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9
Michael
What in the name of theSanta Madre Mariais she doing? I glare down at where she’s positioned on her knees, her fingers still clasped around my cufflinks and linked together in front of her. Her mouth is open in that perfect 'O' that invites me to stuff my cock between her lips. To bury my fingers in her hair, hold her in place as I fuck her mouth, and shoot my load down her throat. She holds my gaze, those green eyes beseeching, pupils dilated enough, breathing ragged enough to indicate that she’s turned on.
If I bent down and sank my fingers in her pussy, no doubt, she’d be dripping. Her cunt ready and open and willing to take my cock. She’d tighten her inner walls around my length, milk me, and not let go until I had come inside her, until I had impaled her and fucked her so hard that she’d feel me in her throat. Her chest rises and falls, nipples pebbled against the tiny T-shirt that stretches across her chest. Fuck me.
I begin to jerk off in earnest. Squeezing my cock from base to crown, again and again. In seconds, the tightness at the base of my spine curls in on itself, tighter, higher, until it snaps. The orgasm slams into me with the force of a thirteen-millimeter bullet. My balls draw up and I come, shooting my cum across her face, in her mouth, across her hair, her breasts.
She licks off the white ropy strands without breaking the connection of our gaze. And fuck me, but this woman… She is going to be the death of me… Correction, she had been the death of me… She has tried to kill me, not once, but twice, so far. Will she be lucky the third time? Why do I keep coming back to her?
I had managed to stay away for two full days. Two days in which I had thrown myself into work with a ferocity that had taken my brothers by surprise. Two days in which I had taken meetings separately with the Bratva and the Kane Company, had negotiated deals with both of them which would secure the future of my clan within the Cosa Nostra and cement my bid to be the next Don. Two days in which I had learned that it wasn’t the Kane Company which had sent the four unarmed men who had tried to kill me a few months ago. Two days in which I had not stopped thinking about her. In which I had tried to fuck a woman in my apartment above Venom—which is where I had stayed the last two nights. I hadn’t been able to get it up then. Couldn’t bear the thought of any other woman touching me either. But one glance at her, one sniff of her scent and I had gone rock hard.
Fuck. What the hell is Beauty doing to me? My wife, my would-be-murderer, what kind of magic has she woven around me that I seem to find my way back to her, whether I want to or not?
"Michael," she murmurs, "you okay?"
I lower my hand to my side, brush past her. I head for the ensuite and her footsteps follow me.
"What the fuck?" she yells. "What’s wrong with you?"
Something hits me on the back and I freeze. I turn to find the cufflinks on the floor between us. I glance up at her, and the color fades from her cheeks.
She squares her shoulders. "I am not going to apologize for that." She looks down at the cufflinks, then shifts her gaze to me and firms her lips. "You deserved it, the way you’ve been acting."
I look her up and down and she shuffles her feet. I turn, take a step forward, and she skitters back. Another step and she props her hands on her hips.
"You… " she clears her throat, "you don’t scare me."
I bare my teeth, snap at her and she squeaks.
"What the hell?" She jumps back a few more steps, putting distance between us.
"You’re the one who carved…that…that horrible word on my back. How could you do it, Michael, how could you?"
"Because it’s true."
"What are you talking about?" She gulps, "I am your wife, Michael. Your wife."
"You didn’t think about that when you left me for dead?"
"And I’ve already apologized to you for it."
"You think you can say sorry and it wipes away everything you did, Beauty?" I glare at her, and she pales. My cum drips from her chin, trickles down the valley between her breasts and my dick begins to harden again. Fuck, but as long as I am in her presence, I can’t stop myself from wanting to be inside of her again.
"I really am sorry, Michael."
"Not as sorry as I am for having married you."
She inhales sharply, "You don't mean it."
"Don't I?" I growl, "You left with Luca. You spent the night with him."
She frowns. "I spent the night in a safehouse with him."
"Under the same roof as him."
"Yes, but not in the same room," she frowns. "We slept in different rooms."
