Page 29 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

TWENTY-TWO

harry

I clutch the cloak tight, feeling more naked than I actually am. I didn’t know the panties and bra would open to something obscene.

And now we’re… I don’t know where we are. Outside of Manhattan, in one of the boroughs. I completely lost track.

Torin, the most complicated monster I’ve ever met, gave me a gorgeous diamond choker and fastened it around my neck so that it presses lightly into my skin.

The pressure kept bringing me to the brink of orgasm in the back of the car after he opened the panties to finger me, to stroke me into the almost moment of absolute sublime pleasure as he sucked on my exposed nipples.

So yeah, I didn’t pay attention to where we were going.

But every time I tried to touch him, he stopped me.

When we pulled up to our destination, he fixed my clothes under the cloak before taking me inside.

The club is wild. Like nothing I’ve seen. I stare at a masked man being led around on a leash, all in leather, with a tail coming out of his ass .

“You want that?” Torin asks.

“I want you hung up somewhere so I can whip you until you can’t move.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Harry.”

I glare up at him, grabbing his arm as he moves so I don’t face-plant on the floor.

A woman crawls past in shoes higher than mine, behind a man, and I suddenly know why he chose these shoes.

They give me two choices—clutch on to him or get on the floor—because they’re clearly not meant for walking. “Because they won’t come true?”

“No.” He turns, the glimmer in his midnight eyes so intense I want to drop down in front of him and kiss his feet. The look is that powerful. “They just might.”

Something catches his eye then… a half-naked tattooed man who has a woman sucking his cock. He’s fisting her hair and she’s naked, with chains that link her piercings, and she’s going at it like her life depends on it.

He comes, shoving her face into his crotch and holding her there until she struggles.

He keeps holding her until she’s limp, and then he lets her go.

My jaw drops when he kicks her after she hits the floor.

She rolls over, sits up, and wraps herself around his leg as he pats her head like she’s a pet.

“Are you going to make me do that?” I gape at the scene, unable to control myself.

Torin slides me a look. “Do you want to do that?”

“No.”

His lips curl upward.

The big man with the tattoos tucks himself away and comes over to us.

Torin orders drinks from a naked waitress and they discuss things that I only catch pieces of over the loud, techno beat of the music. Something about guns, I think.

The man frowns and the conversation gets more intense.

When the waitress comes back with the drinks, Torin turns to me.

“As a good mafia wife who’s into this for me, you’ll take off your cloak and hold it as well as this bag…

” He hands me the bag from the sex shop.

It’s leather, almost like a satchel. “Be prepared to get down on your knees if I need you to.”

Horror hits hard. He seriously expects me to do that?

But under the watchful gaze of the massive Russian, I remove my cloak. As Torin hands me his drink to hold, I sink to my knees, sitting up, the bag stuffed with my cloak in front of me. With a shaking hand, I hold the drink up to him.

It’s the only way I won’t fall, and the Russian dismisses me as their conversation continues.

Torin doesn’t pay me so much as a sliver of attention…

except for his almost subconscious toying with the choker.

He pulls at it, twists it, and every time it moves, a different sensation assaults my skin.

Depending on the pressure applied, it sometimes soothes in its lightness, other times it bites.

That’s all he touches, apart from the brush of his fingers against the skin at the back or side of my throat, when he isn’t taking his drink for a sip and returning it.

I’m turned on, horrified, uncomfortable, and safe, all in equal measures. Being near the man I… I have to hate, is safe. And yes, I have to hate him, I do. Anything else is betrayal of years of the truth, of what he did to my parents.

My mind randomly buzzes with conflict about my uncle.

He has to be innocent. I mean, even if he breaks rules to make money, it’s still not killing or maiming, and while we’re not super close, I do love him. He’s family.

Never once has he done something to hurt me. Even though my trust fund is something I don’t get for years, Uncle Anthony gives me a small allowance to help with the pittance the church pays me for helping out .

No, there’s only one monster to blame for the terrors my parents experienced. And it’s Torin.

I hate how my insides shred, more and more now, when I put the blame on him.

