Page 68 of Dirty Mafia King

“Do good girls flaunt their bodies at every Dick and Harry?”

Wait … it’s almost like he’s jealous. And suddenly, the thought settles deep within my bones. “What if her actions weren’t intentional?” I softly reply.

He shifts and my eyes drop. He’s stroking his hard length with tightly controlled movements. This no longer feels like a punishment but reward.

“Beg me for it. Say, Bastian, please remind me who I belong to.”

I raise my chin as a sense of calmness washes over me. “Please, I beg you. Remind me I belong to you.”

He doesn’t correct me. Right now, in this moment, he doesn’t give two fucks I’m engaged to his son.

His eyes darken. “I’m going to mark you, and you better never fucking forget you’re a Beneventi now. Capisci?”

I nod, eyes wide open. “Capisci.”

With hard, aggressive strokes, he pumps his hand in earnest. Layering a bit of pain in with the pleasure.

My nipples harden, excitement rising.

He grits his teeth while his eyes devour every inch of me. A look of pure, unadulterated lust crosses his face as his attention lands on my lower abdomen, and then lower still. Without warning, he crouches, reaches forward and rips my bikini bottom off, exposing my sex.

“Goddamn it,” he hisses. “Look at that perfect blond nest.”

I glance down. Zoey suggested I wax the baby-fine hairs off. Or go Brazilian and leave a tiny buzz cut. Seeing the filthy gleam in Bastian’s blue eyes, I’m glad I declined.

“Madonna mia, this won’t take long.” His movements become frantic. “Who are you?”

“A Beneventi.” I lean back.Yours.

“After I mark this little gold nest, you don’t wash it off. You’re going to wear it all night long like a motherfucking Girl Scout patch.”

Lord, he’s filthy. And beautiful, in a dangerous take-no-prisoners way.

He shouts his release, letting loose a steady stream of hot come across my mons. Yet he still jerks harder, milking every last drop.

I can barely breathe, barely process what’s happened.

I did this to him.

Me, and my little red bikini.

With a low curse, he tucks himself away, zips his pants and removes his shirt and then, with a blank expression that falls like an anvil into place and hides any connection and all emotion, tosses it at me.

I take the sleeve to clean myself off.

“What did I fucking tell you?”

My jaw drops.

“My come is going to dry overnight in your curls.”

Confused, I stare at him.

“Tonight, I want me all over you. But every day that follows, you’re my son’s.”

I flinch. His reminder’s as frigid as ice water on the coldest day. This is a punishment. And I acted like he was gifting me with something special by claiming me as his.

My legs shake as I stand and slide into his shirt.