Chapter 10: Domenico - Marrying the Mafia Daddy

I pull open the study door before Vinny can knock again. Kira stands beside him, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Come in, wife.” My tone’s as dark as my mood.

Her eyes dart to Vinny, who leaves with a nod to me as she reluctantly steps across the threshold. I close the door behind Kira with a quiet click. She flinches at the sound and wraps her arms across herself.

“Why don’t you set your bag down and take off your jacket?” When she doesn’t move, I add, “It wasn’t a suggestion, Kira.”

A small puff of air leaves her as she puts her bag down and slowly unbuttons her jacket. Out of patience, I remove it from her body and throw it to the side.

“Why am I here, Domenico?” she asks, her tone deceptively soft while her eyes burn with… something. “I’m tired, and I wanted to—”

“I’ve had enough of your sulking,” I interrupt as I pull my silk tie loose, working it free with both hands while I keep my eyes on her face.

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. The word hits her like a slap—I can see it land, see the way her shoulders draw back and her chin lifts. Good. I want her to feel it.

“I haven’t been sulking,” she replies defensively.

“Oh?” I question, looping the tie around my fist. “So you haven’t spent the last three nights pretending you were asleep instead of talking like an adult?”

“Who says I was pretending?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Do you think I’m stupid, wife?”

She swallows so hard the pulse in her throat jumps. “No.”

“Then stop treating me like I am.”

I close the distance between us and step behind her before she can retreat. When she tries to turn, I grab both her arms and bring them to her back. Then I use the tie to bind her wrists together.

“What are you doing?”

Ignoring her question, I knot the tie tight enough that she can’t work it free. It’s not tight enough to hurt as long as she behaves and doesn’t fight it.

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” I tell her as I spin her around to face me.

“What’s the right one?”

“How you’re going to make it up to me.”

She scoffs. “Make what up to you? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,” I murmur. “Except for the last three nights, I’ve made sure you’ve had two orgasms every night, haven’t I?”

She nervously bites her bottom lip while nodding.

I crouch in front of her and slide her right shoe off, then her left. Her toes curl against the carpet. “That’s six orgasms you owe me.”

Her mouth falls open. “That’s not… you can’t just say I owe you that.”

I pull her socks off next, one at a time, my fingers brushing the arch of her foot. She shudders. “I can,” I say, straightening. “And I am.”

My hands find the side zipper on her gray pants, and I slowly draw it down. Her breath catches as the fabric slides down her legs, pooling at her ankles, and I step back so she can kick them free.

When she doesn’t, I tell her, “Step out.”

Then I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her panties and push them down her thighs. She’s already wet. I can smell it on her, that warm, sweet scent that’s been driving me fucking insane for three nights while she pretended to sleep inches from my cock.

I straighten and reach for my belt. The leather slides free from the loops with a sound that makes her furrow her brows while her nostrils flare. I move back to my chair and sit down, draping the belt across the arm.

“Come here,” I order as I spread my thighs.

She doesn’t move.

I crook one finger at her. “Kira.” Her name in my mouth is a warning. “I said, come here.”

She takes one step. Then another. Her bare feet are silent on the carpet. When she’s close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her skin, I pat my right thigh.

“You’re going to make yourself come on my leg,” I growl. “Ride my thigh until your wetness is all over my pants.”

Her breath hitches. “Domenico, I—”

“Unless you’re going to tell me yes, keep that pretty mouth of yours shut before it gets you into more trouble.”

She tries to argue. I watch her mouth form words, open and close, but her body is already giving her away. The flush spreading down her chest. The way her thighs press together. The wet shine I can see between her legs.

Without another word, she lifts one leg over my thigh and settles herself down. Her bound wrists force her to arch forward, her face coming close to mine.

“Now be a good girl and move,” I rasp.

She rocks her hips once. Twice. Small and experimental motions that make her bite her lip. Then again, harder. She lets out a moan that goes straight to my cock. I don’t move to free my dick.

Not yet. I want to watch this first. I want to feel every fucking inch of her grinding against my thigh, her pussy leaving a wet trail on the wool of my pants. I want her to fucking work for it the way I have to.

Because getting anything real from Kira takes work. Sure, I can order her around, make her obey, and even make her come while barely touching her. But I can’t order her not to fear me. And, fuck, if that hasn’t been driving me insane.

Kira’s both the most infuriating and intriguing person I’ve ever met. Her softness, her almost submissive nature, is such a stark contrast to the stubbornness that appears once she makes up her mind.