“Harry.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and when he helps me up, I let him. “Our room is ready.”

“Room?”

“I’m going to teach you lessons. And those in this world will watch.”

The world is dark, the music sensual, the beat electric, and I can’t move.

I’m swimming in my own senses. The only thing tethering me to any bit of sanity is Torin.

I know he’s here.

“Harry,” he says finally.

I whimper.

Something soft slips over me, and in my current state, it could be a whip or a feather and I wouldn’t know the difference.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says so softly that I can barely hear him, even with the music low.

“Are people watching?” I ask, licking my lips. Trying to ground myself even though he’s the only thing I can cling to, the only other thing circling my orbit. He doesn’t answer. “What do you want from me?”

“I could be boring and say your safety and your life, but that’s a given.”

Is it?

The moment my brain goes there, I know, inexplicably, absolutely, it is.

“You. That’s the answer. You.”

I spin slowly on the cross I’m attached to. The cool breeze it creates kisses my exposed pussy and my breasts. As the blood rushes to my head, I know I’m upside down.

“Who was the man?”

“Bratva, I had questions.”

“But—”

“Not about you. Just some weapons.”

That scares me. Is he planning?—?

A burst of sweet pain flashes through me, on my ass, then again and again, and as I’m moaning at the pleasure the pain gives, as I adjust to drink in more of this sweet torture, he suddenly switches devices.

This next one is flat, big, and it stings in a different way.

“Ow!”

He licks the spots he hit, then slowly rubs his fingers through my wetness, spreading it, building me back up to that point?—

Torin stops, taking a moment to toy with the choker.

“That was a paddle. Nice, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“Are you mad, little church mouse with the heart of a hungry, vicious lioness, that I changed it up or that I didn’t let you come?”

“I hate you, Torin.”

“Sing me a new fucking song.” He moves me again so I’m lying flat, and then he steps between my outstretched thighs. I can feel the brush of his pants against my skin. The hiss of a zipper follows. And then my entire being waits, trembling for what I crave.

Him.

Torin slowly pushes the fat head of his cock into me and I stretch to take him.

A sigh slides free as he pushes in to the hilt, taking me in deep, measured strokes.

It’s only when I start to shudder, my body rippling with spasms that announce the build toward complete and utter euphoria, that he pulls out.

Anger bubbles up as my pussy starts to ache. “What the fuck are you do?—?”

That earns me the harsh slice of a whip, biting into my skin.

He pulls on the choker. “Giving myself blue fucking balls, Harry. What do you know about your parents’ plan to run?”

My head spins wildly, my back and ass throbbing with pain. Anger swirls up. “I don’t know. Mom wanted out. Dad was a small name, so he wanted to please her. She wanted a flower shop and so do I. Is that a crime?”

“You want to help people. The Raos who were after you finally stopped their hunt. They’ve merged with someone else and became a powerhouse.”

He spins me again, and this time I’m upright so he can play with my clit and torture me some more. A sob explodes from my throat because the bastard’s not going to let me come.

“So?” I snarl.

“So,” he says, “it’s a powerhouse with another family in Italy.

Whatever they wanted with you might be finished.

But it might not. And maybe your uncle has something to do with it.

Throwing out traps like trying to get the Murphys into legal trouble in Harlem with a dead fucking Russian and a pile of cocaine.

Like sending Belfast bastards after you.

It’s all been very calculated. Wait and then strike, and who’s better than your uncle to bring you down? ”

“Makes sense to me,” I snap sarcastically, a small throb passing through me as he circles my clit. “Why not force me into marriage with the man who couldn’t get the job done first time around, give him one last go?”

He grabs my hair with one hand and tugs the choker with the other.

He leans close, his mouth near my ear, breath hot against my skin.

His scent is everywhere, taunting my senses with everything he is and won’t give me.

I don’t even care that they’re cheap thrills I’ll pay for later.

It’s like he’s destroyed some part of me.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead, Harry. Remember that.”

“My uncle’s a banker, not mafia.”

