Virgin: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  My fingernails are burying into his skin. His hand remains pressing against my clit but I need movement, friction. I want to move my hips but fear the sharp slap it will earn me on my bare thighs. I say, “Of course—I’ve never let another man touch it—”

  “I said, I’m the only one allowed to touch it.”

  Now he’s stroking my clit, his finger sliding up and down over my panties and it feels so good after being teased for so long. My hips are moving and I’m moaning, milking every drop of pleasure I can from his gentle petting. He whispers, “Have you been a naughty girl? Have you been touching my pussy?”

  My hips freeze. My eyes shoot open. A white-hot heat flashes over my face.

  He stops stroking, his voice turbulent. “I asked you a question, young lady.” A sharp slap lands on the top of my thigh and I gasp in pain. Looking down, I see a red handprint rising.

  How can I possibly say the words he wants me to say? Humiliation creeps up in my chest, a deep shame ties knots in my stomach. And yet—beneath the shame I feel a freedom I’ve never felt. And a fire burning in my core. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my damn life.

  The words refuse to form in my mouth. His patience is waning. The stroking stops and suddenly, there’s a sharp slap between my open legs. He spanked my pussy! I’m moaning, my weight shifting, my bottom grinding into his lap, his cock hardening beneath me.

  He spanks it again and again. I’m in agony. Sweet, sinful agony. The stinging, aching pain makes the words tumble from my lips. “Yes, I’ve been a naughty girl. I’ve been... touching myself the nights you aren’t with me. But I can’t help it. You just leave me so turned on all the time and—”

  My honesty is rewarded with the return of his soft stroking. My pussy is on fire for him, the sharp stinging slaps from his palm only served to further make me want him. My body hums in delight as he presses against my aching bud. He says, “Then you have to be punished, don’t you?”

  “Oh, but I didn’t know! You never told me—”

  “All the more reason to teach you, now. So you won’t forget. What better time to teach you my rules than your first night as my wife? I’d hate for you to be lying in bed all alone and be tempted to put your hands here.” His fingers slip beneath my dress. Past the waistband of my silky panties. Sliding right down into the slippery cleft of my aching center. “On my pussy.”

  “Ahhhhh. That feels so good.” And—his touch disappears. I gasp with displeasure. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive his teasing. “Please, Dante, touch me again. Please...”

  “I might.”

  “Please?”

  “If you take your spanking like a good girl.”

  “Oh, don’t spank me, just touch me. Please—” My hips gyrate on his lap. My ladylike reservation has burned away with the flames of desire. My hands grab at his arms, demanding more.

  His hands go to my breasts, cupping them roughly. He takes my taut nipples between his fingers, tightening and pinching. “Are you going to be a good girl and lie over my lap, now?”

  My breath catches in my throat. The pain is shocking, yet I feel an intense gush of moisture pooling between my legs. I say, “Yes.”

  His hands go to my hips. He lifts me from his lap. I stand before him, legs shaking, knees weak. His eyes devour the sight of me—the hunger that flashes in those green pools makes a heat burn within my chest. I nervously shift my weight on my feet.

  His legs spread, making ample room for my long torso to lie across. There’s a darkening in his eyes and a tightening in his jaw that tells me he’ll not tolerate disobedience.

  Such a difficult, shameful task, laying oneself over their lover’s strong thighs to be punished. It’s one thing to be tugged, pulled, forced.

  But to go willingly...

  I crawl over, trembling. Lie down over his lap. My upper body rests on the bed, my legs drape over his thigh, my toes bury into the plush rug. Knots tie in my stomach—I have no idea what he has in store for me. A hard, punishing spanking that will leave my bottom burning and red? Or a soft, sensual spanking that will only serve to further turn me on and leave me begging for his cock?

  Fingertips trail over the backs of my thighs, sending goosebumps over my flesh. His rough skin catches the silk, and he brushes the gown up and over my bottom. I hold my breath as he lovingly strokes the cheeks of my bottom over my white silk panties.

  Panties that by now are obscenely damp.

  His hand comes down in a light, stinging spank. I sigh with delight, releasing the breath I was holding. He spanks again and it’s only a moment before that light sting has my pussy clenching and pulsing and my clit aching. “Please, touch me,” I beg.

  “You want me to touch you?” he asks, his finger trailing down the cleft in my ass. He hooks into the elastic of the waist of my panties, pulling them down with a sharp tug. He leaves them bunched up around the tops of my thighs.

  “Yes,” I breathe. My fingers clutch the covers. My toes curl further into the carpet. My eyes squeeze shut as a barrage of stinging spanks land on the bare skin of my bottom. “Oh... ow!”

