Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

Shit, shit, shit. This is not how it’s supposed to be. I guess I was holding out some hope that he would let me go eventually. Then, I had made that stupid suggestion, as a joke, and he was supposed to laugh it off, or merely ignore it. Instead, he’d informed me that’s his plan. Bloody hell, that’s the last thing I want. What sane person would want to marry the person who kidnapped her?

He’d told me my father owed him. And I’d thought…that he’d hold me captive, probably threaten me, maybe contact Summer for some kind of ransom… And, to be honest, there has been a part of me afraid to admit my ultimate fear-that he plans to kill me. Although, he could have done that a long time ago, so maybe not…

Okay, the simmering chemistry between us could have something to do with it. It is hard to ignore. And I’d even thought, perhaps, at some point, I’d give in to that temptation… But marriage? What the hell? Why would my jerk of a father promise me to someone in the Mafia without telling me? And why did he wait until now to find me?

Shit. I pace the length of my room, back-forth-back.

After Michael had left yesterday, I’d showered, then emerged to find Cassandra waiting for me. She’d changed the bed clothes and had a first aid kit with her. She’d treated the few scratches I’d gotten from my accident, and helped me dress for bed.

Frankly, I had been so affected by what had happened after my fall that that I had all but forgotten about that incident, let alone checked for any scrapes or bumps. It’s a miracle I escaped without any serious injury. In fact, it’s nothing but a freakin’ marvel that he’d managed to get to me in time and haul me back.

As long as he is near me, it seems I’ll always be safe. Shit, why am I thinking that way? I wrap my arms about myself. Maybe it has to do with the way he’d held me close and carried me back and gotten into bed with me… I could have sworn he’d felt… Something? Remorse at having pushed me that far? Relief that I was safe? Or maybe it’s my imagination playing tricks on me.

One thing is for sure, though. I am not going to marry him. Nope, nah, no way.

I have to think of a way out. I walk to the window once more, survey the steep drop to the sea below. The dress I’d pulled out of the closet billows around my knees. This is another creation that fits me, and the quality of the material is soft and, clearly, expensive. Only, it’s a pale pink. So not my color.

I curl my fingers around the window sill. How the hell am I going to get away from him? He is never going to let me go. No way, can I break out of this stupid building, and even if I could, we are on an island. I need to find a way to get to the mainland. Need to get to a place with a phone, or with other people, normal people. Surely, someone could help me then. They’d see that I was being held against my will and would be able to get a message to my sister or to the cops or something?

Surely, there has to be a way out of being married to this…this…alphahole… This…man who is gorgeous and hot as hell, and dominant, and such a bloody commanding presence that simply being near him makes my pussy clench on itself, makes me as horny as hell, makes my panties so wet, my core so empty, that I’ll do anything for any part of him inside of me… Even his knife handle… Hell.

What the hell is wrong with me? Not that I am not aware of kinks and knife play, but really, I never thought I’d be into it. But then, I never thought I’d be so drawn to a man who is so completely wrong. Wrong side of the law, wrong attitude, wrong mindset, wrong bloody idea on what it means to be attracted to a woman. I mean, you do not first take your knife and use it to fuck her, just because you feel a connection to her.

Or maybe that’s it. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything, he just sees me as a possession-something he can own and possess and shag when the need overtakes him. But seriously, why would he do that? Use his knife like that? Not that it hadn’t been hot as hell, not that I hadn’t come all over his knife handle, and gah! What does it say about me, that I had found it such a turn on? Clearly, that darkness inside of me is more pervasive than I’d realized.

That’s the only reason I am so freakin’ attracted to the man who resembles the Lord of Darkness himself. And that voice of his? OMG, whatever happened to him must have been really painful, considering the scars on his throat, but hell, if it hadn’t given him that hoarse burr that completely kills me every time he speaks.

I am screwed… I am way too attracted to him to marry him. Any more time spent in proximity to him is going to completely do my head in. As it is, when I close my eyes, I hear him, sense his touch on my skin, scent his dark, edgy, masculine scent, feel how it had been when he’d shagged me with his knife… My core clenches, my pussy flutters, and moisture laces my center. I am in so much trouble. I simply have to find a way to beat him at his own game.

But how?

I can’t defy him… I can’t obey him… But maybe I can pretend? I can find a way to win a modicum of his trust… Just until I find a way off of this island, at least.

The door opens and I turn to find Cassandra waiting for me.

“The Capo is waiting to have breakfast with you.”