“Maybe. I’m just spinning scenarios. And getting you where I want you.”

“I want you writhing in pain,” I spit at him.

He moves again, lifts the blindfold, and then plunges me straight back into the world I was in by kissing me. It’s long and deep and rough and erotic, a purely naked kiss. Honest in its needs, and I can’t help but kiss him back the same way. I just can’t control myself.

“Now that,” he says, as he lifts his head from my mouth. “Is where I want you.”

“What does that mean?”

He starts untying me, then helps me off the cross. My feet are bare and I am only in the scraps of fabric he bought me. He pulls off his shirt, walks to his bag, takes out a whip, and hands it to me.

It’s heavy in my hand, and I stare at it.

He drapes himself over the cross thing, like Jesus and nothing like him. This man has no crown of thorns, and he’s killed. Innocence might never have touched him. But still, the horrific meaning of this thing in my hand is clear.

“I thought you’re some kind of d-dominant. Isn’t that why you put your name in the guestbook with a capital letter and mine was all lowercase?” I ask.

“Prizes for the vengeful sub. Let your brat out. And I am a Dom. I’m commanding you to whip. Have your go.”

“Can I have a gun? ”

He laughs and it hurts me because there’s pain at the edges. “Hurt me, not kill.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But you’ll shoot me?”

“Happily,” I push out fiercely, knowing it makes zero sense and perfect sense all at the same time.

“Harriet. I’m commanding you.”

I gulp and stare at the whip, then his perfect back.

He hisses, “Do it.”

I jerk my hand, the whip loosely snapping in the air.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry, I won’t break. That was pathetic. Do it.”

I do it a little harder.

“Harder, Harry. This is an order and I will fucking punish you if you don’t.”

I grit my teeth and bring it down, the sound turning my stomach, as does the red line.

“Not. Hard. Enough.”

“But—”

“I’ll tell you if it’s not enough. Read me, Harry, see what I want by looking. A good sub, a perfect sub, would know.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you know,” he says.

I scowl, anger flaring in me, and I bring it down, again and again, different spots, making his back a trail of red lines. No blood. Thank goodness, no blood.

“How many of your subs do you make do this?” I’m aware of the vicious tone in my voice as I look for signs that I’m doing this right, that I’m seeing his sweet spot. But I don’t think he has one of those. I don’t think this is sexual.

It’s something else, something I don’t get, something that unnerves me, because I really don’t think he’s the kind to inflict self-harm even if it’s through the use of his sub.

Is this some kind of lesson he teaches his subs?

I’m diving down a rabbit hole now and I can’t stop the free fall. I hit him again and again, until my arm hurts.

“How many?” I shriek.

“How long have you got?” Then he laughs. “Harder, Harry, one more time. As hard as you can.”

I lift it, holding it in both hands, but there’s an added tension to his back, and his order’s at odds with it. “How many?”

“Just you.”

I gulp, a sob breaking free, and I hit him, enough to cause pain but not enough to really hurt… I hope.

He lets out a grunt I know, one that licks my clit.

With trembling shoulders, I walk up to him. “What do you want, Torin?”

“Your forgiveness.”

I drop the whip and this time dig my short nails into the back of his neck. He hisses in response.

“You can’t have that.”

I start to pull his hair, but he suddenly sits up, clamping my wrist. “I know.”

“I can’t forgive you. You took my family.”

“I know. And if your uncle’s out to get you, I’ll take more.”

“I need to hate you,” I whisper, feeling like a damn broken record.

“I know.”

This time, Torin stands and walks me back into the wall where he plunders my mouth. I kiss him back, starving for breath, for pleasure, for him. I want him.

He lifts me, tears the panties open more, and unleashes himself, thrusting into me. We fuck frantically against the wall, like we’re animals. We fuck like we want to rip the world apart. It’s carnal and primal and so fucking intense .

I explode around him, pulsating, squeezing, the cascading pleasure almost too much to take as he comes with me.

It’s not until we’re finished, still kissing and nipping at each other as he finally withdraws and sets me down, that I realize where we are and just who is watching.