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He slides his finger inside my back hole, then adds another. I grimace, even as my hips seem to rotate of their own accord, allowing him further access.
"Good girl." He bites on my lower lip with such force that I scowl.
"What the—" I begin to protest, and that’s when he replaces his fingers with his cock. His big, thick, fat cock. He notches the head of his dick against my puckered hole and pushes in.
"Ow," I burst out. "It hurts, it hurts."
"Stop complaining," he says in a mild voice. "You know you want this, Flower."
My pussy clenches down, and a knowing smile curves his lips. He slides his hand between us and pinches my clit.
"Jesus…" I inhale as he lowers his head and bites my nipple.
"Oh god," I cry out as the trembling once again overwhelms me.
That’s when he slips in another inch.
Sweat beads my forehead as I bite down on my lower lip. "I can’t," I murmur, "I can’t."
"You can," he says in a hard voice as he plays with my pussy lips. "Let me in, Flower. Now."
He places his forehead against mine as he slides into me further. Too much. Too full. He’s impaled me, and it feels like I will never be the same again. My arms and legs tremble, and I almost lose my balance.
"Fuck," he growls. "You’re so hot, so tight … so everything. You are going to kill me."
He reaches above and loosens the knot around my wrists, the ribbon gives way, and he hauls me to him. He winds both of my legs around his waist, and without pulling out of me, he walks over to the bed. He lowers me onto the mattress, follows me down, and begins to drill into me.
"Jesus," I moan as he thrusts into me again and again. He grinds the heel of his hand into my clit, and with the other, he pinches my nipple. A line of fire erupts from the point of contact, and all of my nerve endings seem to sizzle at once. I try to pull away, but he has me pinned down with his cock inside me.
He pulls out, then plunges forward, and the entire bed seems to move with the action. He releases my nipple long enough to grab my wrists and position them above me. He wraps my fingers around the headboard. "Hold on," he growls. Then he tilts his hips and pumps into me, hitting a spot deep inside of me that I never knew existed.
"Christian," I yell as my entire body bucks. I arch my back, pushing my breasts into his chest. "Christian, I’m going to—"
"Come," he snaps, and I explode. The climax crashes over me as I squeeze down on his fingers and dick. I cry out, but he swallows the sound. I feel consumed by him, owned, possessed, claimed by this Mafioso, my fake husband-to-be, the man who knows my body, my fears, and my mind more intimately than anyone else.
He continues to thrust into me as the aftershocks grip me. His entire body goes solid, his muscles flex, his features take on an anguished look, and he comes with a hoarse cry. He shoots his cum inside me before he finally tears his mouth from mine. He pushes his forehead against mine and stays there as the tremors course down my body and his. He stays there holding my gaze for a beat, then another. When he pulls out, a whine slips from my lips.
I didn’t like that. I didn’t… Oh, who am I trying to convince? That climax was, by far, the most intense I have ever had with him. And now I feel empty and spent, and not sure what hit me. I glance down to find him shoving the cum that slips out back inside me.
Jesus, I shouldn’t find that hot, but I do. How depraved am I really? On a scale of one to ten, right now, I am a hundred.
He reaches up to unwrap the ribbon from around my wrists. Then he hauls me up to a sitting position and yanks on the wool that’s wrapped around me. He unwraps me slowly, like I’m a Christmas present that he’s anticipated for so long that he can’t wait to see what’s inside; except, he’s already been inside of me. He pulls off the yarn, tosses it aside, and takes a few minutes to peruse my body. Then, he throws himself down next to me. He pulls me down and tucks me close to him. "Sleep," he murmurs.
I close my eyes and drift off.
When I wake up, I’m alone in the bed. I throw off the cover he must have pulled over me before he left, roll off the bed, and pad toward the bathroom. My back hole twinges with every step. My nipples ache. My core clenches, and I’m reminded of just how empty I still feel.
I step under the shower and stand there until the water begins to run cool. Feeling more alert than I have in a long while, I dry myself with a towel, wrap it around me, and walk out to find my bathrobe laid out on the bed. Did he come here and lay it out earlier? I shrug into the bathrobe, then walk into the living room to find him on the settee. He has my shirt in his hands, and he seems to be stitching buttons onto it.
"Hold on a minute," I burst out. "Are you really—"
"Mending your shirt?" He glances up at me. "I tore off the buttons, so I’m fixing it for you."
"Wow…" I blink rapidly. "Didn’t think you could sew."
"I can knit too," he murmurs as he brings the thread to his mouth and uses his teeth to cut it off. He rises to his feet, then walks over to me. "Here," he holds out the shirt, "you should be able to wear it now."
"Did you say that you can knit?"
