Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: Chapter 25

I gasp awake and when my eyes open, I see Ari above me, his hair a mess from a restless night’s sleep because we were up all night doing this.

“I’m sorry, Tesoro,” he says, before tilting his head back to expose his thick throat. His muscles are tense and the tendons in his neck are tense. “I had to have you again. I had to feel you.”

“Don’t apologize.” I stretch my arms, drifting my hands down his muscular chest.

The wounds on his shoulder are better, but still irritated, but he doesn’t seem to care. My eyes rake down his chest, his abs tensing with every flex of his hips, and the Adonis belt traveling down to his cock sends a wave of desire drowning any sleep that was hanging on.

This man is gorgeous, and I can’t believe he is mine.

“How is it you feel better every time?” he mumbles, sounding half-drunk or in a trance. “Every fucking time.” He flips us until he is on his back and I’m looking down at him.

He’s usually the one in control.

I don’t want to disappoint him. He must sense my nerves because the grip, the need on me lessons, and my hips miss the rough hold already.

He springs one of my curls, smiling softly at me, and traces my jaw, the ghost of his touch breezing down my neck. Ari hums with a small nod, tracing my collarbone next, then traveling down my arm, back up, then turning his hand until his knuckles rub down the middle of my chest.

It’s the way he’s touching me, like he is memorizing every line by body has created, and the way he takes me in has me relaxing.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, noticing when the worry of disappointing him fades. “You look so amazing on top of me, Tesoro. You’re beautiful.”

And he makes me feel it. His eyes are searing into me as if he can’t get enough of just…looking at me.

He palms my tits, something I’ve noticed he really loves to do.

“I just…want you to feel good,” I explain, placing my hands on his chest for leverage.

“You always make me feel good. You could stay like this forever, atop of me, unmoving, and I swear, I’d still feel you in my bones,” he says, owning another piece of my heart.

Ari is romantic as much as he is possessive. It’s hard not to love him, but I can’t go there yet. I can’t love him. It’s too soon, but the emotions I’m having are big and fast. If he told me tomorrow he wanted to end our agreement, I’d put on a brave face and give him what he wants.

It’s when I’d be alone I’d miss. It’s when I’d be alone I’d feel his absence and I’d break.

He holds onto my hips again, his thumbs pressing against the crease of my groin. Ari pushes me back, then pulls me forward and I gasp when my clit rubs against his pelvis.

“Oh fuck,” his eyes close. “Maybe having you on top isn’t a good idea.”

“If it has that look on your face, it’s a great idea.” I smirk, rolling my hips. I push back and thrust forward, moaning when he hits that spot inside me.

Gaining confidence, I move faster, digging my fingers into his pecs while I use his body to support my weight and quicken my pace.

“Rosie, ah, damn it. Ah, you have to slow down,” he warns, his eyes traveling all over me then settling on my breasts.

I can see why women like this position so much. I’m close. I feel close, at least. The faster I ride him, the more the swirl of my orgasm pools in my lower belly. I fuck him harder, an erotic cry spilling from my lips. The bed slams against the wall and every motion along his cock brings me closer to falling over the edge.

“Fuck, Tesoro. You know how to ride my cock. That’s it. Use me. Take what you need. Just like that. God—” he tosses his head back and growls, helping me move faster than I physically can by rocking my hips back and forth. “You’re close. Come for me. Come on, come for me.”

I lift my arms above my head, my toes curling and my moans breaking when the pleasure becomes too much to hold in. This orgasm is different. It’s more intense, longer, and I feel it from my head down to my toes. My entire body buzzes.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh god, I don’t want it to stop. You feel so good. You’re so deep. Ari.” I ride him through my orgasm and he’s staring at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

I become slicker, the sound carrying all around us.

“Keep going,” he tells me, continuing to rock my hips as my orgasm fades.

“I can’t,” I shake my head.

“Yes, you can.” He sits up, cupping the back of my neck to pull me down to kiss him. “You’re going to come again because you’re already close. I can feel it.”

“Ari, I can’t.” I contradict myself, riding him again in determined motions to get myself there. “I’m so sensitive. Why do you feel so good?”

His fingers knead my ass, gripping me tightly to fuck his cock faster.

“Because I’m yours, Tesoro. And you are mine,” he explains, leaning back on one hand so he can watch my body move against him.

