Page 11
Story: Mafia Maiden
Slow at first. Deep. Purposeful.
Each movement driving us both higher.
I grip her hips, hold her steady, fuck her like I’m trying to rewrite every bad thing I’ve ever done.
“Say it,” I pant. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” she moans.
“Louder.”
“Only you, Luca.”
I growl, thrusting harder. “That’s fucking right. No one else gets you. No one else hears those sounds. No one else sees you like this.”
My hand slides to her throat—not to choke, just to feel the flutter of her pulse as I bury myself inside her again and again.
“You’re mine,” I snarl. “Every inch. Every breath. Every fucking heartbeat.”
She moans, her voice ragged, her body tightening around me like she’s about to fall apart.
“Come for me,” I command. “Let me feel it. Let go for me, baby.”
She obeys.
Her orgasm hits her like a wave—loud, messy, unrestrained.
I follow a heartbeat later, spilling inside her with a hoarse cry, grinding into her so deep I swear I feel her soul shudder against mine.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and heat and sweat.
Breathless. Shaking.
Ruined.
She runs her fingers through my hair, soft and slow. I press my forehead to her chest and breathe her in like she’s the only clean thing left in my world.
I want to tell her everything.
About the blood on my hands. The way her uncle begged. The sound his bones made when they snapped.
But I don’t.
Because if I tell her now—she won’t look at me the same way in the morning.
And I’m not ready to lose her.
5
EMILIA
The storm is gone by morning.
But it’s left its mark—on the world, on the house, on me.
Tree limbs are scattered across the courtyard like bones. Puddles shimmer across the marble floors where the rain snuck in through the old windows. The whole villa feels quiet, but not in a peaceful way. In a waiting way. Like something is about to begin, or end, or both.
I wake up alone.
Each movement driving us both higher.
I grip her hips, hold her steady, fuck her like I’m trying to rewrite every bad thing I’ve ever done.
“Say it,” I pant. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” she moans.
“Louder.”
“Only you, Luca.”
I growl, thrusting harder. “That’s fucking right. No one else gets you. No one else hears those sounds. No one else sees you like this.”
My hand slides to her throat—not to choke, just to feel the flutter of her pulse as I bury myself inside her again and again.
“You’re mine,” I snarl. “Every inch. Every breath. Every fucking heartbeat.”
She moans, her voice ragged, her body tightening around me like she’s about to fall apart.
“Come for me,” I command. “Let me feel it. Let go for me, baby.”
She obeys.
Her orgasm hits her like a wave—loud, messy, unrestrained.
I follow a heartbeat later, spilling inside her with a hoarse cry, grinding into her so deep I swear I feel her soul shudder against mine.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and heat and sweat.
Breathless. Shaking.
Ruined.
She runs her fingers through my hair, soft and slow. I press my forehead to her chest and breathe her in like she’s the only clean thing left in my world.
I want to tell her everything.
About the blood on my hands. The way her uncle begged. The sound his bones made when they snapped.
But I don’t.
Because if I tell her now—she won’t look at me the same way in the morning.
And I’m not ready to lose her.
5
EMILIA
The storm is gone by morning.
But it’s left its mark—on the world, on the house, on me.
Tree limbs are scattered across the courtyard like bones. Puddles shimmer across the marble floors where the rain snuck in through the old windows. The whole villa feels quiet, but not in a peaceful way. In a waiting way. Like something is about to begin, or end, or both.
I wake up alone.