I don’t regret what I did to Greg. Not for a fucking second. She married into my world, and the world I rule isn’t built on apologies or second chances. What I hate is the way she looked at me afterward. Like I’d become something she needed to protect herself from.

I’ve never had to care how anyone looks at me before. Fear usually gets me exactly what I want. But not from her—not from Kira. For some reason, the thought of my wife fearing me has been eating at me for three fucking days.

“Oh, God!”

Kira’s moan pulls me out of my thoughts and back to the present.

“Tell me how it feels,” I say.

She shakes her head, her dark hair falling across her face.

“Use your words, Kira.”

“Good,” she whispers.

“Surely you can do better,” I half mock. “If you only feel good, you’re not riding my leg right.”

She rocks harder, her hips finding a rhythm that makes her breath come faster. “It’s… it’s… it’s so intense.”

“Keep going.”

“I’m so wet, and it’s rubbing against me everywhere,” she gasps.

“Good girl,” I praise. “Keep going.”

I watch her face, the way her eyelids flutter, the way her lips part on each exhale. She rides my thigh as if she were made for it, her bound wrists pulling her forward, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

The wet sound of her pussy against my pants fills the room, and I can feel the heat of her through the fabric, the way her clit catches on the fold and makes her jerk.

“Tell me how close you are,” I demand.

“Close,” she pants. “So close, I can’t… Domenico, I’m going to…”

“Mmm,” I growl. “Close your eyes and tilt your head back. Let yourself go.” My words have the desired effect, and this time, she follows my command with zero hesitation.

As soon as her eyes are closed, I reach for my belt. Kira’s hips stutter and her breath catches. She’s right there, teetering on the edge, her whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Come on my leg like the good girl you’re pretending to be,” I command as I raise my hands.

While she’s busy chasing her orgasm, I quickly wrap the belt around her throat in one smooth motion. Her entire body goes rigid as I secure it with the buckle. It’s not tight enough to restrict her breathing yet.

For one second, nothing happens. Then Kira’s eyes fly wide—hazel gone black with panic—and she throws herself backward off my leg so fast I barely have time to let go of the belt. As soon as she’s on the floor, she scrambles away from me.

“No!” she cries. “No, no, no.”

As I stand up, she backs into the desk hard enough that the edge digs into her ass, and she flinches. I cross the distance between us in one stride and pull her up by her arm.

She tries to twist away, but when I don’t let her, she screams. “Let me go! I mean it, Domenico!”

“Calm down.”

“No! I said let me go. Help! Help!”

She fights with everything she has, which isn’t much with her bound wrists. But she makes up for that with enthusiasm. She tries to headbutt my chest, kick me, even raise her knee as if she means to introduce it to my balls.

“Stop it,” I snap. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Before she can respond, I lift her and carry her back to the chair. As I sit down, I pull her back onto my leg so she’s facing me and her legs are spread wide on either side. Her breath comes in short, terrified bursts, only paused long enough to hurl demands for me to let her go.

“Stop,” I tell her, and when she doesn’t, I pull the long end of the belt, tightening the loop around her neck.

“P-please don’t kill me,” she hiccups as tears fall from her eyes.

“Kill you?” I ask, perplexed. “I’m not going to kill you, Kira.”

Her eyes lock on mine, and she narrows them as though she doesn’t believe me. Though she still relaxes slightly. I wait until her breathing is under control and she’s no longer crying. What the fuck makes her think I’d actually kill her?

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t ask me that,” she snips. “You don’t care. Just tell me what to do.” The bite in her words makes my own temper stir.

What the hell does she mean I don’t care? I just asked, didn’t I? Shaking my head, I let it go for now. I’m not going to stop what we’re doing. I want the six orgasms she owes me.

“Fine,” I growl. “Continue humping my leg.”

She doesn’t.

I tighten the belt a fraction. “Move, Kira.”

Her hips rock once. A small, involuntary motion that she tries to stop, but her body betrays her. She’s still wet. I can feel it on my thigh, the slick heat of her even through the fabric of my pants.

She rocks again. Harder this time. A moan escapes her, ragged and broken, and I watch the contradiction play out across her face—terror in her eyes, desire in the way her hips keep moving, the way her pussy grinds against my leg like it’s starving.

“I want to stop,” she whispers.

I loosen the belt slightly. “Do you?”

Her hips don’t stop, and I can feel the tremble in her thighs, the way her body is chasing something she’s too scared to really want.

