Page 46 of Stolen Sin

He growls his delight and buries himself inside me.

Bliss and pain stagger down my spine. I laugh and tears fill my eyes as he slowly strokes in and out, letting me get used to his massive size. He talks dirty the whole time, whispering how good my tight pussy feels, telling me how badly he wants to fill me, over and over, to fuck all my wet holes, to come on every inch of my beautiful body. I try writhing my hips, grinding into him, and soon we’re fucking properly, fucking like it’s the last day of our lives. He licks sweat off my tits, sucks my nipples, strokes into me with a long, rough motion, and I’m taking all of him, stretched and spread and going crazy.

He pins my hands above my head. I’m his, completely his, and I’m so damn close I could scream as he kisses me hard and grinds himself deeper.

“I’ll give you whatever you want for as long as you want it, my beautiful wife. I’ll fuck you senseless. I’ll fuck you raw. I’ll make you bury your own fingers in your pussy as you suck my cock and swallow my cum. I’ll parade you through endless parties filled with the rich and famous, and all I’ll want to do is drag you somewhere dark and quiet and fuck you into submission. You’re mine, Emily. Your pussy is mine, your moans are all mine, and I need you now, baby. I need all of you.”

It kills me. That finally ends my suffering. I reach back and press my hands against the headboard as an orgasm burns through me, tunneling my vision and leaving my ears ringing with how fucking good it feels. I’m a mess and he doesn’t stop, fucking me through it, stiffening as my orgasm reaches its peak, and he fills me with his warmth, fills me to the brim, just like he promised.

Then we’re a sticky, gasping mess lying together on the covers. My leg wraps around his hips. He pulls me against him and kisses me, his eyes still roaming my body like he can’t help himself. The attention is intoxicating, and his cock is still half-hard and pulsing, like his heart’s hammering.

“I just want you to know something,” I say, not looking at him, because I’m afraid of how he’ll react now that we’re not mid-sex. “I meant what I said. And I don’t hate you.”

I close my eyes as his arms wrap tighter. “I meant what I said too,” he whispers, voice husky. “And maybe you should.”

Chapter 27

Simon

We tumble into each other for a few days after the funeral.

I keep thinking Emily will wake up, realize what she’s done, and run screaming. I’m the man who caused her friend to die. If I hadn’t attacked Santoro, none of this would’ve happened. And yet each morning, Emily wakes up, kisses me, and we spend the day together, fucking and cooking, laughing and drinking wine and fucking some more.

She’s grieving too. I catch her crying in the shower. I hold her while she stares wordlessly at the TV. She’s hurting, but she’s also coming into herself, like her friend’s death unlocked something inside her. There’s a new confidence, and I like it. She’s not afraid to ask for something she wants.

“On your knees,” she says one afternoon. She’s naked and glorious, her tanned skin glowing in the sunlight slanting through the living room windows.

I do as instructed. “What else, baby?”

“Mouth open. Tongue out. I’m going to ride your face until I come.” She approaches me, looking like sex incarnate, hips swaying as she walks. “And if you do anything but lick my clit and groan with approval, I’m not going to give you what you want.”

I stick out my tongue, happy to play along. And god, does she want to play. She comes for me over and over, her tasty pussy suddenly very eager now that our walls are crumbling down. I’ve never been this satisfied before in my entire life, but it’s like Emily’s finding new ways to make me happy as we explore each other.

Part of me is worried though. This began when she was near-catatonic with grief, and I’m waiting for her to suddenly wake up and realize what she’s been doing. All this filthy, wonderful fucking is great, but I don’t want her to feel like it only happened because she was extremely emotional.

And I don’t want her to decide that I’m the cause of all her problems.

I get four great days. Four days of being with her, learning about her, talking with her, fucking her, cooking for her, and basically getting to be a person in a way I haven’t in a long time. I’m not Simon, heir to the Bianco Crime Family—I’m Simon, Emily’s husband, and that feels good.

Until my father summons me to his office early on the morning of the fifth day. I kiss Emily goodbye, tell her to stay in bed, promise I’ll be back soon, and meet with Davide out on the street. We walk over to my father’s house together.

“Been hearing lots of rumblings on the street,” my brother grunts as we take our time. “Santoro’s planning something.”

“You don’t think he’s done?” I tilt my head because of course he isn’t. Santoro can’t stop until the Bianco Famiglia is destroyed. There’s too much history between him and my father, too much violence and blood. There will be more.

“We both know he isn’t. The real question is whether Dad’s going to do anything about it.” Davide stops at the stoop and looks up at the door. “He’s been holed up in there for the last couple days cutting deals.”

I feel numb as I follow his gaze. “With who?” I manage to ask, and I’m afraid of the answer. While I’ve been busy having fun fucking my wife and feeling good, Dad’s been out here making plans without me. I should’ve been on the streets with my brother taking the temperature off the Famiglia and planning my next move.

Instead, I’m infatuated and distracted. I knew this would happen, and now it’s happening, and I can’t stop it. Because the sick thing is, I would go back to my house right now and fall into bed with Emily, the Famiglia be damned.

“Rumors are all over the place.” Davide pins me with a hard look. “We need you right now.”

I head inside with those parting words. I find my father sitting behind his desk, looking drained and exhausted. He’s pale and thin, and it breaks my heart seeing him like this. Gone is the big, hale, outgoing man who raised me and my siblings, replaced by this bitter wreckage of a human.

We pretend like nothing’s wrong as I greet him and take a seat. He updates me on the usual Famiglia business, like this is a normal meeting, and I act like that’s what I expected. But the unspoken tension is still thick between us.

“That wife of yours.” Dad’s studying some papers on the desk in front of him. “You’re still serious about this?”

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