Page 6 of Mafia Star

I had three siblings until one of my older brothers died in combat. Now I have an older brother, and Chelle’s younger than me. Both drove me batshit bonkers when we were kids. They always called me the bossy one. Maybe. But I was also the one who got shit done and naturally led when we played. I also got us out of trouble more often than they ever did. I can wait him out.

I force myself not to wriggle. I want him to just say something to move this along. But it only takes a few minutes for me to realize he will never break first. That makes me think about how he has way more practice at this than I do. He’s used to getting people to do what he wants. He’s used to silent intimidation. I can and will hold out, but realizing why he has this skill dampens my mood. It doesn’t turn me off per se. It definitely doesn’t scare me— which it should. But it’s just reality forcing its way into what is otherwise a fantasy.

He doesn’t react outwardly, but I see something in his eyes when my mood shifts. He’s getting a lesson in my obstinance. Part of me wishes he would crack first, so I can get that punishment. I want it way more than I should. I provoked him because I want it. But it’s kicking me in the ass. And well he knows it. That’s why he’s doing this to control me rather than touching me. But one of us has to give, or else we’ll be like this until the club closes in five hours.

We watch each other for what must be another ten minutes before some sort of silent truce happens. The moment he stands, I speak.

“Giving up already?”

“Little one, they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. I heard your toast. You’re funny. They also say sarcasm is the protest of the weak. You’re clearly not that.”

I don’t expect him to latch on to my breast and suck so hard my back arches. His tongue swirls over my nipple as he keeps working my tit. The moment my head falls back, he releases me. My head drops forward, but I force myself not to utter any complaint. It’s the first truly sexual thing he’s done to me. I wasn’t sure he would do anything.

“You might have called me Daddy to throw my genuine term of affection back at me. But before tonight is over, you’re going to call me that for real. Not because you’re a little. You sure as shit are not that. You aren’t bratty. You’re openly defiant, so I think you’re into switching. I am not.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“But you haven’t done a thing to protest my control. You might not have obeyed me like you should have, but you aren’t asserting yourself either. You want me in charge. You want me to take care of your aching pussy. You want me to care about you coming someplace— probably for years —without a care for your safety. You assume everyone here always plays by the rules. You assume you can read people well enough to maintain control of any situation. But you aren’t truly a Domme any more than I’m truly a Dom. But those men who followed you tonight, they are. So, you will never call me Sir or Master. But you will call me Daddy.”

His fingers thrust into me without warning. Obviously, he knows I’m wet enough for them to go in with ease. My eyes slide shut, and it’s tortuous bliss having him stroke my g spot and rub my clit. I want to melt against him. This is the relief I sought with Jeffrey and Danny earlier this week and couldn’t find. It’s curing a restlessness I’ve never had before. A feeling those two guys never could have eased.

He releases my arms since he’s tall enough to reach the cuffs with ease. He places my right hand on his shoulder, then reaches up to release the left and place it on his other one. He takes a step back, drawing me with him. I have no choice but to brace myself against him since my ankles are still restrained.

“Piccolina, the things I want to do to you. So far, you’ve consented by not saying no. But I would hear it now. Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Something I never want to use with you.”

That tumbles from between my lips. I want something that is only his.

“Chimpanzee.”

I don’t know why that comes to mind, but I can’t imagine a reason for me to ever say that during sex unless it’s my safe word.

He tilts his head back, so I can see his face. He grins.

“I don’t know about that. I plan to have you wrapped around me like one.”

While I ride your dick?

I’m not asking that out loud. I shrug my right shoulder. I’m unprepared for his teeth to tug my earlobe.

“You have a habit of that little shrug, Beth. I enjoy it because it makes me want to spank you. Dismissive and defiant. If you want to do this, then I will punish you for it. But only because we’re roleplaying. In real life, I like it.”

Before I can say anything, he snares me for a kiss that blows my mind. It starts out cataclysmically and ends that way. The beginning is purely lust. But it shifts at some point. It’s still as passionate, but there’s some type of genuine emotion to it. It’s like kissing a boyfriend I’ve been with for months or even years. It feels completely natural to give myself over to it. It feels like I’m getting the same in return. He strokes my hair down my back. The way his hand rests on my ass is possessive but gentle. My hands roam over his back and through his hair. We’re entirely equals in this.

When we pull apart, our foreheads rest together. We’re both out of breath. He eases my arms from him, and I want to pull him back. But he squats to release my ankles. Then he’s carrying me like a fucking chimp back to the chair. He sits with me straddling his lap. He cradles my head as he massages my breast. We’re back to kissing, and this is purely vanilla.

This is way more disconcerting than winding up naked the third time I’ve met him. Way more disconcerting than his fingers in my pussy when he’s my sister’s brother-in-law. This feels like he cares. This feels like I care. The way he’s holding me feels— good obviously. But it feels— protective and possessive without being controlling. It makes me feel like I’m his for more than a one-night stand or one scene. It makes me feel safe and cared for. I’ve never felt this type of safe and cared for at a BDSM club.

I’ve felt safe with the men I scene with. They’ve cared for me afterward as one expects a top to. But this is so fucking deep. This isn’t we walk away and go our separate ways when we’re done. This is we’re a couple who came to play, and we’re going home to snuggle in bed afterward. At least, to me it is. Who the fuck knows what he’s thinking?

Chapter Three

Marco

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