Page 491 of Rosetti Family New York
My cock throbs against my pants as I drive home from the family lunch, replaying every moment Carmela commanded that restaurant. The way she leaned forward when discussing the family business, making grown men with blood on their hands go quiet when she spoke. She didn't just participate in that lunch. She owned it.
The phantom pain in my wrists flares. But it fades as I focus on how she sat at that table, small and bright among killers, making them listen. Making themwantto protect her. Not because anyone ordered it, but because she earned their respect through pure fucking brilliance.
Mission parameters have changed. Primary objective is no longer survival. It's her. All of her.
Back at my apartment, I can't focus on the protection arrangements spread across my kitchen table. My phone buzzes with updates, but the words blur. Every time I try to read threat assessments, all I see is her handling Marco's questions like she'd been doing it her whole life.
That confidence. That natural authority wrapped in rainbows and designer clothes. My dick aches just thinking about stripping all that power away from her in my bed, making herremember that no matter how brilliantly she commands a room full of dangerous men, she still belongs to me.
I sweep the papers aside and head for my playroom. Tonight calls for complete possession.
In my sanctuary, I prepare the advanced restraints, silk-lined cuffs connected to the suspension system I rarely use. My cock throbs as I imagine her wrists in these cuffs, her body displayed for my use. The leather restraints we've used before served their purpose, but after watching her wield Rosetti authority like a weapon, I need to own her completely.
Carmela enters wearing the robe I left for her, and I can see her nipples hard against the silk. Her eyes are bright with curiosity rather than fear, and that confidence makes my need to dominate her even stronger.
"Strip," I command, my voice rougher than intended.
She lets the robe fall, and I drink in the sight of her naked body. Full breasts, the curve of her waist, the triangle of hair between her thighs that I plan to taste thoroughly tonight. My cock strains against my pants, demanding attention I'm not ready to give it.
"You handled yourself well today," I tell her, securing the first cuff around her wrist. Her skin is warm, pulse racing under my touch.
"You sound surprised."
I test the restraint, then move to her other wrist. "I am. Those men eat people alive."
Her smile has an edge that makes my cock ache. "Good thing I'm not most people." She tests the cuffs as I adjust the suspension system, positioning her arms overhead so her breasts are lifted, displayed perfectly for my mouth. "Did you think I'd crumble?"
"No." I step back to admire my work. Her body stretched and vulnerable, completely at my mercy. "But watching you navigate them, seeing how they looked at you…" I reach out to trace one fingertip around her nipple, not quite touching the peak. "All I could think about was getting you home and fucking you until you remember who owns this body."
She arches into my touch, seeking more pressure. "They're family."
"And you're mine." I pinch her nipple hard enough to make her gasp. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
The admission sends heat straight to my groin. I claim her mouth, kissing her hard enough to bruise, letting her taste the possession on my tongue. When I pull back, her lips are swollen and her breathing has quickened.
My hands map her body systematically. The soft underside of her breasts, the sensitive spot where her ribs meet her waist, the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She's already getting wet, and I haven't even properly started.
"Spread your legs," I order, and she complies immediately. The trust in her submission makes my chest tight with something beyond lust.
I move to the wall where my collection hangs in perfect order—leather floggers, whips, and crops displayed like weapons. My fingers trail over each one before selecting a leather flogger with multiple tails, each ending in a small knot designed to leave marks without breaking skin.
"Color?" I ask, letting her see my choice.
"Green," she answers without hesitation, her eyes darkening with anticipation.
I circle behind her, letting her feel my presence without seeing me. The anticipation is part of the game—her not knowing when the first strike will land. I test the flogger against my palm, the familiar sting centering me.
"You made quite an impression today," I tell her, bringing the flogger down across her upper back with a controlled snap. Not full force—a warm-up. "Everyone watching you."
She gasps at the contact, her body swaying slightly in the restraints. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous?"
I strike again, harder this time, watching red bloom across her shoulder blades. "Not jealous. Possessive. There's a difference."
The third strike lands across her ass, making her jerk forward with a moan that goes straight to my cock. I establish a rhythm,alternating between her back, ass, and thighs, watching her skin flush pink then red under my attention.
"Color?" I demand after a particularly hard strike.
