Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”Dante, don’t...”

”Your body is talking to me right now, Isabella,” he interrupted, his hand moving down between her legs. He pushed under her shirt, and his fingers found her clit directly. She hadn’t bothered with panties, hadn’t been bothering with much of anything since blocking his number. ”It’s telling me that you want this. That you want me. That nothing has changed between us.”

Isabella’s knees nearly buckled as he rubbed slow circles around her clit. Each touch sent electricity through her body, making her forget why she was so angry, making her forget the fact that he’d lied to her, used her, recorded her.

”Get out,” she whispered, but it came out like a plea. Like a prayer. Like the last defense of a woman who was losing the battle with her own body. ”Leave my apartment, Dante. Please. I don’t want you here.”

”You don’t want me here,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, his fingers never stopping their assault on her clit. ”But your body is telling me something very different, isn’t it? Your body is telling me that you’ve missed me. That you’ve been waiting for me. That you want my dick inside you more than you want your next breath.”

He pushed two fingers inside her without warning, and she gasped. Her hands came up to his chest, and she meant to push him away. Instead, she gripped his suit jacket and held on like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

”That’s right,” he said, working his fingers inside her with expert precision. He knew her body. Had mapped every sensitive nerve, every spot that made her lose her mind. ”Hold onto me. Tell me again that you don’t want this.”

She couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. All she could do was feel....the pressure of his fingers inside her, the circles he was making on her clit, the way his other hand was still gripping her breast.

”Dante,” she gasped, and it sounded like need.

”Say my name like that again,” he commanded. ”But this time, you’re going to say it while I’m fucking you.”

He stripped her out of her shirt like it was tissue paper.

One moment it was covering her body, and the next it was on the floor, forgotten. The gun was forgotten. The three days of radio silence were forgotten. There was only Dante, and his hands on her body, and the desperate need that she’d been trying to suppress for seventy-two hours.

He kissed her hard....possessive, brutal, tasting like rage and obsession and something darker than she wanted to acknowledge. She kissed him back because she couldn’t help it. Her hands moved across his chest, unbuttoning his shirt, and he let her undress him without breaking the kiss.

When his shirt was off, she could see his body....scarred from violence, muscled from years of fighting, branded by the life he lived. She ran her hands across his chest, and he growled against her mouth.

”You’re mine,” he said between kisses. ”You understand me? You will always be mine.”

”No,” she whispered, even as she was pulling him closer. ”I’m not yours, Dante. I’m....”

But he was already pushing her backward, his hands on her waist, his mouth moving down her neck. He bit her shoulder hard enough to mark, hard enough to leave evidence of what was about to happen.

They stumbled toward her bedroom, and she barely remember walking. All she could focus on was the feeling of his hands on her body, the way his mouth made her forget everything except the need to have him inside her.

He pushed her onto the bed and stood over her, removing his pants with controlled movements. His fourteen-inch cock sprang free, fully hard, dripping with pre-cum, standing at full attention like a weapon aimed directly at her.

Isabella looked at it and felt her pussy clench with anticipation. She’d missed him. Hated herself for missing him. But her body remembered. Remembered how it felt to be completely filled by him. Remembered the way he stretched her. Remembered the way he owned her.

”Dante,” she said, her voice shaking.

”Don’t,” he said, positioning himself between her spread legs. ”Don’t say another word. Just take it.”

He didn’t ease in slowly. Didn’t give her time to adjust even though her body had adjusted a thousand times. Just drove his entire length into her in one powerful thrust, and Isabella screamed.

It was part pleasure. Part pain. All desperation.

”Oh fuck,” she gasped, her back arching off the bed.

”That’s it,” he said, setting a brutal pace. His hips moved like a piston, driving into her over and over, his cock hitting deep and perfect and exactly where she needed it. ”Take my dick. Show me how much you want it. Show me that you’ve been thinking about this.”

She tried to resist. Tried to stay still, to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her come apart. But her body had other ideas. Within seconds, she was moving with him, meeting his thrusts, her legs wrapped around his waist, her nails raking down his back.

”Look at me,” Dante commanded, his hand coming up to grip her chin, forcing her eyes to his. ”I want to see your face while I’m fucking you.”

Isabella opened her eyes and looked at him, really looked at him. At the obsession in his gaze. At the possession. At the raw need there that matched her own despite everything.

”No one else gets you,” he said, his voice rough and desperate in a way she’d never heard before. ”You understand me? Your pussy belongs to me. Your body belongs to me. Your fucking orgasms belong to me. You are mine, Isabella. Completely. Totally. Irrevocably mine.”

”I don’t,” she said, even as she was pushing her hips up to meet his thrusts, even as she was pulling him deeper. ”I don’t belong to you, Dante. I don’t....”

”Then why are you fucking me back?” he asked, his pace increasing until the bed was shaking. ”Why are you moaning my name? Why are you pulling me deeper inside your pussy? Why are your eyes rolling back like you’re about to come?”