowl, "If you think you can throw clinical words my way to fluster me, then you are sadly mistaken."

"Good." His grin widens. He widens his stance and I don’t dare look straight ahead…because, uh! I am at the exact same height as his big, fat dick, that I know is standing to attention against his belly right now. Yeah, okay, I peeked. I couldn’t help it. It’s right there in front of me. Also, since we had woken up, he had pressed that monster shaft against me, so I am well familiar with its length and its—gulp—girth, which is bloody impressive, I’ll have you know.

"What are you doing still standing here?" I murmur. "I need to urinate."

"So go."I gape at his smirking face. "Not in front of you."

He folds his arms across his chest, and his stance indicates…he’s not moving. Okay, whatever, like I care if he sees me pee.

I close my eyes, try to relax…but hell, I can’t go. Not when Mr. Monster Cock is standing over me like Satan himself.

"Turn your back," I say through gritted teeth, "else I won’t be able to."

I sense him hesitate, then feel the slight breeze as he pivots around. To my surprise, I hear him move away. I open my eyes, and sure enough, the space is empty. I sigh as I settle into place, and almost instantly, my muscles relax enough so I can let go. I finish my business, flush, wash my hands and face, smooth my hair the best I can, then hesitate. I take in my naked body, so very pale, except for the thin streak of red in between my breasts.

In a way, we match, I suppose. Only, the wound I bestowed on him is much deeper. I raise my hand to touch the scratch and the ring on my finger catches my attention. It picks up the color from my dyed red hair, and damn it… It really does feel like it’s already part of me.

Why does he have to be so…so perceptive. Speaking of… I spin around, head for the door. "How did you know that I had to pee?" I demand. "I never told you that I wanted to."

Alphahole finishes stepping into his gray sweatpants, then turns around. "I guessed."

"You guessed?" I scowl. "How could you just guess?"

"It’s morning." He shrugs. "It’s natural to want to use the facilities after a night’s sleep." He grabs a bathrobe, then walks over to me and holds it out.

I stare at it, then up at him. "Shit," I blink, "you removed my clothes last night..."

"You only just realized that?"

"No, I mean, yes, I mean…" I shove my hair over my shoulder. I must have really been out of, it if I hadn’t even stirred when he’d undressed me.

"Your dress is safe. I’ve asked for it to be cleaned."

"Oh?" I blink rapidly at him. That’s thoughtful of him. Though why would he do that? Why is he being so nice to me?

"Relax," he laughs, "I know how much your creations mean to you and that dress was so you… That I figured you’d want to keep it, and maybe, modify it and wear it again."

My mouth drops open. That’s exactly what I had planned to do, but how the hell is he able to read me so easily?

"Fine, fine," I grouse. "It’s what most women do—adapt their wedding dresses so they can wear them again."

"Is it?" He frowns, then raises a shoulder, "Good guess, huh?" He jerks his chin toward the dressing gown, and I slide my arms through the sleeves. I knot the tie around the middle as he runs his palms down the shoulders, in a gesture that is both soothing and possessive. Huh. What the hell is this man up to? I turn around and scowl at him, "Out with it, Mister. What are you planning now?"

"Breakfast?" He smirks. "Do you like pancakes?"