Claimed Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle

Jane

Ican’t stop kissing Trevor. His hands and mouth on my body send sparks through me, making me feel alive. I thought that I was dead when he found out that I have a daughter, but he doesn’t know that Annie is his.

Even as I try to rationalize what I’m doing to myself, I know that I’m making a bit fucking mistake but I can’t stop. I should push him away from me, should tell him to go to hell, but instead I dig my nails into his back, pulling him closer. Instead of telling him to fuck off, I kiss him harder, sucking in a gasp as he fingers trail along my the waistband of my skirt before dipping down under the fabric.

“Are you still as sweet as I remember?” He asks, and I shiver, ignoring the little voice in the back of my head that’s telling me that I’m making a big fucking mistake.

Maybe I am.

Maybe I’m going to regret this later.

But right now I feel broken, and as fucked up as it is, Trevor is the only one who can put my pieces all back together. He did it once, that one night in the pub, and now I need him to do it again even though he has no idea that that’s what I’m relying on him for.

It’s just sex to him, I’m sure of that, but I can’t help the fact that it’s more to me. It’s trusting him to make me feel something I haven’t felt in four years, and relying on him to keep me from feeling so broken.

“My bedroom,” he gasps, pulling away from me long enough to pick me up. This time, he doesn’t hold me against his chest like I’m some precious package that he needs to protect. Instead, he swings me up over his shoulder like a bag of rice, reaching up to squeeze my ass.

I’m soaking wet for him and I moan, closing my eyes as the sensations rocket through my body. His hand slips over my ass, massaging me, then he spanks me hard enough to make me cry out.

“Oh, Jane, I’ve missed your sweet ass,” he tells me, his voice full of gravel. “I’ve missed your cunt, the way that it squeezes around me when you cum. You have no idea how much I want to fuck you. You’re mine, Jane.”

My mind screams at me to argue with him and tell him that he’s wrong, but I can’t, because he’s not. He was my first and only, and while he doesn’t know that, I haven’t been able to push him out of my mind.

Whenever I look at Annie, I see his dark eyes. I see his gorgeous thick hair, the way he tilts his head a little and smirks. She’s a spitting image of him.

When he puts me down on the bed, all thoughts of my daughter fly from my mind and my eyes widen as he slowly strips, his gaze locked on my face. His shirt falls to the floor, then he kicks off his shoes and everything else follows.

And I mean everything.

The man is hung like a fucking horse and my mouth waters when I see his cock. It’s been four years but I still remember being on my knees in front of him worshipping it. I’d never seen a cock before, really had no good idea what to do with it, but I knew that I wanted to make him feel good, so I did my best.

Never did I think that I’d get to have him again, but he climbs over me, his mouth hot on my skin as he kisses down my chest, his hands strong and demanding as he squeezes me, pulling my bra out of the way. It snaps, the sound loud, but he doesn’t hear it or simply doesn’t give a shit. Instead of slowing down, he yanks my bra to the side, pulling it out from under me and tossing it to the floor.

Immediately, I feel my nipples harden in the cool air of his room, but his warm mouth is on one before I can get uncomfortable. I arch my back into him, pulling him closer, a moan escaping my lips.

“I fucking missed you,” he tells me. “Four fucking years is too long.”

I agree, but there’s no way that I can mange to make any words right now. His tongue flicks across my nipple, making it spring hard to attention, then he leans back, massaging down my sides as he works his way to my waistband. Lifting my ass, I help him as he pulls my clothes off, flinging them to the side.

I’m breathing hard and so turned on that I can smell myself. It’s embarrassing and I shift away from him, but he pins me in place with one hand on my hip, the other tracing its way up between my legs.

“Spread them,” he tells me. My legs are squeezed tightly together, but at his command I feel my muscles relax. “Good girl,” he murmurs, slipping his finger right up to my heat.

I suck in a gasp and close my eyes when I feel him touch me. His finger probs me and I shift, wanting him to rub my clit, wanting to feel his cock in me—anything—but he pulls his finger out and my eyes fly open to lock on his face.

Right as he licks my taste off.

Now I am blushing hard and I twist away from him, but he slips from the bed. “You’re soaking wet, Jane,” he tells me, amusement in his voice. “Fucking dripping for me, aren’t you? God, you taste so fucking good. I want you on my tongue every fucking day.”

