Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

The packed day, as it turned out to be, was Michael taking me shopping in Palermo. We’d taken a motorboat across to the big island which Michael had piloted, then he had guided me to a gleaming red Maserati that had been parked not far from the pier. He’d told me to snap on my seatbelt before roaring out. A half hour later, we’d walked into this gorgeous boutique… Which had been closed off for the pleasure of the Capo, as the woman who ran the place had informed us.

She’d taken me inside, to a large changing room, complete with a sprawling couch, a large mirror that took up one wall, and next to it, a changing cubicle, where I now stand. I run my fingers down the pale green dress that dips modestly in the front, plunges at the back, and flows in an ‘A’ line to just below my knees. It’s all right, I guess. The cut is awesome, the fabric is beautiful, but the color is all wrong. I blow out a breath.

How weird that he’d offered to take me shopping anyway, and after I’d been so grumpy about the earlier pink dress I’d had to wear. There hadn’t been many options in terms of color in the closet. It was either the cream-colored dress…or the beige skirt with the matching top, or the pink pant-suit-no seriously, it was a pink pantsuit-more suited to my sister Summer’s tastes, really. I hunch my shoulders.

How is Summer, anyway? Is she enjoying her married life with her new husband? Has she missed me yet? Even if she does, I have no way of knowing, considering Alphahole had commandeered my phone. Most likely, he is putting up a good front with her, probably answering her text messages with enough alacrity that she doesn’t suspect a thing.

Anyway, why would she miss me? I have always been the annoying, younger sibling who was critical of her innocent, trusting ways. She’s older than me, but I’ve often felt more worldly-wise than her, more cynical… In many ways, I am darker than her. My tastes have always run to the extremes, while Summer is all pink roses and glittery unicorns and shit. I bow my head. A hot sensation stabs at my chest.

Shit, now I am feeling sorry for myself. I mean, things aren’t that bad. I am standing here, trying on a dress that costs… I search for a price tag and realize there isn’t one on the dress. Hmm, so it’s that kind of a place. Not that I blame them. The dresses are exquisite and I am the first to not begrudge an artiste the value of their creations… It’s just, this really is not my style. I take in the shimmering, silvery green of the dress. Guess the color’s not too bad. I blow out a breath, then turn, just as Michael steps through the door that separates the changing cubicle from the rest of the room.

“What are you doing here?” I frown.

He drags his gaze down my face, my chest, the skirt of the dress, to my feet, still clad in the pink ballet flats-ugh!- that I had found in the closet at my room-I mean, the room at the place where he’s holding me captive.

He raises his gaze to my face and those deep blue eyes gleam. “I came to check if you were okay.”

“You mean, you came to check that your little captive hadn’t escaped?”

“You couldn’t escape me, even if you tried.”

“Is that a challenge?” I set my jaw. “I could leave anytime I want.”

He laughs, “The lies we tell ourselves.”

“Better small lies than big ones.”

The smile drops from his face. “I told you I am sorry for what I did yesterday.”

“What did you do earlier?”This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“You know what I mean,” he says through gritted teeth, “I am trying to be nice.”

“This is you being nice?” I scoff. “Please, save it for Clarissa-”

“Larissa.”

“Whatever,” I snap. “Like I care what her stupid name is.”

“Jealous, Beauty?” He smirks and my traitorous pussy instantly throbs. Gah! Enough, already.

“I am not jealous.” I draw myself up to my full height, which still means I have to tilt my head back, way back, to meet his indigo gaze. “In fact, I think you can shag her day and night and I wouldn’t care.”

“Hmm.” His grin widens, “I think you’re lying.”

“Oh, go to hell.” I turn, face my reflection in the mirror, then gasp. He’s right behind me.

He holds my gaze in the mirror, then runs his finger down my spine. I shiver and his lips curl. “Don’t you like it?” he rumbles.

“It’ll do, I suppose.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, firstly, I am not sure what I am doing here shopping for clothes. Secondly, even if I did decide to accept them from you, this is not my style.”

“We are shopping for clothes because it was a chance for you to get out. And secondly, what do you mean it’s not your style?”

“Don’t do me any favors by planning an outing for me.” I frown up at him, “And secondly, just that. This is not the style of clothing I wear.”

“Surely, you must be able to find something in this shop that’s to your taste?” He frowns.

