Page 22 of Mafia Princess

I almost regret telling him my obsession with that mafia movie. Every chance he gets, he likes to indirectly tease me about it by calling me baby girl. “Stop it.” I try to swat him away.

His eyes are molten with wicked desire. “Now.” The lust in his voice has me obeying him without any further objections.

I step my legs apart for him and he spreads me wide blowing on my clit. The sweetest ache spreads through me and I grip the edge of the bench for support.

I bite down on my lower lip when his tongue licks my opening. His wicked mouth wraps around my clit, sucking it in a slow rhythm. He circles and nips as his two fingers enter me, heightening my pleasure. My head lolls back, and I press my ass against the bench for support. My legs start to shake with the building pressure.

I moan his name as his stubble brushes over my most sensitive part. The dragging of his teeth has me nearly buckle, the sensation rippling through me like waves in the ocean. I can feel myself crashing into his mouth, grinding against him to find the release.

“Holy fuck,” I choke as my orgasm rips through me like red hot lava. Luca’s hands grip my upper thighs to support my weight. My heart races in my chest, and I glance down at him, his satisfied grin staring back at me.

“That was the fastest you’ve ever come. You like the thought of someone watching.” He slides a finger back into me as I quiver and quake, barely able to hold myself up. “I love when you pulsate around me.” He pulls his finger out and sucks off my wetness.

My body aches from the beating earlier but it also hums with released pleasure. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think a guy wearing a Barbie apron would get me off.” I run my hands through his hair, grab a handful, and pull him up so he’s pressed against me.

“I can wear it next time too, if it turns you on.” He presses his hardness into my stomach making me wince. “Shit, I forgot.” He eases away from me.

“It’s probably better this way. It might stop us from fucking each other’s brains out for a few days. I mean, I’d hate to see you turned into mincemeat for my babies.”

“Mincemeat?” He raises an eyebrow. “Let him fucking try,” he growls into my mouth.

NINE

Maya

I don’t believe in karma. I believe in payment.

Payment for one's sins. Send me to a confessional, and I too would burn for my sins. But I seek justice for wrongdoings. I don’t merely kill for the fun of it. I plan and execute, killing each victim with precision. Starting with the least involved and hoping the last one standing will feel the full brunt of my wrath.

I glance at my phone screen. Six a.m. I haven’t slept all night, tossing and turning, hoping the morning would slide away and never appear. I think about my soon-to-be fiancé and his threat. I can sense there’s more to him than his broody smirk and dangerous reputation. Not everyone with a dark past is pure evil. We all have our flaws, and I am yet to meet his.

I don’t care if they are weaved with lies and deception. I will uncover him and bring him to his knees.

My limbs are aching and heavy from both a sleepless night and my recent visit from a certain bunch of Irish thugs. I stretch and grab my book, savoring the perfect moment to stay in bed and read the morning away. After a few chapters, I’m busting to pee, so I sit up on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms and legs out before heading into the bathroom.

My papa summoned us late last night, and like the good children we are, Mason and I obeyed his wishes again. I hear the loud snore of Midnight; she always snores in the most unladylike manner. Storm, on the other hand, likes to fart and then prance away like it never happened. Luckily, I love them. I emerge from the bathroom, trying not to wake my babies when Storm lifts her head to look at me. “Go back to sleep. It’s way too early,” I tell her, and as though she agrees, she lays her head back on her pink fluffy bed and goes back to sleep.

Wrapping my dressing gown around me, I bound down the stairs to make coffee. I can already smell the scent of freshly baked bread wafting up the staircase, and my stomach rumbles in appreciation. I skip off the last step and head over to the kitchen where I know Vana will be busying herself.

“Did you bake extra?” I walk right up to her and give her a tight squeeze. She feels like long-lost childhood memories.

“What happened to your face?” She pulls back and takes my chin in her warm fingers.

“You know.” I roll my eyes at her. “First rule of fight club and all that shit.”

“Language.” she tsks. “Sit and I’ll make you a coffee and cut you a slice of brioche.” Vana points to the chair at the end of the island bench.

I watch her happily make the coffee as I hear the echo of my papa’s footsteps approaching.

“Maya,” he says my name with a hint of surprise as he rounds the island bench and kisses me on the cheek.

“Papa,” I squeeze his arm and watch him examine my face.

“Who did this to you?” His eyes grow dark. He always looks like a true mobster when he’s angry.

“No one you need to worry about. I have it handled.” I smile at him hoping my words appease him.

“If they cause you any more trouble. I’ll have them dealt with.” He grabs his freshly made coffee and leaves for his office.

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