Page 138 of Dirty Mafia Torment
A shiver runs up my spine. The violence beneath the surface of this beautiful man always surprises me.
“Now let me say goodbye, properly.” He grabs my hand and tugs me along into the bathroom.
“What …”
His finger taps my lips. “Shhh…”
He turns on the shower and tests the temperature until it suits him, then hoists me to straddle his hips and steps beneath the stream of water.
With one quick bounce, I lift into the air.
When I drop, he’s inside me in one smooth thrust.
His pace is ferocious.
I love every flex, every upward drive.
We go at it, with me anchoring my thighs to his hips as leverage to lift, with his hands on my ass to keep me from falling.
He tears my top off with his teeth.
I laugh between moans.
His eyes pierce me. “Arch your back and let the water drip off your gorgeous breasts. Give me a repeat performance, dirty girl.”
Fingers curled against his shoulder for balance, I do as requested. Rewarded by the feel of his dick swelling inside me.
“I’ll never get enough of you, you know that, right?” he grinds out.
I giggle. “Right. That’s your dick talking.”
“Look at me.”
His firm tone causes me to still.
“I’m going to marry you.”
“What?” I gasp, completely thrown.
“Once this shit with Grassi is over, once that motherfucker who attacked you is dead, we’re getting married.”
I’m speechless, and blurt out the one question that comes to mind. “Why?”
“You trust me?”
“To marry me?”
So many memories, so much disappointment when he failed to follow through, so much anger that took years to release. Last night I told him I trusted him, yet here he is, asking again. Like my word is not enough, like my trust matters as much as my love.
I hated him for what he did. Hated his false promise, the way he backtracked, his endless excuses. He didn’t just break my faith; he stomped it into the ground.
He was different then. Wild, strung out, lost to addiction.
I understand that now.
When did I let trust slip back in? Was it his confession in the barn? His commitment to get clean? Addiction is not conquered witha snap of the fingers. He will need support, even now. He will need therapy. I think he knows that.
Do I want to be there for him?