She beckons to me and I follow her down the stairs. She walks past the dining room where I had my last meal, past the door leading to the study, and past the main living room, to a small alcove that looks out onto the lawns, and beyond that, the sea. The small table is set for two and Michael is seated in a chair, reading something on his phone. He’s, once again, dressed in a black suit, with a black tie. Does the man not have anything else in his wardrobe? He glances up and spots me, rising to his feet. He nods at Cassandra, who pauses, then comes around and pulls up a chair for me. I sit down and he eases the chair in, before going around to take his seat again.

He takes in my features, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” I place my hands in my lap, “I am good.”

“No lasting impact from the fall?”

“Told you, it was an accident,” I murmur, “and you got to me in time…so….” I shuffle my feet, glance up at him to find him perusing my features.

A blush steals up my cheeks, “What?” I mutter, “You’re beginning to creep me out with the way you’re looking at me.”

“And what about the other thing?” He seems to hesitate, and I stare. First, he actually seemed regretful yesterday that he’d shagged me with the knife handle. And this morning? He’s being exceedingly polite and coming across as unsure? Wow.

“Karma?” he urges me. “You sure you’re okay?”

“If you mean are there any aftereffects of being fucked by the blunt end of a knife handle, then no.” I tip up my chin, “I am fine.” My pussy clenches. Except for that. My stupid cunt wants more, and ideally, it would rather he replace the knife with the bigger blade…the one that he wields between his legs, I mean. Argh, I didn’t just think that. My cheeks heat, and he arches an eyebrow. He stares into my face a while longer, then nods.

Just then, Cassandra arrives, this time with our breakfast. She places a large cup with what seems like a crunchy, frozen slushy in front of each of us. There is also a bowl of what looks like croissants between us, along with fresh fruit, muesli and a massive plate of fresh pastries. She places a small bowl of fresh-cut fruit before me, then adds the tiniest cups of espresso next to each of us. She leaves and I glance down at the frozen slushy in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“A granita,” he replies as he breaks off a piece of the croissant, dips it in the dark brown slushy, then brings it up to his mouth and closes his lips around it.

I can’t stop myself from flicking my tongue as I watch him crunch down on the ice, swallow, then reach for another piece of croissant.

He glances up and I flush, look away, then back to his mouth. Watch as he repeats the action, making a slight humming sound. My clit instantly throbs. Shit. How would it be to feel those vibrations against the most sensitive part of me? Why is it that everything he does seems to have a one-way connection to my pussy?Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

He looks up at me, then at my plate. “Eat,” he gestures.

“Can you pass me a croissant,” I murmur.

“It’s a brioche,” he corrects me.

“Oh,” I frown, “it looks like a croissant.”

“It’s similar, but different. This,” he offers me the plate of brioches and I take one, “is a soft sweet bread made using Marsala wine and honey. It’s uniquely Sicilian.”

I break off a piece of the brioche, dip it in the slushy, then pop the entire thing into my mouth. The complementary flavors of coffee and chocolate burst on my tongue. I chew, crunch down on a few pieces of ice and swallow. “Wow,” I breathe, then lick my lips, “what was that?”

He doesn’t take his gaze off of my mouth. “That was a traditional Sicilian breakfast,” he murmurs.

“I get that.” I scowl, “But what did you say the slushy thingy is called?”

“A granita.” He raises those deep blue eyes to mine, “The Arabs brought it with them. They called it Sarbut, the Brits call it Sherbet…. The Arabs left Sicily, but their influence in food and in architecture stayed on.”

“It’s yummy.” The heat of his gaze sinks into my blood. The tension between us ratchets up. My heart begins to beat hard in my chest. I swallow, reach for a piece of fruit and pop it in my mouth. The juicy sweet flavors burst in my mouth. “This orange is delicious.”

I pop another slice into my mouth, then jerk my chin in the direction of the fruit, “You’re not having any of it?”

He chuckles, “I hope not, considering I am allergic to them.”

I blink. “You’re allergic to oranges?”

He tilts his head. “Surprised?”

“You mean the big, bad alphahole actually has a weakness?” I lower my chin, “Yeah, I am surprised.”

“I am human, Beauty.” He smirks, “Though you can be forgiven for thinking otherwise.”

“Ha, ha.” I laugh without humor, then reach for my espresso. “You really have a big opinion about yourself, don’t you?”

“Nothing that’s not warranted.” His grin widens, “Eat up, Beauty, we have a packed day.”