Page 56 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
And I do; I stop holding it in and cry into the mattress, milking his cock of every drop.
My vision sways, and darkness creeps in from the sides.
He pulls out of me and rolls me over. He kisses me, and I taste his sweat, the heat of his breath, and I drink it all in.
“You’re mine, Delilah,” he repeats. “I own you.”
“I know,” I say, our foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breath.
I never expected to be owned, but I am in every single way. My life is his.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Fifteen
Carmine
It’s been five weeks of the same routine with Delilah. We get up, go to school, study, and have sex anywhere and everywhere. I’m able to lie her down or pin her against a wall. Anywhere with a fucking surface, I’m sinking my cock into her tight pussy.
It’s more than wanting a child now. It’s more than me wanting an heir, but I need to get her pregnant. I need to. I want to breed with her every morning and every night, her pussy filled to the brim with my come, so the only choice her womb has is to open up and let me in.
I thought that when I came up with the idea of having her marry me and give birth to my child, love had nothing to do with it. It was about not being alone anymore and the child, well, I wanted a son or daughter to love me. It was the one love I knew I’d be able to have without question or fight. I don’t care what anyway says; love is important for humans to function.
But then Delilah surprised me left and right, carving her name into my heart.
I want more than what we agreed upon in the contract. I want a family. Our family. We can spend the rest of our lives happy and ruling this city. She’ll be a queen, a place she deserves to be since her father couldn’t put her there.
And I haven’t forgotten I told her I loved her five weeks ago. I haven’t said it again, and she hasn’t brought it up, but I’ve been waiting for her to ask if I meant it.
I did. I do.
I love her intensely. She’s more than my wife. She’s my fucking obsession, and if anyone dares to touch her, I’ll skin them alive and use their flesh as a rug under my feet.
The thought of someone touching her has a blind, murderous rage burning inside me. I don’t regret killing Romano’s men. I hope he took the bodies being dropped in his territory as the only warning he’ll ever get. Ryan has been forthcoming about everything regarding my enemy, and with the life he has endured with Romano, it’s my job to protect him now. And when Ryan told me about Romano’s plan to kidnap my Delilah?
It sends me in an untamed fury. Only she can bring me down.
“Are you ready for your exam today?” I ask her, buttoning the tailormade shirt while she throws her hair into a messy bun.
She’s very casual compared to my expensive suits, and I love that. I love those tight leggings and baggy sweatshirts. I know what’s hiding under there, and it brings me satisfaction knowing no one else can see the curves of her body. They belong to me anyway.
“Yeah, I hope everything is okay with the professor. To cancel an exam and leave for weeks due to a family emergency couldn’t have been good. I know his mom was sick for a long time, so I wonder if she passed. That’s sad. I hope it isn’t the case.”
“You’re sweet.” I kiss her cheek, inhaling the sweetness of her skin. “But death is a process of life.”
“I know that,” she sighs, gripping the counter with two hands. “Is that how you’d feel if I died? You’d be that nonchalant about it because death is a part of life, so there’s no reason to be sad?”
“Don’t ever talk about yourself dying. It’s unacceptable, Delilah. I won’t hear of it.” I tuck my shirt in my pants and walk out of the room because I don’t want to hear more of that nonsense.
“So, someone else dying isn’t a big deal to you, but me dying is? That makes no sense, Carmine.”
I spin around so fast; I surprise her and pin her against the wall near the bathroom door. I stare into her eyes so she can see how serious I am.
“Because I don’t give a fuck about anyone else. I don’t care about your professor’s mother. I don’t care about anyone other than you, Delilah. No one else. So yes, everyone else in this world could die, but not you. Not ever you. I feel no sympathy for your professor. I feel no empathy. I do not care about him. I do not care about her. You? You are the exception, Delilah. You have broken all my rules. The death of you would kill me.”
Her breaths are hot puffs against my face. Her palms are flat against the wall, one knee bent, and that damn sweater hangs off her shoulder showing the soft skin I want to mark as mine. With ravenous need, I tug her leggings down her thighs, then spin her around. Pressing a palm between her shoulders to keep her bent over, I use my other hand to unzip my pants and free myself.
“Carmine, what are you—Oh!”