I want to respond, I swear that I do, to tell him that he’s lost his mind or that he doesn’t have to do this, but he’s between my legs before I can speak, his tongue lapping up against me, making my toes curl on the bed. He hasn’t even entered me yet, hasn’t put his cock anywhere near me and I already feel like I’m coming out of my skin.

“Holy shit,” I cry, bucking my hips up at him as he traces the tip of his tongue around my clit. The sensation is so powerful that it feels like an electrical shock shooting through my body and I bite down hard on my finger, not wanting to make too much noise.

“Don’t be shy,” he says, pulling back so that he can speak. His fingers take the place of his tongue and I suck in a breath at the feeling of them working my clit. He rolls it between his fingers, then plunges them into me, stroking right inside my opening.

My skin is too tight. I writhe on his bed, bucking my hips at him, too afraid to tell him that I want his mouth back on me. That’s what I want, though. I want to feel him eating me, feel his tongue hard and flat against my clit as he strokes me higher and higher.

“Tell me, Jane, what you want.”

How the fuck does he read my mind?

Instead of answering him I reach for him, digging my nails into his shoulder as I try to pull him back down to me. He chuckles but doesn’t give me the relief I need.

“Use your words, Jane. Do you like this?” He swirls his fingers around my clit, making my entire body jerk off of the bed. “Or this?” Now he sinks them into me, crooking them against my walls as I moan at the pressure. “I’d love to know just what it is that you want from me.”

I swear to God, I can’t speak. How many times has this man made it impossible for me to form any words? It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, he makes it difficult for me to string together a coherent thought, and I moan instead, pushing down on him to try to make his fingers go deeper.

“More,” I finally pant, when I realize that he’s not going to give me what I want without me asking for it. It’s maddening, that he has this much power over me, and also that I’m willing to give him what he wants just so that I can get off. “I want more from you. I want it all, Trevor.”

“All of it?” He sounds pleased and the bed shifts as he climbs back up, grabbing my thighs and pushing them as wide as they’ll go. “Because I want to fucking paint you with my cum, Jane. I don’t want you to forget that you belong to me. You always have.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure that I agree with him. It doesn’t matter. What matters right now is how I know that he can make me feel good and me getting what I need from him.

“I do,” I say, squirming against his grip. His fingers sink into my thighs and it hurts, but I like the pain. Part of me is so fucked up that I like that he can make me hurt like this and I’ll still want more.

He shifts position, notching his huge cock right at my opening and I gasp at the pressure there. He’s so close to giving me what I really want from him and I rock, trying to get him to enter me.

“Please,” I cry out, the frustration in my voice obvious. “Why won’t you fuck me! What’s wrong with you?!”

Without warning, he slams into me and I scream, my entire body rocking back under the pressure. Pinning me to the bed, he thrusts in deeper, seating himself in me as far as he can go, then he kisses me.

I feel like my entire body is on fire, like I’m going to burn forever and never be put back out and I rock under him, trying to find my rhythm against him. He’s so strong, so big, that I feel full and split, like I’m going to come apart at the seams and there isn’t a fucking thing that I can do about it.

“I want you!” I cry, pulling him to me to kiss him. It feels like all of the anger and fear that have been building up in me for the past four years are finally disappearing, driven out of me by his cock. He thrusts into me slow at first, dragging himself back out of me and making me cry out for him.

I don’t just want Trevor anymore. I need him. I need his hands on my body, his cock deep in me. My core is tight and hot and I’m throbbing for him, unable to stop from shaking as he goes deeper and deeper.

“You belong to me,” Jane,” he tells me, grabbing my chin and turning my face so that I have to look at him. “Tell me that you understand that.”

The pleasure washing over me is so intense that it’s almost impossible for me to answer him, but I finally do, giving him a little nod. “I belong to you,” I whimper.

What I don’t want to tell him is that I knew that I did from the moment I met him in the pub. I wanted him, my body called to him, driven to him, by something deeper and stronger than just desire. This is the second time that I’ve been with him, and I know that it’s insane to feel this complete, but I do.

I feel like I’m finally put back together with his cock in me, even though I know that I’m wrong. Someone like Trevor doesn’t fix people. He breaks them.

So what does that say about me that I so willingly fell into his bed?

Again.