Chapter 37

37

Aurora

What the hell? What is he up to? He sinks to his knees in between my legs and swipes his tongue up my pussy lips. A groan bleeds from my lips. That's so hot and so damn filthy. The fact that he'd stop mid-fuck and begin to eat me out is way too much for me to process. My brain cells seem to melt, all at the same time, as I give in to his ministrations. He hauls one knee over his shoulder, spreading me further, then he thrusts his tongue inside my channel, in, out, in. He squeezes my ass cheeks, and pain bursts across my already abraded skin. My pussy instantly spasms, and a groan rumbles up his chest. He slides his fingers between my ass cheeks and brushes against my puckered hole. I draw in a breath as he bites down on my clit, and shudders grip me. My fingers tingle, and I strain against the satin ribbon, which is surprisingly resilient. Goddamit, I want to touch him, want to dig my fingers in his hair and tug on it and hold on as he continues to eat me. Tremors slide down my back, and I squeeze down on his tongue; I throw my head back, knowing I am going to slide over the edge, and that's when he withdraws. Again. What the—! I snap my eyes open to find that he's rising to his feet. He grabs my leg, wraps it around his waist, then slides his fingers to my melting core. He scoops up the moisture and smears it across my back entrance.

"N-no," I stammer, "please no."

"You don't get a say in how I take you, Flower."

My heart begins to race, my pulse slams against my wrists, and my nipples tighten, even as my stomach ties itself in knots. "You're too big," I whimper.

"You can take it."

He slides his finger inside my back hole, then adds another. I grimace, even as my hips seem to rotate of their own accord, allowing him further access.

"Good girl." He bites on my lower lip with such force that I scowl.

"What the—" I begin to protest, and that's when he replaces his fingers with his cock. His big, thick, fat cock. He notches the head of his dick against my puckered hole and pushes in.

"Ow," I burst out. "It hurts, it hurts."

"Stop complaining," he says in a mild voice. "You know you want this, Flower."

My pussy clenches down, and a knowing smile curves his lips. He slides his hand between us and pinches my clit.

"Jesus…" I inhale as he lowers his head and bites my nipple.

"Oh god," I cry out as the trembling once again overwhelms me.

That's when he slips in another inch.

Sweat beads my forehead as I bite down on my lower lip. "I can't," I murmur, "I can't."

"You can," he says in a hard voice as he plays with my pussy lips. "Let me in, Flower. Now."

He places his forehead against mine as he slides into me further. Too much. Too full. He's impaled me, and it feels like I will never be the same again. My arms and legs tremble, and I almost lose my balance.

"Fuck," he growls. "You're so hot, so tight … so everything. You are going to kill me."

He reaches above and loosens the knot around my wrists, the ribbon gives way, and he hauls me to him. He winds both of my legs around his waist, and without pulling out of me, he walks over to the bed. He lowers me onto the mattress, follows me down, and begins to drill into me.

"Jesus," I moan as he thrusts into me again and again. He grinds the heel of his hand into my clit, and with the other, he pinches my nipple. A line of fire erupts from the point of contact, and all of my nerve endings seem to sizzle at once. I try to pull away, but he has me pinned down with his cock inside me.

He pulls out, then plunges forward, and the entire bed seems to move with the action. He releases my nipple long enough to grab my wrists and position them above me. He wraps my fingers around the headboard. "Hold on," he growls. Then he tilts his hips and pumps into me, hitting a spot deep inside of me that I never knew existed.

"Christian," I yell as my entire body bucks. I arch my back, pushing my breasts into his chest. "Christian, I'm going to?—"

"Come," he snaps, and I explode. The climax crashes over me as I squeeze down on his fingers and dick. I cry out, but he swallows the sound. I feel consumed by him, owned, possessed, claimed by this Mafioso, my fake husband-to-be, the man who knows my body, my fears, and my mind more intimately than anyone else.

He continues to thrust into me as the aftershocks grip me. His entire body goes solid, his muscles flex, his features take on an anguished look, and he comes with a hoarse cry. He shoots his cum inside me before he finally tears his mouth from mine. He pushes his forehead against mine and stays there as the tremors course down my body and his. He stays there holding my gaze for a beat, then another. When he pulls out, a whine slips from my lips.

I didn't like that. I didn't… Oh, who am I trying to convince? That climax was, by far, the most intense I have ever had with him. And now I feel empty and spent, and not sure what hit me. I glance down to find him shoving the cum that slips out back inside me.

Jesus, I shouldn't find that hot, but I do. How depraved am I really? On a scale of one to ten, right now, I am a hundred.

He reaches up to unwrap the ribbon from around my wrists. Then he hauls me up to a sitting position and yanks on the wool that's wrapped around me. He unwraps me slowly, like I'm a Christmas present that he's anticipated for so long that he can't wait to see what's inside; except, he's already been inside of me. He pulls off the yarn, tosses it aside, and takes a few minutes to peruse my body. Then, he throws himself down next to me. He pulls me down and tucks me close to him. "Sleep," he murmurs.