My wedding band catches the morning light coming through the windows and I realize I no longer feel like something for him to have like a trophy added to his shelf. I belong to him.

I claw my fingernails into his shoulders and press my forehead against his before kissing him with trembling lips. I pour my pleasure down his throat as another orgasm bowls over me, tightening every muscle in my body. I clench around his cock, my head feeling light and dizzy.

His warm come shoots inside, filling me to the brim like he does every single time.

I collapse on top of him, unable to keep myself up with how hard my body is trembling. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead, his fingers playing with the soft ends of my hair.

“Good morning, Tesoro.”

I snicker, smiling against his chest. “A great morning,” I correct, snuggling into him harder.

His cock is still hard and lodged inside me, but knowing him, he’ll keep it there until it softens completely. It’s absolutely obsessed with getting me pregnant and the thought used to terrify me, but now, I like it. I like knowing a man wants me so much, he wants to do everything in his power to keep me.

I could be pregnant right now, but it’s too early to tell. I wouldn’t be surprised. He has come inside me so many times, I’ve lost count.

A relaxed exhale leaves me and his fingers dance sensually across my back causing my eyes to become heavy again.

“This is nice,” I mutter, my cheek warm against his chest and the strong thump of his heart sings into my ear. “You’re more comfortable than you look.”

He chuckles, kissing the top of my head and his grazing touch doesn’t falter as we continue to lie there. “I’m glad you find comfort in me,” he says, but it’s the way he says it that makes me realize he’s right.

His body is hard with muscle, so he isn’t a pillow, but it is him I find comfort in. I’d rather lay on him than on this mattress any day.

I’m not sure how long we lie there, but I do fall back asleep and the next time I wake up, I’m alone in bed with the comforter tucked tight around my body like a cocoon.

He tucked me in.

Grinning, I rub my eyes and yawn, glancing at the clock to see that’s it is nearly ten in the morning. I haven’t slept that late in ages. The door swings open and I sit up on my forearms to see Ari wheeling in a cart full of food.

“I was thinking breakfast in bed and having a day where we watch TV, nap, and just…” he searches for the words, unable to find them.

“Be together?”

He grins, the boyish smile winning over more of my heart until I wonder if there is anything left for him to take.

“Yeah, I want to just be with you. I don’t want outside drama. I don’t want us to worry about what’s going on with Bianchi. I don’t want to think about the danger you’re in. I want to get to know you outside of the havoc, Rosie.” He pushes the cart by the bed and sits down, the mattress dipping from his weight. He looks at me as if I’m the stars dancing around the moon—completely hypnotized. “Does that sound okay?”

“It sounds perfect. I’d love that, but how will we watch TV? You don’t have one in here.”

He snorts, reaching for a remote on his nightstand and he presses a button. A humming sound comes from in front of us. From the ceiling, a large screen lowers until it nearly touches the floor. It takes up the entire wall.

“Woah,” I say in awe, staring at the largest screen I’ve ever seen in a house. It’s like being in your own personal movie theater. “I didn’t know they made screens this big unless it was for the theater.”

“They don’t. I had to order this custom. It isn’t something you can find in stores.” He pours a cup of coffee, adding cream and sugar how I like before handing me the cup.

I inhale the aroma and already my mind awakens and the heaviness of wanting to go back to the sleep vanishes. Sipping it, I hum. “Wow, this is delicious.”

“French press. It doesn’t get better than that.”

“What other goodies do you have over there?” I mumble, the smell of food making my stomach grumble.

If I’m not mistaken, a faint pink hue fevers his cheeks. “I might have gotten a little of everything. We have your breakfast foods. Waffles, bacon, strawberries, whipped cream, eggs. Then French toast because who doesn’t love French toast?” he points to ever platter. “And then bagels, but then I thought maybe she’d want lunch, so down below I have a few hoagies, salad, burgers, and then at the very bottom snacks like popcorn and candy for the movies.”

“You thought of everything,” I say, setting my coffee down.

“I meant it when I said I don’t want to leave this bed today. Matias is in charge, and I told them to pretend I don’t exist. We are in our own world today.”

I hold the blanket against my chest, trying to think about the last time someone did something so nice for me. My brother stealing the gem could count. He was thinking about our family, but in a more intimate gesture, no one has done anything like this for me.