“Say blue if you mean it,” I tell her. “Blue means stop, and if you say it, everything stops.”

“Okay.”

“Say it, Kira. I need to know you understand because you’ll be tempted to say stop, and I need to know you know only blue ends what we’re doing.”

She swallows. The belt moves with the motion of her throat. “If I say blue, you’ll stop.”

“Again.”

“If I say blue, you stop making me do things.”

I hold her gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”

She doesn’t answer. Her hips keep moving, grinding against my thigh in slow, desperate circles that make her breath hitch with each rotation.

I tighten the belt again—just enough to remind her who’s in control. Her eyes flutter, her mouth falls open, and a sound tears out of her that’s half sob, half moan.

“Now you can come,” I tell her. “Come with my belt around your throat while riding my leg like the filthy girl you are.”

She shakes her head, but her body is already there—hips stuttering, thighs trembling as the orgasm builds and builds. Kira comes with a cry so beautiful I want to swallow it.

Her whole body convulses, her back arching, her bound wrists pulling against the silk tie hard enough that I hear the fabric strain.

She collapses against my chest, panting, sweat-damp hair sticking to her forehead. I give her thirty seconds. Maybe less before I tighten the belt again.

“That was one.”

Her eyes fly open. “Domenico, I can’t—”

“You can.” I rock my leg up, driving my thigh against her clit while tightening the belt. “You’re going to come again. Right now.”

She whimpers. But her hips are already moving, finding the rhythm again, like her body knows what it needs even when her mind is screaming. The second orgasm builds faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” I demand.

“Scary,” she croaks. “Good. It’s so good, and I’m scared, and I can’t… Domenico, I can’t breathe…”

I loosen the belt. Let her drag in a desperate breath. Then tighten it again as she crests, and she comes with a scream that echoes off the walls of my study, her body shuddering so hard I have to hold her hips to keep her on my thigh.

When it’s over, she slumps against me, trembling, her breath ragged. I remove the belt from her throat slowly, letting the leather slide free, and watch the red mark it leaves behind. Beautiful.

I help her to her feet. Her legs are unsteady, and she sways, catching herself on the edge of the desk. Her eyes are dazed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

I reach into my jacket and pull out the folding knife I keep in the inner pocket. Italian steel, honed to an edge that’ll split hairs. Her eyes track the movement, widening slightly, but she doesn’t flinch.

I flick it open and bring the blade to the silk tie binding her wrists. One clean cut, and the fabric falls away. Her arms drop to her sides, and she flexes her fingers.

Then I catch the collar of her shirt with the blade and slice through the fabric until I can tear it from her body. Once she’s left only in her bra, I slide the tip beneath the bridge and pull until it splits.

Moving the knife to the top of the right cup, where it meets the strap, I slice through. Kira looks at the knife as I move it to the left cup. The knife slips a fraction—my hand is not as steady as it should be—and the tip catches the skin above her left breast.

“Ow!” she cries as a thin line of red wells up immediately, beading along the cut.

“Sorry,” I murmur as I cut the strap so the bra’s completely gone.

Instead of pulling away, she looks down at the blood with something like wonder in her eyes, her fingers hovering near the cut but not touching it.

“Let me kiss it better.”

I lean forward and press my mouth to her skin. My tongue finds the cut, warm and metallic, and I lick the blood away in one slow stroke that makes her moan—low and broken and desperate.

“Mmm,” she moans.

Tossing the knife to the side, I look at her face. Her eyes are black with want, her lips parted.

“Have you ever tasted your own blood?” I rasp.

When she shakes her head, I slam my lips to hers. Our tongues tangle, and I know she can taste her blood through the kiss. Needing to taste more of her, I break the kiss and move to her side. Then I sweep everything off the desk. Papers, glasses, and other shit all hit the floor with a crash.

“Oh my God,” she laughs, sounding genuinely surprised. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just move…” She stops talking and lets out a small squeal when I lift her onto the cleared surface and push her down on her back.

Her hair spills across the desk, and she looks up at me with something in her eyes that isn’t fear anymore. It’s want. Raw, naked want. I might never understand how she can change from one emotion to another so easily, but right now, I’m just fucking grateful she isn’t afraid.

I pull my chair closer and once I’m between her spread legs, I throw them over my shoulders. Her pussy is right there—pink and wet and swollen, her clit hard and begging for my tongue.

