Page 30 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“Yes,” I moan, “Please. More.”

His hand reaches into my hair again, yanking hard. His hips still, his aching erection pulsing fully inside me. It’s nearly uncomfortable, but also glorious. He leans over my shoulder close to my ear and speaks low.

“You,” he growls, “do not cum until I say so. Do you understand? If you do there will be consequences. I’ll spank that ass of yours until you can’t sit down.”

When I don’t respond he tugs on my hair.

“Answer me.”

“Ok,” I whine. “I’ll try…”

“You won’t try. You’ll do it.” He pumps in and out of me three times hard and fast. Then yanks my hair again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He tugs again, adding, “Sir. Yes, Sir. Say it.”

I arch beneath him, breathless and aching, nails digging into his back as he stretches me open and fills every inch of the emptiness I didn’t even know I’d been carrying.

“Yes Sir,” I moan. “Please. I need…”

After a moment he begins to move, hard and fast. With every fast, powerful move of his close I get closer and closer to the edge. When I get close he stops and withholds his thrusts until I settle. Over and over again.

“What do you need?” he demands.

“You…More…”

“Beg for it and I’ll give it to you.”

“Please…”

Another yank to my hair.

“Please …” I moan through the waves of pleasure as he pumps in and out of me. “Please Sir.”

“Good girl. Now cum for me.”

My moans are muffled against his skin, his name tumbling from my lips as I come apart beneath him. He follows with a growl low in his throat, clutching me so tightly I almost forget where I end and he begins.

The air is thick with sweat and satisfaction when it’s over. He lays against me for a moment, his forehead resting against mine, chest heaving. Then, wordlessly, he presses a final kiss to my shoulder and slides out of me and out of the bed.

I study him for a moment, waiting to see what he will do next. When he disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth I am surprised but grateful.

“Thank you,” I say as I reach for it but he pulls it away from my reach.

“No. Let me,” he insists before setting the warm cloth against my skin and cleaning both of our juices from my body.

Such a gentle act, yet it filled my heart with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. When he moves off the bed again I blink at the sudden absence of his weight, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he returns the washcloth to the bathroom before bending to grab his discarded clothes from the floor.

His bare back is tense, already turning away, already heading for the guest room like he has every night since we married.

“Tolya,” I called out.

He pauses, pants in hand, but doesn’t turn around. I sit up, the sheet I’d wrapped around myself slipping down to my waist. I reach for him gently, my fingers curling around his forearm. “Stay.”

His head tilts slightly in question.

I lean over and press closer, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. “I don’t want to be alone.”