Page 39 of Rescued By the Mafia

He snapped his hips into hers with a growl, then dropped one leg from his shoulder and rolled her onto her side. He held her other leg up high, driving himself so deep his balls bounced across her tender flesh. “That’s fucking right,” he said, grinding his dick into her until spots of white dotted her vision. “Never forget that. You are mine.” He pulled back all the way to the tip and surged in again.

She cried out, her body trying to bend and threatening to orgasm, but Dante eased back before she could fall all the way over. Instead, he stretched her out on her back again and this time laid himself over top of her, resting his weight on his forearms. Her legs lifted instinctively, hooking around him, and she let her arms do the same in a desperate bid to touch him.

He angled his head and started kissing her throat, driving into her body with slightly less force. He licked, nipped, and sucked his way up to the underside of her ear, and his breath was hot on her skin when he spoke again. “Own your power, Iris. Never bow your head again.”

Her breath stuttered and she clutched him tighter. “D-Dante…”

He rumbled, the vibration traveling from his chest to hers, and moved his arms to wedge both hands into her hair. He pulled just a little, letting it tingle at her scalp, and growled in her ear. “Let go. Come on my dick, Snapdragon.” He sank deep as he spoke, his hips grinding into her pelvis, and her body responded immediately.

Iris let loose a scream, her nails digging into Dante’s back as her body seemed to combust in a shower of sparkling heat. She’d absolutely never felt so good. Never felt like someone had reached inside and made love to her soul. It was beautiful.

Dante dropped his head to her shoulder and rocked with her, letting her body milk his length before sinking inside her one more time and following her over the edge. This time he came with a deep, strained groan, as if it were being ripped up from the depths of his being. He’d moved a hand to her hip, holding their bodies together while he emptied into her for the second time.

The feeling of his release pouring into her made her toes curl as another trail of pleasure washed through her. Iris slid her hand up his spine and into his hair. “Dante … thank you.”

twelve

Escalation

Chapter Twelve

There were things they needed to talk about. Two very specific things, in her opinion, but probably one was more important than the other. Iris understood that. The difficulty was, after sleeping like she hadn’t slept in years and waking up to Dante raining kisses on her shoulders, she was scared. Because she’d been stupid.

Marriage had already come up, arguably a couple of times. She had figured out pretty quickly he was attracted to her. She should have thought that through. She should have realized she needed to think about the subject she’d sworn never to let herself think about again. So much so, apparently, that she’d actually done a rather good job of putting it from her mind. And now she’d been stupid.

What if it was already too late? What if he didn’t want that? What if he did?

“Did your breakfast not settle well?” Dante asked. The sofa dipped beside her with his weight and his hand landed on her thigh, the heat of his touch barely obscured by the fabric of the dress she’d chosen.

Another dress. For the second day in a row, she’d chosen to wear a dress. She hadn’t worn a dress in close to three years—longer if she only considered the times she’d worn them by choice. And while it was true his mother had provided several dresses, she had also provided a reasonable assortment of pants, too. Iris could have made do in her usual attire of neck-to-ankle coverage long enough to shop for more. Yet she’d chosen to make a change.

She drew a breath and offered Dante a smile. The expression was easy, considering the affection that was building for him in her chest. “Breakfast was delicious.” He had a personal chef who was probably more talented than half the ones on television, how could it not be? “There’s just … something I realized I need to tell you.”

Dante frowned and opened his mouth, but distinct throat-clearing from the far hall opening cut off whatever he might have said. His expression darkened and he cut a glare to the intruding man in the standard black suit before looking back to Iris. “Hold that thought, honey.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, then straightened and faced the man Iris didn’t recognize. “What is it?”

It didn’t escape Iris’s attention that he didn’t bother standing, let alone walking away. He left his hand on her leg in a possessive grip and stayed exactly where he was, staring down a man she presumed to be one of his own. Somehow, the choice felt deliberate. It felt like … unity.

The word brought a silly smile to her lips that she had to bite back. She was definitely getting ahead of herself. She needed to watch and listen and not fall into a fantasy. She was the one who’d said she wanted to be included, after all.

The unfamiliar man inclined his head briefly. “Sorry, Boss. We just got word that those shithe—” He coughed roughly. “That punk gang calling themselves the Ink Blots have, ah, replied to your message.”

Dante blew out a breath. “Be more specific if you’re going to bring me something.”

The man pulled his phone from a pocket and stepped forward, but seemed to hesitate holding it out. “It’s a video,” he said, as if cautioning. “A graphic video.”

Ah. He was trying to be sensitive for her sake. Iris moved a hand to Dante’s arm. “Would you like me to step out?” She wanted to be included, but not because she wanted to see all the nasty things. She wanted to be of value. She wanted him to consider not just her feelings, but her opinion. To say she wanted to be his partner seemed like an overreach so early in their relationship, but it also felt like a reasonable long-term goal, if they were truly aiming for marriage. So she at least wanted to be someone he knew he could depend on, and be open with. In the beginning, she suspected that would mean showing she could recognize when she was more of a hindrance.

Dante studied her for a moment in silence, then reached out and snatched the phone from his man’s hand. “No. You’re in this now. You can choose how much to see, how quickly, but I won’t hide it from you.”

She actually had to stop herself from kissing him for that. Instead, when he rotated the phone around for a better view, she leaned up against his arm. His hand slid a little more in between her legs, as if he were trying to push through the skirt of her dress.

When he pressed play, the room filled with obnoxious, cackling laughter and the tell-tale sound of gagged screaming. The image on screen blurred for a moment before focusing, displaying two men Iris couldn’t identify. But what mattered wasn’t that she didn’t know them. What mattered was that they were strung up by rope to some kind of crane, suspended over broken asphalt, gagged, and visibly bleeding. Neither man was struggling wildly, though every few seconds one of them did seem to shift as if testing their strength. They obviously knew they were being recorded, as they were glaring in the direction of the camera and trying to shout through the thick roll of fabric taped to their mouths. Their hair and clothes appeared odd, like they’d been soaked, and what Iris assumed to be water continued to drip from their shoes.

Iris felt her stomach roll as an old, unpleasant memory threatened.

The mocking laughter finally ebbed, and an accented voice drawled out, “You payin’ attention yet, Dragon? ‘Cause here’s the deal. From now on, every time you burn a Blot, you’re gonna lose two of your fuckin’ scales, ya hear me?” A subtle sound Iris couldn’t identify—in part because she was trying to follow the male-sounding speaker’s language—preceded a sudden burst of new, jarringly loud noise.

A heartbeat later the bound and hanging men started to jump and dance, as if their bodies were possessed and jerking in unnatural ways. Blood sprayed the air around them like visual accents, rapidly pooling on the asphalt below. To Iris’s abject horror, she realized whoever was filming was shooting at the defenseless men. There had to be multiple shooters, in fact. Then, after far too many seconds, a stray bullet severed the rope holding the men aloft and their bodies dropped in a sickening slump to the ground.

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