Page 33 of Captive Mafia Wife

The word dessert grabs my attention enough to stop my monologue. “Huh?”

Now his hand is on my waist, slipping over the silk, heat and control where there was nothing. My usual stilettos were traded for ballet slippers; he’s much taller than me as he stares down at my face. “Do you agree to dessert?”

Is this a trick question? Who wouldn’t agree to dessert?

I’m trying to figure out how to answer him. I live for sweets, but the question is part of his game. There’s no way he’s got one of those uniformed women hiding behind the Chinese dressing screen, ready to roll out a cart of cake slices from Sugar Rush on Byres Street.

Does he?

I do adore wedding cake.

Before I can decide what to say, he’s wrapping his body around mine, his arms encircling me, his warm hands pressing against my bare back. “I have a treat in mind.”

“Is it chocolate?” I ask.

“No.”

“More evidence you’re trying to marry the wrong woman,” I say.

“You don’t want to know what I have in mind?” A smoldering grin covers his face as he glances down at my very pert nipples in the gown.

“I’m not sure I do.”

His hands run down the sides of my body, and I do nothing to stop them. He drops to one knee, staring up at me as if to propose. “I’m having a craving,” he says, gently moving the tulle of my skirt away from my body. “For my dessert.”

Before I can blink, the man is buried under the many gauzy layers of the wedding dress, his hands stroking my bare legs, grazing up my thighs, and hooking into the waistband of the white silk thong I wear. He drags the material down my legs, dropping them around my ankles.

My hands don’t know what to do as I sputter in shock. “What—what are you trying to do?” I feel hot breath on the bare skin of my smooth pussy, strong hands wrapping around the backs of my thighs.

“Oh. God. Oh my God.” The slick heat of his tongue darts out, licking my pussy, the soft tip wriggling and tickling my clit. A tight little orgasm immediately breaks free from me as my body gives an involuntary, hard shudder.

“I want something else from you. For making me cancel our beautiful wedding.” He’s angry, frustrated, and tired of getting me off while being left hard and cold. “The gown isn’t enough.”

He wants to own me, control me, dominate me. And he wants my pretty lips wrapped around his cock. Proving my point, he stands up and backs away, his hand going to the buckle of his belt.

“Careful what you wish for,” I say.

“Why? Do you bite as well as bark?”

“Are you calling me a dog?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, only warning you.”

“Warning me about your fellatio?” he snaps. “Are you that bad at it?”

“No. I’m that good.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares, the look in his gaze turning to pure hunger.

“Once you’ve had my mouth wrapped around your cock, you won’t be able to think of anything else.”

He swallows a tight lump in his throat. “I’ll take my chances.”

I’m not shitting him. Islander girls are known for being good girls, maintaining their precious virginity as long as possible, but we still love our men. I may be inexperienced in other areas, but I’m damn good at pleasing a man with my mouth.

Him being helpless under my seduction will be a welcome power exchange

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