“I suppose I might find a thing or two, if I look hard enough,” I murmur.

“Hmm.” He firms his lips, “So you don’t like the one you are wearing now, either?”

I shake my head and his smile widens, “Then you won’t mind if I do this?” He hooks his finger in the ‘V’ of the dress and tugs. The delicate fabric tears. I gasp as he rips the cloth all the way to the hem. The dress stays poised over my breasts, then with a whisper, it falls away. Leaving me clad only in my panties-I’d taken off my bra earlier to try on the dress-and in the stupid pink ballet flats.

His gaze eats me up as he slides it down to my breasts. My nipples pucker, and he lowers his gaze down to the shadowy cleft that can be seen through my panties.

“Oddio,” he growls, “you’re fucking beautiful.”

My thighs clench and moisture pools between my legs. More of this and he’ll be able to make out the damp spot that I am sure is currently gracing the inside of my knickers.

Heat flushes my skin. I want to throw my arms around myself and hide from his gaze, but I don’t. Instead, I tuck my elbows into my sides and watch as he drinks his fill of me.

He slides his palm around and flattens it against my belly. The dark skin on the back of his palm is a startling comparison to the ivory of my skin. He brings this other hand around to cup my pussy. Through the thin cloth of my panties the heat of his touch sinks right into my core. Without meaning to, I widen my legs. A low rumble of approval vibrates up his massive chest. He slips his finger under the gusset of my underwear. He brushes against my weeping slit and I can’t stop the moan that bubbles up my throat. I lean back into that hard chest of his, thrust up my breasts, tip up my chin, and watch from under hooded eyelids as he slips his finger inside my opening.

Goosebumps pop on my skin. I bite down on my lower lip and his gaze instantly goes there. His lips part as if he’s remembering how it’d been to eat me out. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. More moisture slides down from between my thighs. His breath catches. He slips in a second finger, then a third. A groan bleeds from me. I slide my arm up and around, hold onto his shoulder as he begins to finger fuck me. He doesn’t take his gaze from mine in the mirror, and I swallow, watch as those darkening eyes grow blacker, more unfathomable. As if there is a fire deep inside that he’s hiding from me. As he speeds ups and saws his fingers in and out of me, in and out, my breasts jiggle and my belly trembles. My entire body seems to be participating in this carnal exercise. I wind my fingers around his thick wrist, not so much to stop him as to hold on as he continues to weave his magic fingers in and out of me. The climax bursts upon me. I throw my head back and into his chest. My eyelids flutter down and he clicks his tongue. “Eyes on me, Beauty.”

I raise my gaze to his again, and somehow, the intimacy of watching him jerking me off-of the very erotic picture we make, with me almost naked and him fully dressed, his fingers inside me, as he brings his other hand up to cup my breast, before he pinches my nipple with callous disregard-makes me throw my head back and scream as I fall apart. I black out for a few seconds, and when I open my eyes again, I am still in the same position, leaning into him, held up by his fingers in my cunt, that he pulls out.

“I screamed,” I say in a dazed voice.

“Indeed.” He smirks and my pussy clenches again. Argh. Stupid pussy.

“So, the rest of the people in the boutique would have heard too?” I frown.

“Since when did you start caring about what others think of you?” He tilts his head and something hot stabs at my chest. How the hell does this man know me so well? I really don’t give a shit about what others think of me. But society dictates I should. And sometimes I give in to that pressure. And this man… My captor had cut through to the heart of my quandry with a few careless words.

He proceeds to lick his glistening fingers one by one, before he holds them to my mouth.

“Open,” he commands and I part my lips. He thrusts his fingers in my mouth, and the sweet taste of my cum, the darker, edgier taste of him, crowds my sense. My core dampens all over again. Hell, I want him. I need him inside of me.

“Mika,” I whisper, “please.”

He curls his lips, removes his fingers from my mouth, then wipes them on my stomach. “Get dressed.” He steps back, holding my shoulder for a few seconds while I regain my balance. “I’ll be outside,” he murmurs, not unkindly…just…without much emotion, as if he is simply attending to a chore. Is that all I am to him? A captive, a possession, an asset, someone he wants to wed out of some stupid sense of ownership.

“Michael, why-”

He shakes his head, “I’ll see you outside.”