I close my eyes and drift off.

When I wake up, I'm alone in the bed. I throw off the cover he must have pulled over me before he left, roll off the bed, and pad toward the bathroom. My back hole twinges with every step. My nipples ache. My core clenches, and I'm reminded of just how empty I still feel.

I step under the shower and stand there until the water begins to run cool. Feeling more alert than I have in a long while, I dry myself with a towel, wrap it around me, and walk out to find my bathrobe laid out on the bed. Did he come here and lay it out earlier? I shrug into the bathrobe, then walk into the living room to find him on the settee. He has my shirt in his hands, and he seems to be stitching buttons onto it.

"Hold on a minute," I burst out. "Are you really?—"

"Mending your shirt?" He glances up at me. "I tore off the buttons, so I'm fixing it for you."

"Wow…" I blink rapidly. "Didn't think you could sew."

"I can knit too," he murmurs as he brings the thread to his mouth and uses his teeth to cut it off. He rises to his feet, then walks over to me. "Here," he holds out the shirt, "you should be able to wear it now."

"Did you say that you can knit?"

"Remember, you asked me what I do to destress?"

"You … knit?" I widen my gaze at him.

"I use yarn for my kink; it stands to reason that I respect it enough to learn how to use it in other ways too, right?"

"A sadist with a moral code."

"I wouldn't be a sadist if I didn't have one. After all, being a Dominant is no joke. It means being totally committed to your sub and ensuring that she lacks for nothing. And I couldn't do that if I didn't have a very strong sense of right and wrong."

"Oh…" I blink rapidly, not sure how to reply to that.

"Also, the knitting really does help me destress, not to mention, it helps me find my feminine side."

"Feminine side?" I look him up and down. "There's nothing feminine about you."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He thrusts the shirt at me, so I have no choice but to accept it. "Now, go change, so I can feed you."

Ten minutes later, we are back in the kitchen. This time I'm at the table, watching as he pulls out frozen vegetables and lasagna sheets.

"You sure you don't want me to cook?"

"I took your ass; the least I can do is cook for you."

I scowl. "Just don't go making it a habit," I mutter to myself, but of course, jerk face catches it.

"I'll take your ass when I want, how I want. And you'll deal with it."

"You don't expect me to agree to that, do you?"

"Sure, based on the way you were screaming through your orgasm earlier."

My cheeks redden. "Yeah, I climaxed; doesn't mean I have to like how I got there."

"Stop whining," he drawls. "You like the pain as much as the pleasure that accompanies it."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I know he's right, dammit. As much as the thought of anal still worries me, the way I climaxed around his dick… It was spectacular. And when he spanked me, it hurt… But hell, if it hadn't also aroused me. Does he know my body better than I do? Is that what this is about?

I lean my hip against the table. and watch as he pulls out a baking tray, then begins to layer the lasagna.

He catches me watching and winks at me. "Why don't you take a seat."

"Umm…" I redden. "No, thank you. I prefer to ah, stand."

"Is it because your ah, ass is sore?" He smirks.

"No, it's because I need the exercise."

"If you feel like you need more exercise, I could simply keep you in bed longer." My nipples tighten, and tendrils of pain vibrate out from where the shirt I pulled on slithers across the already sensitive skin. Bet that's why he mended the shirt and asked me to wear it—just so it would remind me of how he touched me and made me come earlier.

When I don't reply, his grin widens. Asshole! I take a seat, my arse protests, but actually the pain is not as bad as I expected. "There," I murmur, "happy?"

"Hmm…" His brow furrows. "Clearly, I haven't fucked you enough if you can actually sit down."

"What the—" I throw up my hands. "There's no winning with you, is there?"

"Relax." He chuckles. "I was only teasing you."

A likely story.

He turns back to his cooking. When the sauce begins to boil in the saucepan, he tastes it and makes a humming sound.

"Thought you said you prefer not to cook?"

"Doesn't mean I can't cook." He smirks over his shoulder. "Just don't expect me to do it often. And while you're at it, why don't you pour us some wine?"

All said and done, dinner is a relaxed affair… Well, except for the constant hum of sexual tension between us, which never goes away. If anything, the fact that he knows my body so intimately only turns the act of his eating and drinking the wine into one long anticipation of what's going to come next. We do the dishes together, him cleaning the dishes, me drying them. Then we retire to the living room. He pokes at the fire, and when it's roaring to his satisfaction, he picks up the book he had been reading while I choose a different one from the shelf.

"Do all you Sovranos like to read; is that why there's such an extensive collection?" I nod toward the shelves of books that occupy an entire wall.

