Page 5
Story: Mafia Maiden
That first touch. It wrecks me.
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bed. She clutches my shoulders as I lay her down between the petals and silk and shadows.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur, settling beside her. “You just have to let me.”
Her reply is a whisper. “Okay.”
I undress slowly. I lock eyes with her as she watches me. Her gaze tracing every inch of bare skin, wide with apprehension.
When I join her, I press soft kisses along her throat, over her collarbone, down her chest.
Her body moves—an arch, a breath, a tremble.
She’s aching for something she’s never had. Something only I can give her.
I drag my fingers down her belly, between her thighs.
She moans.
“Soaked already,” I murmur, my voice thick. “You’re made for this. For me.”
I taste her first. Long, slow strokes of my tongue. She gasps, fists the sheets, writhes beneath my mouth. Her eyes squeezed closed as I hold her hips and whisper praise between every pass of my tongue.
“That’s it. Let go. Let me feel you come on my tongue.”
She shudders. Breaks. Cries out, her chest heaves with each breath she takes.
But I’m not done.
When I finally slide inside my aching cock her, it’s slow. Deliberate. She holds her breath, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. She clutches my arms, her eyes wide, body so fucking tight around me.
“You’re so damn perfect,” I whisper into her mouth. “I’ve got you.”
I move slowly, worshipping her with inch I add inside her. Stretching her open to take me, the wetness and heat of her pussy only making my cock hungry for more.
She moans. Whimpers. Reaches for me like I’m the only thing that can save her and wreck her at the same time.
And I am.
I whisper filth against her ear—promises, praises, possession.
Her body tightens around my cock, she shudders beneath me with a muffled cry. She comes with a broken moan, and I can’t even try hold back, I’m spilling inside her with a low groan even though I wanted this to last.
I don’t move.
I just hold her. Let the fire crackle and the silence consume us. Let myself believe—for this one moment—that having her doesn’t mean I’ve already killed her.
Because she doesn’t know what kind of man I am.
Tonight, she let me pretend I’m something softer. It’s a lie—this is not me.
3
EMILIA
The villa is too quiet.
It’s the kind of quiet that feels staged. Like someone scrubbed the world clean and hit pause to stop anyone from seeing what’s really there. Every corner is picture-perfect—gold light flowing through arched windows, white petals scattered across the terrace like confetti from a ghost wedding. Even the water in the distance seems hushed, the waves softer somehow. Polite.
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bed. She clutches my shoulders as I lay her down between the petals and silk and shadows.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur, settling beside her. “You just have to let me.”
Her reply is a whisper. “Okay.”
I undress slowly. I lock eyes with her as she watches me. Her gaze tracing every inch of bare skin, wide with apprehension.
When I join her, I press soft kisses along her throat, over her collarbone, down her chest.
Her body moves—an arch, a breath, a tremble.
She’s aching for something she’s never had. Something only I can give her.
I drag my fingers down her belly, between her thighs.
She moans.
“Soaked already,” I murmur, my voice thick. “You’re made for this. For me.”
I taste her first. Long, slow strokes of my tongue. She gasps, fists the sheets, writhes beneath my mouth. Her eyes squeezed closed as I hold her hips and whisper praise between every pass of my tongue.
“That’s it. Let go. Let me feel you come on my tongue.”
She shudders. Breaks. Cries out, her chest heaves with each breath she takes.
But I’m not done.
When I finally slide inside my aching cock her, it’s slow. Deliberate. She holds her breath, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. She clutches my arms, her eyes wide, body so fucking tight around me.
“You’re so damn perfect,” I whisper into her mouth. “I’ve got you.”
I move slowly, worshipping her with inch I add inside her. Stretching her open to take me, the wetness and heat of her pussy only making my cock hungry for more.
She moans. Whimpers. Reaches for me like I’m the only thing that can save her and wreck her at the same time.
And I am.
I whisper filth against her ear—promises, praises, possession.
Her body tightens around my cock, she shudders beneath me with a muffled cry. She comes with a broken moan, and I can’t even try hold back, I’m spilling inside her with a low groan even though I wanted this to last.
I don’t move.
I just hold her. Let the fire crackle and the silence consume us. Let myself believe—for this one moment—that having her doesn’t mean I’ve already killed her.
Because she doesn’t know what kind of man I am.
Tonight, she let me pretend I’m something softer. It’s a lie—this is not me.
3
EMILIA
The villa is too quiet.
It’s the kind of quiet that feels staged. Like someone scrubbed the world clean and hit pause to stop anyone from seeing what’s really there. Every corner is picture-perfect—gold light flowing through arched windows, white petals scattered across the terrace like confetti from a ghost wedding. Even the water in the distance seems hushed, the waves softer somehow. Polite.