“So, what would the Mrs. like?” he asks as he makes his own coffee.

The title makes me nibble on my bottom lip. “French toast with whipped cream and strawberries sound good. Oh, and bacon. I love bacon. Do we have syrup? And then after, I might have a bagel.”

He raises his brows, then chuckles. He stabs the toast with a fork and puts it on a fresh plate. “I guess we’ve worked up an appetite, haven’t we?” his voice darkens, and he drops a dollop of whipped cream in the middle, then adds a few slices of strawberries. His eyes slide from the plate to meet mine and he sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth to lick the whipped cream off.

How is such a simple, innocent gesture so sinful?

“We did,” I agree, memories from last night and this morning flip through my mind.

All of his filthy words, everything he ever said, how he sounded when he came, my entire body responds to him. I’m heated and ready for him again.

“You can’t fool me. I know what you’re thinking about.” He grabs a small silver container that looks like a mini teapot.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I huff.

“Oh? I suppose I’m the only one thinking about how we ravaged one another last night? Tell me when,” he warns lightly, pouring the syrup on my French toast.

He keeps pouring, the liquid pooling so much that he begins to look at me with concern.

“Okay. You can stop,” I say, my mouth watering when I see all that delicious syrup.

“Tesoro,” he tsks. “This isn’t healthy. We’re going to have to cut down on the sweets.”

I take the plate from him and stab the side of my fork. “You try that, and I might just kill you.” I shove a big chunk of French toast in my mouth and the syrup is so heavy, it dribbles down my chin. I keep my mouth shut and my cheeks full as I smile at him.

“You’re an absolute wreck.” He swipes his thumb over my chin, gathering the syrup. “My wreck, nevertheless.” He sucks his thumb into his mouth, and I have to focus on my food before I end up tossing it to the side to have my way with him.

He makes himself a bagel, waffle, and adds eggs to his plate. “What do you want to watch while we eat?”

“Let’s watch scary movies all day.”

“Scary movies? I’d think you’d want something lighter considering everything going on right now.”

“That’s different. I want to watch classics with you.” I finish off one piece of toast and dive into the other, but not before munching down on a piece of bacon.

“If you’re sure. I thought you’d want a romantic comedy or a show?”

“We have the rest of our lives for that right? I want a scary movie.”

I realize what I said and almost stop eating, but I don’t want to make things awkward, so I continue cutting my French toast, hoping he doesn’t notice the slip-up. I don’t want to make his more than he wants it to be.

A business transaction. It just so happens we get along for the most part now which makes this agreement much easier. Having sex is not only amazing but saves him money from having to go to a client to go through that process of embryo implantation.

He picks a movie then presses another button for the blackout curtains to darken the room. The light from the screen is enough for me to eat. When I’m done, I ask for more bacon.

“I feel like I’ve been starving you. You haven’t been eating enough,” he frowns. “I need to take better care of you.”

“You take great care of me. I’m only this hungry because you made me work out for so long,” I tease him, nudging his shoulder.

I swear, his chest puffs out with pride.

What a caveman.

We eat until I can’t stand to take another bite. “Is there a mimosa on your cart of never-ending possibilities?”

“There’s orange juice, but no alcohol. You could already be pregnant. We have to be safe.”

He pours me a glass of orange juice and I wait for the defiant nature to come out, to tell him I’m probably not pregnant and it isn’t up to him what I can and can’t drink until we know for sure.

But I don’t because I don’t want to fight for no reason when I know there’s a chance he could be right.

“And no drinking for you, means no drinking for me.”

“You’re very cautious,” I say, snuggling against his side before downing the orange juice and handing him the empty glass.

A scream comes from the speakers because a woman just got killed and even though it’s loud, I barely hear over his next words.

He nods slowly, tracing a wrinkle in the sheet that is pooled around his waist. “You’re right. I am. I suppose it comes from my childhood. You haven’t met my oldest brother Carmine and his wife, but my brother took the brunt of our father’s abuse to keep me and Matias safe from him. Everything we did to protect each other, every word we said, we were always cautious, and I suppose that’s ingrained in me in some way to be a little bit scared of what can happen if I don’t get ahead of the rules.”

I snuggle into his chest deeper, hating to know he had a bad childhood. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he kisses the top of my head.

