Page 9
Story: Mafia Maiden
When I get to the bedroom, I stop dead in the doorway.
She’s sprawled sideways across the bed, curled in on herself, one leg bent, her nightgown hiked halfway up her thigh. The firelight catches the pale silk of her skin and the soft curve of her waist, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
She looks fragile, and breakable.
And I am anything but gentle.
I should leave her alone. Sleep on the couch. Pretend I’m still the man who knows how to wait. How to protect her without tasting her again. But I can’t—not after tonight. Not after wrapping my hands around the throat of the man who gave her away like a lamb to slaughter.
Her uncle begged. I didn’t listen.
Because the second he said her name—said it like it was just another move on the board—I saw red.
And now?
Now I need her like penance.
I step inside and sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight, and she stirs.
Her lashes flutter, and she blinks up at me, sleep-hazed and soft. “Luca?”
“Go back to sleep.”
She shifts onto her back, the neckline of her nightgown slipping off one shoulder. Her skin glows in the firelight, and I hate myself for the way my cock stirs at the sight.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, voice laced with sleep and worry.
Everything’s wrong.
And she doesn’t know the half of it.
“No.”
I lie. Because if I tell her the truth, she’ll look at me like I’m a monster in the dark.
Maybe I am.
She reaches for me, her hand ghosting over my thigh. I catch her wrist—not rough, but firm—and press it back to the bed.
“Don’t,” I rasp.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t take you gently tonight.”
Her breath hitches.
She stares up at me, eyes wide, pupils dilating.
“Then don’t,” she whispers.
Two words.
That’s all it takes.
I snap.
I’m on her in an instant, my mouth crushing hers, my body pressing her down into the mattress. She gasps into the kiss but doesn’t resist. Her arms wrap around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair as she arches against me like she’s been starving too.
She’s sprawled sideways across the bed, curled in on herself, one leg bent, her nightgown hiked halfway up her thigh. The firelight catches the pale silk of her skin and the soft curve of her waist, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
She looks fragile, and breakable.
And I am anything but gentle.
I should leave her alone. Sleep on the couch. Pretend I’m still the man who knows how to wait. How to protect her without tasting her again. But I can’t—not after tonight. Not after wrapping my hands around the throat of the man who gave her away like a lamb to slaughter.
Her uncle begged. I didn’t listen.
Because the second he said her name—said it like it was just another move on the board—I saw red.
And now?
Now I need her like penance.
I step inside and sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight, and she stirs.
Her lashes flutter, and she blinks up at me, sleep-hazed and soft. “Luca?”
“Go back to sleep.”
She shifts onto her back, the neckline of her nightgown slipping off one shoulder. Her skin glows in the firelight, and I hate myself for the way my cock stirs at the sight.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, voice laced with sleep and worry.
Everything’s wrong.
And she doesn’t know the half of it.
“No.”
I lie. Because if I tell her the truth, she’ll look at me like I’m a monster in the dark.
Maybe I am.
She reaches for me, her hand ghosting over my thigh. I catch her wrist—not rough, but firm—and press it back to the bed.
“Don’t,” I rasp.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t take you gently tonight.”
Her breath hitches.
She stares up at me, eyes wide, pupils dilating.
“Then don’t,” she whispers.
Two words.
That’s all it takes.
I snap.
I’m on her in an instant, my mouth crushing hers, my body pressing her down into the mattress. She gasps into the kiss but doesn’t resist. Her arms wrap around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair as she arches against me like she’s been starving too.