Matteo: A Dark Mafia Hate Story
Page 19
Matteo’s business is back on track; there have been no further raids or betrayals since Alonza and Devora died. I don’t love what he does for a living, but at least with the Rossi family, they keep the criminal activity contained within the family. They donate huge amounts of money to charity, and impose their own form of law and order, and ensure that their business doesn’t affect the general public.
And we have permanent guests living in one of the wings of our villa. Arkady’s wife Lara and her daughters. Matteo told the Council that he wanted to claim Arkady’s daughters, as was his right – but he gave Lara the option of moving in with us too. He did it at my request, to protect her, so she wouldn’t be remarried off to someone equally brutal. He will select husbands for the girls when they are of age, but he will choose decent men who will treat them well.
Lara came eagerly. She’s been helping me to learn some Russian, and how to cook traditional Russian dishes. I do it to feel closer to my late mother, and to honor her heritage. And I invite my Russian grandmother over for dinner once a month.
I sigh as I finish nursing, and Matteo looks at me with a hungry gleam in his eye. I know what that means.
I must perform my wifely duties. I have no choice, no escape. And that arouses a dark hunger in me, an eagerness to submit.
Our nannies have been waiting, and I hand them my darlings and let Matteo lead me to our bedroom. We have a hand-crafted bed of gleaming polished wood, with cuffs dangling from many places, and we also have soundproofed walls. Matteo locks the door behind him and turns to me with that look on his face that says I’m in trouble.
I face him fearlessly as I slowly strip off my denim dress with its stretchy nursing top.
“Will it hurt?” I ask him.
“Yes.” He smiles at me kindly, with sympathy. “A lot.”
I suck in my breath, and the storm of fear and arousal crackling through me makes me damp between the legs. “What am I being punished for?”
“I saw you dusting the children’s room when you could have called the maids. My wife does not do housework.”
“It was just a couple of shelves!” I protest.
“My sweet Natasha.” He shakes his head. “So you want two punishments?”
I sink to my knees in front of him. “I’m sorry, Matteo, it won’t happen again.”
He strokes my hair gently. “I suspect it will, because you are willful and disobedient. Why are you such a naughty girl?”
I turn my head so I can kiss his hand. “Because I want you to train me how to be better.”
He chuckles as he unbuttons his shirt and strips out of his clothing, folding it neatly and setting it on a chair.
“Bend over the bed. Legs apart, face down.”
I obey.
I’m a little bit afraid now, as he rummages in the trunk at the foot of the bed. My husband grabs a spreader bar and attaches it to my ankles, forcing my legs open even wider. Then he runs a chain up, chaining my hands together behind my back.
The first lash across my upturned buttocks wrenches a cry of pain from me. That just urges him on. Smack after smack, crisp red lines painted across each cheek as I squirm frantically on the bed. My butt catches fire, and I start to beg.
“Please stop!” I cry out.
That earns me two more stripes.
“Will you do it again?” His voice booms out above me, the voice of fate, he who controls my pain and my pleasure.
“No, I swear, I swear!”
And he snaps the whip across my burning flesh three more times for emphasis.
“See that you don’t.”
He releases me from my bondage. And then there’s the comforting. The soft kisses feathering along the harsh red lines he just painted. Ice cubes run along my burning skin. And as I lie on my back, sweet laps of his tongue between my legs as he drinks up my juices.
When he places my ankles on his shoulders, I’m already shuddering with anticipation. He spears me with a quick, hard thrust, forcing himself inside me. He’s so big, it’s always a stretch.
He holds my hips in place as he pumps into me, drawing it out the way I love. I’m pinned down and trapped, my ass stinging as it rubs over the silken comforter with each thrust. The pain melts into pleasure, and he takes me higher and higher, delaying his own orgasm until finally I come, hard. My inner sheath squeezes him as I buck in his grip, spasms of ecstasy rippling through me. Only then does he explode, flooding me with his hot seed.
“Lorenzo,” he says, panting.
“What?” I say, dazed, looking up at him. “Who?”
“The name of the boy I just made. Our son.” He grins at me fiercely. “If it’s a girl, you can pick her name.”
Slowly, gently, he slides out of me and lies down next to me. We’re slick with sweat. He pulls me up against him.
“My princess,” he breathes reverently in my ear.
And I answer my husband as I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly. “My prince.”
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