  He spanks me again, alternating cheeks. My skin is burning, between my legs throbbing. I want to beg but it’s useless—he’s the one in charge. The spanking stops and my eyes open, curious what is coming next. I want to look at him over my shoulder but all I see is his muscled arm.

  My brow knits, my nipples tightening as I feel him dip between my legs. “Oh... oh!” I part my thighs as much as I can against the restriction of my panties, wanting his touch. His finger plunges into my pussy and I’m gasping and moaning. He’s pumping his finger in and out and in and out. My hips move back and forth, pushing against him in order to get the most friction possible.

  He growls, “Whose pussy is this?”

  “Oh, my God. Yours, it’s yours! As long as you keep doing that—”

  His fingers are gone and a sharp slap lands on the full curve of my stinging bottom. “There are no stipulations. It’s mine and I’ll choose to touch it when and if I want to.”

  “Please—for the love of God, choose to touch it!” My outburst earns me two more hearty smacks, one on the center of each cheek. “I’m sorry. I mean—do what you will.”

  “Good girl.” He’s rolling down my panties and I hastily lift my feet to free them. To my instant relief, his finger slides between my legs again. He’s pressing, alleviating the ache, the need. I’m moaning in gratitude then he adds a second finger. I gasp as my pussy stretches around him. The skin burns and hurts but the pain is melting into pleasure as he finger fucks me from the back.

  I’m a wild woman. My hips are bucking and I’m moaning and riding his fingers, on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm. He’s pumping and my face is hot, sweat tickling my lower back against the silk. My insides tighten and my mind is nothing but the sensation of him inside of me.

  He says, “Is this better than when you lie in bed and touch yourself?”

  “Yes! Oh, my God, yes. So much better. Don’t stop. Just. Don’t stop—”

  And... he stops.

  Tears prick in the backs of my eyes. Actual tears. I’m so frustrated, hanging on a limb between the worlds of pleasant tension building and absolute hell. I want to climax. I want to come. I want a powerful orgasm to rock my body and wash away every ounce of tension I’m feeling.

  And in the blink of a moment, it’s all forgotten.

  Because now, the tip of his finger is pressing against a place that no one is supposed to be. Even though he’s fucked me in my bottom, I still feel I have to protest. I stumble over my words. “Dante, no... you can’t do that.”

  But my protest is weak and it falls on deaf ears. Desire overtakes my first reaction as I feel my body respond to his gentle nudges. I’m getting wetter. With each press of his finger against my tight rosebud, a gush of arousal pools between my legs. I wiggle, unsure of what to do.

  He tells me. “Relax.” His hand is stroking my back. His finger, wet from my pussy, is sli
ck and now presses hard enough to penetrate the rim of tight muscles. And it feels so damn good like it always does when he plays with my bottom. I don’t know if I want to pull away or press into him. So I roll the dice, and move my hips backwards.

  “Good girl,” he croons, his cock hard beneath my belly. He moves his finger in further and I let out a moan of pleasure that comes from deep within. “You like when I touch your bottom?”

  I nod, unable to speak I’m so filled with shame. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, my eyelids drooping with pleasure as he moves in and out of me.

  Before I can come, his fingertips are digging into my waist. He’s flipping me up and over and now I’m straddling his thighs. My shaking hands find the buckle of his belt. I undo the clasp, unzip his jeans. He lifts his hips and has his clothing down around his knees.

  His eyes lock on mine, his gaze devouring me whole. His hands are back on my waist and he lifts me up. Holds me over his cock. Lets me down slightly until he’s barely pressing on the entrance of my slick, wanting pussy. Our gazes are entwined, and I’m lost in his eyes, in my wanting, my desire. My breaths come hard and fast in my chest, a sweat prickling at my brow.

  And with one hard thrust, he’s within me. I’m sitting on his lap, his cock buried deep inside of my pussy. I smile, let out a laugh of delight, finally where I’ve needed to be. Where my body has been begging to be. He moves his pelvis up, moving further inside of me. My fingers grasp his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as I slowly begin to move my hips.

  I roll them back and forth, up and down. I toss my dark hair over my shoulder. Throw my head back in delight and release a throaty moan. He thrusts again and I take it, matching him with my own hard buck. I catch his eyes and hold his gaze—telling him that I’m in control now. I lift my weight onto my knees, pressing into the bed on either side of him.

  I wrap my hands around his neck gently, but applying the lightest pressure. I raise up slowly, inch by inch until just the head of his cock is inside of me. I smile. Taunting, teasing, paying him back for the delicious torture he put me through.

  I’m just deciding how slowly I will go back down, pressing his shaft inside of me when he gives me a dark chuckle. “Not a chance, little girl.”

