Page 57 of Married to the Mafia Devil

As the evening winds down, our little group lingers over coffee and the last slices of birthday cake. The restaurant has grown quieter, the earlier bustle fading into a gentle hum of distant conversations and the clinking of dishes being cleared. Ava, exhausted from the excitement, has fallen asleep in her father’s arms, her tiny chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

Pamela, ever the thoughtful one, sets down her cup with a soft clink. “You know, looking around this table... it really makes you think about where we all started, doesn't it?” She gestures around at all of us, her expression warm.

Alex nods, his demeanor softer than his usual stoic appearance. “It's been quite the journey. Ups, downs... but here we all are. Stronger for it.”

Amelia, whose laughter has been a constant soundtrack to the evening, smiles softly. “I was just thinking about that. How much we’ve all changed. I mean, look at us. Celebrating together, supporting each other through everything. It’s like out of one of those feel-good movies. Emma, you haven’t once tried to straighten up the cutlery.”

As she’s talking, my hand is on the knife. I pull it away and give her a grin. “Just checking something,” I say with a wink.

Matteo shifts Ava slightly in his arms, gazing down at her with a tender smile before looking up at me. “I used to think that holding everything tightly, controlling every outcome, was the only way to protect myself, to protect us. But I was wrong. It’s this,” he gestures around the table, “family, our friends, being open and vulnerable—that’s what gives me real strength.”

Alex coughs. “That was pretty cheesy, boss.”

“Don’t care,” Matteo replies.

Amelia raises her glass again, this time with a reflective tilt. “To love, then. To its power to transform, to heal, and to triumph.”

We all raise our glasses in agreement, the clink echoing softly in the now quiet space. Ava sleeps on peacefully, oblivious to it all.

TWENTY-SIX

Matteo

“Matteo, do you remember what you promised me on our first anniversary?” Emma's voice is teasing, her eyes sparkling with mischief and memory.

“How could I forget?” I reply, my heart swelling with affection for this incredible woman who has become my entire world. “I promised you that I would always be here to remind you of how strong and brave you are. If you thought you weren’t good enough for the counseling course, I’d remind you that you are good enough to get through it.”

“What if the reminder needs to be a bit firmer than usual?” She laughs, the sound bright and freeing.

“Then as your husband, I must fulfill my role.”

“Well, I think I might need a little firm reminder tonight,” she says, turning to present herself to me, the fabric of her dress hugging her curves enticingly. She looks over her shoulder, her expression one of absolute trust and love. “I've been a bit naughty today, haven't I? Not wearing any panties on the ride home. What must you think of me?”

I step closer, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her back against my chest. “Appalled,” I murmur into her ear, my free hand tracing the line of her jaw gently. “Leaving those dirty notes back here where anyone could have found them. What if someone had seen?”

“But you liked finding them, didn't you?” She tilts her head to give me better access to her neck, where I place soft kisses.

“Immensely,” I confess, my hand sliding from her waist to lift the hem of her dress slowly. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be held accountable for your mischiefs.”

With a fluid motion, I guide her down across my lap on the bed. The position is familiar, one that we’ve embraced often in our playful exchanges. I position her comfortably, ensuring she feels secure and cherished even in her vulnerability.

“Are you ready, love?” I ask, my tone both commanding and caring, the balance we’ve perfected over our years together.

“Yes, Matteo. I trust you,” she responds earnestly, her voice laced with anticipation.

My hand rests on her back, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing before I raise her dress and bring my hand down in a spank that echoes loudly. She gasps, out of pain but also surprise at the sensation.

“Still as slutty as when I met you,” I say, delivering another careful spank, calibrated to communicate my point without causing too much pain. “Still as breathtakingly beautiful.”

With each firm spank, her body visibly relaxes as a sign of her complete trust in me. The sound of our shared laughter echoes through the room, blending seamlessly with the rhythmic clapping of my palm against her skin.

She tilts her head back, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the tension drains from her body. I continue the spanking, each strike met with a gasp or a moan of pleasure.

The familiar sting on her skin causes her to quiver, her arousal palpable as our intimacy deepens. My hand slides across her tender flesh, tracing the pattern of my spanking, leaving an imprint of our shared desire.

I can no longer resist the pull of her body, the need for more. I lower myself between her legs, my tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of her arousal. She moans in response, her body arching into mine as I lick and tease her sensitive flesh.

With each thrust of my tongue, she becomes more sensitive, her moans growing louder. I slip a finger inside of her, feeling the warmth and wetness that surrounds me. She gasps, her body bucking against my hand. I slide another finger in, filling her completely.

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