“For your dad. For Carmine. For how you had to be growing up. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago, but I suppose some habits have stuck with me.”

“Besides the bad, is there a favorite memory of when you were a kid?”

“Hmm,” he ponders while staring at the movie screen, but I know he isn’t watching the movie. It’s more like he is staring into space. “I do.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and it’s almost sad. “So there was this one night, it was me and Matias’s birthday, and our father never had anything planned. Ever. It wasn’t a big deal. Matias and I had learned we couldn’t count on him, and we never needed anything, I guess. Anyway, my father was having a party one night. He invited all the drug dealers and murderers, and other mafia bosses to our estate. It was a black-tie event. Rich. Classy. The best of the best. He didn’t want us to get in the way so he locked us in the basement so we couldn’t get out.”

I gasp, wondering what kind of parent would do that to their child.

“It’s okay.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.

I clear my throat. “What happened next?”

“We hadn’t eaten all day. We were hungry. Cold. I remember Matias and I huddling for warmth. The basement wasn’t finished yet, so it was dark and almost wet, you know, the feeling?”

I nod, knowing exactly what that is like.

“I remember thinking I wanted to run away or die; anything was better than being with a man who hated us so much.”

“This is a horrible memory. I don’t know why you say it’s happy. It isn’t.” I wipe my eye.

“I’m not done telling it yet.” He lifts my chin. “Don’t cry for me, Tesoro. You’re borrowing sorrow that is no longer there.” He brushes my tears away and the side of his lips curl to the left. “This is where it gets happy. Carmine always tried to take care of us. He was more of a father than our father was, but he had things to do too. He couldn’t watch us all the time, but he tried. He didn’t have much of a life either. When we were down in that basement, I was convinced we would die down there, and our dad would have forgotten us. I felt—we felt—alone. I don’t know why I didn’t think Carmine would go through hell to get to us, probably because I didn’t think he truly cared that much. I was convinced he only had an obligation to us, but while the music was in full swing, loud, vibrating the walls, so loud that the noise of the window being broken into to get into the basement couldn’t be heard.”

He smiles, a big one, but still, his eyes are sad. “It was Carmine. I hadn’t seen him in a few days. I thought he had finally left, but no. Dad had locked him away too, only Carmine got the hell beat out of him. He had black eyes, a busted lip, and marks all over his body. He looked horrible, but when he climbed down from the window, he landed on the table and reached back out the window, his arms full. I’ll never forget what he said. Something so simple. ‘How are my two favorite people in the world doing?’ he asked us.”

Ari shakes his head. “I didn’t think I was anyone’s favorite person, but Carmine sat with us on the floor, and he had these cheap fucking party hats that he put on us, then took out a small cake, then added eight candles. He sang us happy birthday and then we played Scrabble. A game he brought with him. Things changed for me at that moment. When I blew out my candles, I remembered wishing my father would die so Carmine could take over. Eventually, it happened, but that night while it sucked, the fact that Carmine did all that to celebrate our birthday, it’s honestly the memory that means so much to me. It isn’t rainbows and butterflies, but it was everything else in between.”

I hug him tight, hating that I ever caused him pain by adding to his wounds. He’s been through enough of it.

“Your brother sounds like a good man,” I say. “I’m glad you had him.”

“He is a good man. I mean, he’ll roll it off his shoulders and say it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. He knows that. Enough about me, what about you, tell me about a good memory from your childhood.”

“I can’t remember one.” I shrug my shoulder. “I’ve been working for my family for as long as I can remember. I know there was a time when my parents were happier and weren’t miserable, but I hardly remember them. They are more like flashes? Like I remember my dad smiling when I handed him something I drew or my mom cheering for something I did, but I can’t remember that either. It’s like all those memories went away when the store started to fail, and I had to work. It was about survival at that point. My parents weren’t ever abusive, but they were neglectful. I think I shut down when I was younger. To block it all out. It was about taking care of my brother at that point. We only had each other but you know, he got to the age when he was too cool for his family, which is fine, I remember that age too, and it was just me for a little bit. My brother and I are very close now and I know he tries to help me when he can. It’s why he took the gem. He meant well.”

“I promise, I’ll bring him home to us for you. Do you believe me?”

“I believe you.”

I’ve never believed in anyone more than him.

Not even myself.