  My game is over before it’s begun. I let out a squeal in surprise as he lifts me from his lap—as if I weigh no more than a bag of rice—and throws me onto the bed. I’m facing the covers once more, my fingers clutched around the material. He’s hovering over me. Caressing my skin. Shoving the fabric of my nightgown up, up, up my back. I feel him kneel behind me. He’s grabbing my hips and lifting my ass in the air toward him. I bury my face in the covers as he slams his cock into my waiting, begging entrance.

  “Fuck me!” I cry into the covers. He thrusts hard and fast and my pussy tightens around him like a spring. I feel the beginnings of a climax and I don’t cry out for fear he’ll stop. But he knows.

  He knows my body so well.

  He growls, “Come for me. Come for me, baby.”

  His lusty words are too much and they send me over the edge with his next thrust. I’m screaming his name, my fingers clutching, my toes curling, my heart racing, my mind a blur of white flashes.

  And he’s still going. His hand pressed into my sweaty lower back. He’s saying, “Come for me, baby. Come again.” And he’s slapping my ass, the sting of his hand branding my skin. My clit rubs against the bed, my pussy pulsing and clenching and milking his cock.

  My nipples are so hard, they feel sore and chafed as they rub against the bed in rhythm with his fucking. He’s saying, “Whose pussy is this?”

  And tears are in my eyes and I’m coming again, crying, “Yours, Dante. Only yours.”

  He gives a final thrust, his fingertips so deep in my flesh, tomorrow I’ll find little bruises dotting my hips. His hot seed explodes within me. Filling me and running down my thigh. I lie limp on the bed, trembling and spent, but fully content and satisfied. He lies down beside me, our sweaty skin pressing together.

  He takes my face in his hands. His gaze locks into mine. He says the words I need to hear. “I love you, Adrianna. I will always love you.”

  Epilogue

  Dearest Adrianna,

  How we miss you here in the Parish! I can’t believe it’s been over a year since you and Dante moved to the Village. How was the honeymoon, by the way? You got a bun in the oven yet? I sure hope so because I miss you so damn much and I want you back here, by the sea, where you belong. If you get knocked up you’ll have to choice but to come back!

  Just kidding, I know you and your man are happy to be the lady and gentleman in waiting in the Village, second only to King Rockland and Queen Tess. Rockland is always bragging to Carter about his baby cuz and what an amazing job you’re doing at Bachman Enterprises. It just sucks you’re so busy with your new job and hubby that you can’t come visit! Paige said you haven’t been to the Hamlet in weeks. She was afraid baby Kate scared you away when she puked on you the last time you went up there to meet her. I told her it wasn’t that—that it was when she made you change Thomas’s poopy diaper. That did you in and you’re never going to the Hamlet again.

  Just kidding, again. But seriously, when you and your man finally stop doing it like rabbits, maybe you can make some time in your schedule to come see me and Carter and your old crew. I should warn you though—you might not recognize me the next time you see me. No working out and all this Mediterranean food lying around, I’ve put on quite a bit of weight. Seriously, none of my clothes fit and my six-pack has turned into a keg.

  I’m fat.

  With child.

  That’s right, I’m expecting! I’ve threatened all of your family members with a long and painful death if they let the news slip before I sent you this letter, so hopefully you are having a delightful surprise as you are reading this and I won’t have to maim your great-aunt Caroline.

  Carter couldn’t be happier. He’s over the moon and spends hours every day reading up on baby sleep schedules and talking to my tummy. It’s pretty funny watching a six-foot-tall man made of solid muscle and a leader of a dangerous mafia tear up over tiny baby clothes. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. He’s going to be an amazing dad.

  And me? Well, I’m a nervous wreck. Sure, it was all fun and games when we were trying to conceive. But now that this child is becoming a reality, Adrianna—I’m freaking. We all know that deep down I try to bury the side of myself that’s a selfish brat. I’ve grown so much over the past years, but still, I worry I won’t be good enough to be a mom. That I won’t know what to do, or how to do it.

  Mary has been right by my side every step of the way. She assures me I’ll make a wonderful mother and that she will help me through everything. She and John look great, by the way. The seaside suits them. They’re as tan as the natives and are like teenagers around one another, making out every chance they get. I guess it’s this salt air we have out here.

  Mary says that I was born to reproduce. That I’m glowing. She’s even knitted the baby and me matching pink sweaters.

  That’s right—pink! It’s a girl and we’ve already picked out her name. The name, in fact is the only thing I’ve been sure about during this whole crazy time.

  Clara Adrianna Bachman.

  And on that note, I’ll end this letter.

  Love you bunches!

  Your favorite Beauty who loves you like a sister,

  Sasha Bachman

  The End

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