Page 27 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

A silence stretches out between us. I have been hoping that my cock will settle down, but I’m still hard as steel. I’m starting to be so distracted by my discomfort that I can’t think straight.

I shift in the chair and I see a tiny smile tuck itself into the corner of her mouth. She knows that I’m uncomfortable and she is enjoying it.

“You still want me,” she says, naming the elephant in the room.

I gesture toward my crotch. “Against all common sense, yes.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Surely you have been able to find many other women who are willing to warm your bed since I left,” she tells me.

I look down for a moment, unwilling to take the chance that she might see my true feelings. I don’t need her to know that I am still hopelessly besotted with her.

She has enough power over me in the situation already without adding knowledge of my weakness to the mix.

“You slept with Marco,” I counter. “But that doesn’t mean that all of us in this room are unfaithful.”

She sets her jaw a little at my words. “I did what I had to do,” she says.

That’s neither an admission nor a denial, and I feel a sharp tug of anger in my chest. I hate the thought of Marco fucking her. I’ve never liked him, and I resent the idea that she could have found comfort in his arms after being with me.

“You’ve grown careful with your words,” I say to her. “I miss your honesty.”

She snorts at this. “No, you don’t. If you had valued honesty, you would have regarded me as a real person, not a pawn in your never-ending scheming. You don’t want to know what I think or what I have done to survive since the day I ran away. You only care about getting your way and your trade deals.”

“We were betrothed,” I say stubbornly, hating how churlish I sounded.

“Look around you, Elio!” she spits out. “It’s not the 1800s. Betrothals aren’t even a real thing in civilized society anymore. Besides, it’s not like the ‘betrothal’ that you keep nattering on about mattered when it came down to treating me with respect.”

“You didn’t even have the courtesy to be faithful to me!” I shout, giving in to my rage for a brief moment.

I feel my hands shaking, and I press them into the arms of the chair to stop them from vibrating with the force of my rage. I see her shrink back for a moment at my sudden outburst, only to surge forward again, meeting my anger with her own.

“You don’t even know what you did wrong, you arrogant bastard!” she cries, coming closer to me. “You never once thought of me as anything but a toy. I was convenient for fucking and taking out in public to show the world the size of your dick. You don’t give a shit about me or our son!”

I surge to my feet and wrap a hand around her throat. My fingers are shaking so badly that I can’t apply much pressure.

She leans into my grip, as weak as it is, and I slam my mouth onto hers with so much force that I taste blood in my mouth.

The kiss feels like rage given physical form, both of us clawing and struggling with one another as we try to dominate the other person through intimacy. I had always fucked her roughly in the past.

She had loved being treated harshly and had melted under my stinging slaps and aggression for years.

However, this is not just rough sex play. This grappling of limbs and teeth and lips feels like the meeting of two elemental forces caught up in the desire to destroy the other.

I press her backward until our legs run into the bed and we collapse in a heap on top of the neat comforter.

“I missed you,” I admit to her breathlessly, pressing nipping kisses to the column of her throat.

She twists under me, her pelvis grinding against my straining dick. I growl and press against her, driving her into the mattress and pinning her beneath me.

“Lies,” she says harshly to me, delivering a stinging bite to my lower lip as she struggles to get free of my weight. “You’ve never been willing to tell me the truth. It’s always been lies and more lies.”

“There are no lies in this,” I tell her, pressing my hips into hers. “There is no one else I have trusted with this kind of intimacy. Why doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Men always confuse sex with intimacy,” she says to me, but then she moans as I yank her t-shirt down and suck her nipple into my mouth.

Something about her words breaks through the haze of desire raging through me.

I press away from her, looking down at her. Her hair is a dark messy halo around her head and the nipple that I had been playing with is dusky from being sucked and bitten.

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