"Another thing we all have in common," he admits. "A love for the written word. We get that from our mother. She insisted on reading us a bedtime story each night, and sometimes a different one for each of us."

"Tell me about her." I fold my legs up under me.

"She was delicate and tiny." He glances into the fire. "And she was relatively young when she had us. Looking at her, you'd find it difficult to imagine that me and my brothers had come from her."

"You loved her?"

"We all did. And our father? Well, he never did take good care of her. When he wasn't physically abusing us, he took out his frustrations on her. If only I had been old enough to do something about it. If only I could have protected her from him."

"But you guys were so young. You must have been only a child when she died."

"Old enough to know that I should have done more to help her. I was too busy trying to protect Xander from our father's emotional and physical abuse. A part of me knew, even then, that our mother was bearing the brunt of it, but I didn't do anything to help her.

"Your brothers are older than you. Surely, it fell to them to help her?"

"We all had equal responsibility toward it, and I would never pass off my burden onto them."

"Of course, you wouldn't." I lean forward. "You are strong, brave, and have an ego that would never allow anyone else to bear your burdens."

"You say that like it's a crime." He chuckles.

"Not a crime, but sometimes, it's healthy to share what's on your mind so others can try to help you."

"You mean, you want me to do the emo shit and spill my guts to you?"

"That would be a start, yes."

"You do realize that I've told you more about myself than anyone else?"

"Is that good or bad?" I hold his gaze.

"It's ... different," he concedes, "and dangerous."

"For whom?"

"For you." His lips twist. "You don't want me falling for you, Flower."

"Oh?" I swallow. "And why is that?"

"Because once I set my sights on you, I won't stop until I own you, possess you, ravish you... Until I make you mine."

Mine. Mine. Mine.

His voice echoes in my ears. After that very hot, very possessive statement, Christian rose to his feet, donned his coat and boots, and said he was going to get more wood for the fire. He ambled outside, leaving me completely shaken.

God knows why. It's not like I don't know about his caveman tendencies. Hell, since the day I met him, it was clear to me that Christian is an alpha male, and not just an ordinary alpha male. He is an ultra-controlling, ultra-protective sadist with a touch of pervert thrown into the mix. The way he enjoyed my pain and was turned on by it, then made sure he turned me on with the pleasure that followed the pain, the way he held me close after he fucked me and made me orgasm, then tucked me into his side and lulled me to sleep…

All of it is confusing, and I admit, very appealing. Wonder what that says about me, hmm? I rise to my feet and walk to the window. Outside, the world is completely white. The moonlight shimmers off of the snow, and everything appears eerily bright. It's also stopped snowing.

Which means it won't be long before we are out of here. And how will things change? Will he go back to being obnoxious? Will the parts of him that I have uncovered mean that I'll understand him better? Will the intimacy that has sprung up between us survive? Will I feel the same when he decides to go all filthy on me again and tie me up and fuck me as he did today?

My cheeks heat. Why do I enjoy it so much? I never thought of myself as a submissive, or indeed, as someone who'd enjoy kink, but the last few days have convinced me otherwise. My core trembles. I squeeze my thighs together, then press my forehead to the windowpane.

That's when a face appears in front of me.

I scream.

Christian

I've just stepped into the house and shut the backdoor when her scream rips through the house. My heart slams against my ribcage so hard that I'm sure it's going to burst out of my chest. I drop the logs I've gathered and lunge forward through the hallway into the living room. I race across the floor and reach her, just as she turns to me. Her features are pale, her green eyes dilated with fear.

"What's wrong?" I grip her shoulders. "Why did you scream?"

"The-there was…" Her chin trembles. "There was … someone outside."

I glance past her and see nothing except the snow-covered ground and the trees in the distance; their branches bent under the weight of the snow they are carrying.

"Are you sure?"

"Y-yes!" She shudders. "He was … right there… And when I screamed, he turned and ran."

I glance at the scene outside again, then turn to leave.

"Where are you going?" She grabs hold of my arm. "Don't go out there, please don't."

"I need to go and check who is there, Flower."

"No!" She clings to me. "Please don't leave me and go out there. Please, Christian, not now."

"I can't let whoever it is get away; if he is a threat of some kind, then I need to neutralize him."

"No, no, no!" She throws herself at my chest. "Don't leave me alone. Besides, whoever was there is long gone. And the snow has stopped. So, we should be able to return to the other's tomorrow, or they may even find us, and you can use their help to find out who was here. Please don't go out there on your own; I beg you. If something were to happen to you, I wouldn't be able to live with it, please."

I take in her features, her heightened breathing, the way she stares up anxiously at me even as she wraps her arms about my waist and presses herself so tightly against me that I can feel every single curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the hollow between her legs... Every luscious part of her is as if stamped into my skin.

