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15
Michael
"What are you doing?" Her voice is shrill. "Why did you get into bed with me?"
Good question. Something I am asking myself, since I’d sworn I wouldn’t bed her until we are married. Not something I am going to let her know. Especially since I haven’t told her what my plans are for her yet, either. Why am I so hesitant? Since when have I needed a woman, or anyone else for that matter, to be willing before deciding to go through with a plan. Nothing stops me from marrying her without her consent. Hell, nothing stops me from sleeping with her without her consent, either. And ultimately, I am going to marry her, whether she agrees to it or not. So why does it feel so important that she submit to her fate willingly?
Why do I want her to want me? Want her towantto marry me? Why do I need her to feel something more than the resentment she so clearly bears for me? Why do I crave her…devotion?
Her body in submission to me, her will in subjugation to mine, her heart in my grasp, her attention on me, her arms and her legs tied back as she spreads herself open to my ministrations; with her pussy in readiness and wet for my penetration, as she gives herself over to me. Willingly, over and over again. As she allows me to fulfill every depraved, filthy craving that has painted my mind from the moment that I first laid eyes on her.
Fuck.The blood drains to my cock. My pants suddenly feel too tight.
I stay there, with the length of my front plastered to the soft curvaceousness that is her body.
Gradually, her trembling stops, and her muscles tense as she grows aware of me. I know the exact moment she feels the arousal that tents my crotch, for she stiffens.
Every part of her goes rigid, her curves tightened in attention. Every single pore in her body seems to be tuned into me, and for a moment, I enjoy that. The fact that she is so tuned into my presence. That she’s so hyper-aware of everything, anything that I am going to say and do next.
I close my eyes, draw in a breath, and the lush moonflowers fragrance of her skin reaches me… Laced with that unmistakable, sugary-sweet scent of her arousal. My cock throbs and my groin hardens further. Hell, if I stay here a second more, I am going to turn her on her back, cover her with my weight, hold her down, and close my mouth over hers, Right before I slide down to rest my head on her creamy thigh as I take my time familiarizing myself with that succulent flesh between her legs.
She gulps, the sound heavy in the space. I should move. I should simply get out of here. I should return to Larissa. Better still, I should leave Beauty be as I attend to the rest of my business for the day: the war with the Russian Bratva that is heating up again, the rivalry with the Kane Company that's proving to be a pain in the ass; the upcoming talks with the Five Families and the Don that could, likely, mark the turning point in my career and everything that I’ve worked for to-date; my errant stepbrother, Seb, whose loyalties I need to test… Hell, the many things that I need to address as the Capo… All of which are crucially important to ensure that things stay on plan. None of which seems as vital as the woman lying in front of me.
I draw a finger down the shape of her hip and she shivers.
I reach the edge of the skirt of her dress, slip a finger under it, and she chafes her thighs together. The scent of her arousal deepens and my mouth goes dry. Jesus. How could she smell so luscious, so juicy, so ready for the picking, like the flesh between her legs needs me, wants me, yearns for me to do whatever I want with her.
"M… Michael." Her voice trembles, "Michael… I have something to tell you?"
"What?"
"I am dirty."
"Excuse me?" I blink, pause in the action of slipping another finger under her skirt, "What do you mean?"
"My clothes, I mean," she murmurs, "they are filthy from that headlong dive I took off the side of the cliff."
"So?"
"So I am making the bedclothes dirty," she explains.
"I’ll have it cleaned up."
"Uh, I need to get out of these clothes. They are uncomfortable, and itchy and—"
"Fine." Once she sets her mind on something, nothing can stop her, can it? I roll off the bed, then bend and scoop her up in my arms.
"What are you doing?" She huffs.
"What does it look like?"
"Why do you have to answer every question with a question?"
"Why do you have to ask so many questions?" I sneer.
"What kind of an answer is that?"
"Exactly."