I hesitate, and she rises up to her tiptoes and presses her lips against my throat, "Please, don't go. Please tie me up instead, and fuck me again."

A-n-d, my dick instantly thickens. Fuck. Not that I haven't been inside her so many times already, but to take her again, to tie her up for my delectation and bury myself in her sweet heat versus traipsing outside for an intruder who is likely already gone? Yeah, no contest. "Okay," I murmur.

Ten minutes later, we return to the living room. I ensured that the house was secure, and she followed me as I made the rounds. I locked the back door, then tested each of the windows in the house to make sure that they were shuttered and bolted, before locking the front door. Walking to the bar, I pour myself a glass of whiskey. "What would you like to drink?" I turn to her.

She glances around the bar, and her gaze alights on a bottle of chocolate liqueur. I reach for it, but she shakes her head. "No, I'm good. Maybe some water?"

"Nonsense, we're still in the Christmas celebratory mood; why don't you have the liqueur?" I snatch up the bottle and pour out the drink for her.

"No"—she holds up her hand—"really, I'm good."

"I've already poured it out."

"I don't want it."

"Why don't you have it, when you so clearly do want it?"

"Just because I want it doesn't mean I should have it."

"It's precisely because you want it that you should definitely have it." I hold out the glass to her.

"No, no, no." She takes a step back.

"Why not?" I frown. "It's only a glass of liqueur."

"Easy for you to say that," she scoffs.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've never had to watch your weight, have you? Measure every ounce of calorie that goes inside your mouth. Then weigh yourself to see how it has affected you? You don't know how it feels to have those same calories stick to your thighs."

"Gorgeous thighs," I murmur.

Her cheeks flush. "And if you are like me, also to your boobs."

"Spectacular tits."

"Don't make fun of me."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I absolutely worship your breasts, and as for your thighs?" I place my glass on the counter, then sink down to my knees in front of her.

"What are you—" she begins to protest as I run my hands up the backs of both of her jeans-enclosed thighs, then kiss her one thigh, then the other. "I adore your thighs." I straighten, then press my face into her stomach. "I love your curves." I press small kisses up her waist as I rise to my feet. Then kiss each breast in turn before I press my lips to her throat, then her chin, until finally, I place my lips close to hers. "I completely and utterly adore the way you look, Flower, you must know that."

"And yet you said?—"

"I was an ass, a complete stronzo , no, a testa di cazzo , to have said what I did. I said it in anger, and I am sorry. I am really very sorry for having upset you. I didn't mean it; I promise." I take her hands in mine, then kiss the tops of her palms. "I have never been attracted to anyone the way I am to you." I kiss the tips of her fingers. "I have never wanted to tie anyone else up the way I want to tie you; never wanted to fuck anyone as much as I want to fuck you."

"Thanks, I guess?" she mutters.

"I have never wanted to…" I swallow, "never wanted to be with anyone the way I want to be with you. When I'm not with you even for a second, I miss you."

"Oh." She blinks rapidly. "What are you trying to say, Christian?"

"That part of your charm is that you are so confident in who you are, what you are, that it's not just how you look physically, but what you are inside. Your big heart that was so moved by Karma's distress when Michael took her, that you put your life and that of your family on the line to help her escape; your selflessness which led you to train as a doctor so you could help other people. Your generosity of spirit which allows you to give yourself up to me every time I tie you up and take you, that allows you to submit?—"

"I didn't submit," she protests.

"Oh, you did." I laugh.

"No, I didn't. I?—"

I place my fingers over her lips. "Let me finish complimenting you, woman."

"Ah…" She purses her lips but finally subsides. Thank fuck.

"As I was saying, whether you think you submitted to me or not, your body bent to me beautifully. You had me in your power; you know that, don't you, Flower?"

"Me?" She laughs. "I had you in my power?"

"Absolutely, utterly, completely. You allowed yourself to bend to me. You showed me just how it felt to have control over you. To inflict pain on you, to watch you squirm under my ministrations. To bring you to the height of passion. To push you over the edge and see you fall apart. You addicted me to the sensation of watching you yield to me. You made me realize I've never felt this free with anyone else. You set me free, Flower, and now I'm hooked."

"You … you are?" She swallows.

I peer into her eyes. "In every sense of the word."

"I … I'm not sure what to say."

"You don't need to say anything."

She draws in a breath. "Okay."

"Okay." I curve my lips.

"That was not what I was expecting to hear."

"You and me both." I laugh, and the sound comes out uncertain. Me, the consigliere to the Cosa Nostra , uncertain? Me, the kinky, perverted asshole who vowed never to sleep with a woman more than once, wooing this curvy, exquisite force of nature with words? Whoa, what the hell is happening to me?

"Now what?" She licks her lips, and I lower my gaze to her mouth.

"Now," I lower my face to hers until our breaths mingle, "we make love."