Leaning forward, I lick her in one long stroke from her entrance to her clit, and she arches off the desk with a cry that goes straight to my cock. Her taste floods my mouth, making me growl against her.

“Hold still,” I order, my tone husky with need.

When she doesn’t, I pin her hips to the desk with both hands. She whimpers, but she stops trying to move. For about three seconds. Then my tongue finds her clit and circles it slowly, teasing, and her hips buck against my grip hard enough that I have to tighten my hold.

Her hands find my hair—both of them pulling as if she’s trying to drag me closer or push me away, I can’t tell which.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Domenico, please.”

“Tell me what you want.” I rub her clit with my thumb while my tongue works lower, dipping into her entrance, tasting how wet she is.

“I want… I want your mouth, please, your tongue, your fingers, anything.”

I slide one finger inside her, then two, curling them upward until I find that spot that makes her scream. Her tight pussy clenches around my fingers, slick and hot, as I fuck her with them slow and deep while my tongue works her clit.

Her juices are all over my face—on my chin, my cheeks, dripping down to my jaw—and I don’t give a fuck. I’m ravenous for her. I eat her like a man starving, licking and sucking. Working my fingers inside her until she’s sobbing.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking. “Yes, Daddy, right there, please.”

The word lands like a fucking grenade.

Everything stops for one heartbeat. Two.

Daddy.

Then something primal and dark and hungry stirs in my chest, low and hot. My grip on her hips tightens hard enough to leave marks.

“Say that again,” I demand.

When I look up at her, she looks as surprised as I feel. “Why did you stop…” A smirk pulls at her lips. “… Daddy?”

Fuuuuck!

I never knew I’d like hearing that word. Or that it would turn me on like nothing else.

“Again,” I growl.

“Stop making me wait, Daddy,” she pants. “I was so close.”

My rhythm turns rougher, my fingers driving into her deeper, my tongue working her clit with a pressure that makes her cry out.

I look up. Her eyes are locked on mine, black with need, and I don’t hide what that word did to me. I let her see it—the hunger, the possession.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” I tell her, and she does, her whole body convulsing around my fingers, her pussy clenching and pulsing as she comes with a cry that bounces off the walls.

Rather than stopping, I work her through one climax and right into the next. I don’t stop licking and fingering her until she’s shaking, sensitive.

“I can’t… I can’t take anymore,” she moans. She tries to say more, but the words are nonsensical.

“That’s a problem,” I growl as I remove her legs from my shoulders and lean back in the chair. “Because you still owe me more orgasms.”

She pushes herself up on her elbows and looks down at me. “I don’t think I can,” she whines. “Let me touch you instead.”

When she reaches for me, I catch her wrist. “No.”

She whimpers. “Please.”

“You haven’t been a good girl.”

“Daddy,” she breathes, and the word hits me again, lower this time, right in the gut. I can see the triumph on her face. My wife knows exactly how that word hits me. “Please, Daddy, I need you.”

I slowly stand up, shrugging off my suit jacket before I remove my shirt. “Do you now?”

At her nod, I undo my pants and push them down. I’m out of my clothes in seconds, everything on the floor—and I lie down on the carpet on my back, my hard cock leaking pre-cum against my stomach.

“Then come here.”

Kira willingly jumps off the table and kneels next to me. I reach for her and maneuver her so she’s straddling my hips, her wet pussy hovering just above my cock. Her breasts bounce with the movement, nipples hard, and she braces her hands on my chest, her fingers digging into the tattoos there.

“Grind on me,” I tell her. “All over my cock. Use me to make yourself come again.”

She does. God, she does it beautifully—rocking her hips, sliding her pussy along the length of my shaft, her wetness coating me from base to tip. I reach up to cup her beautiful breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers until she moans.

“You’re so big,” she gasps. “And hard, and I’m…”

“You’re what?”

“I’m dripping all over you, I can feel it, Daddy.”

Fuck, for someone so innocent, she has a filthy little mouth once she forgets to be embarrassed. Maybe that’s all it is. She gets lost in what she’s feeling, and the words come before she can second-guess them. Whatever the reason, she’s a natural.

I slide one hand between us and rub my thumb through the slickness coating my cock, then bring it to her clit. She jerks, a broken sound tearing out of her throat. I circle her clit slowly, watching her face.

“You like having my cock wet with your cum while I play with your clit?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. “God, yes.”

“Keep grinding.”

Her rhythm finds itself again—slow, then faster, her pussy sliding along my length, her clit catching on the head of my cock with each forward rock. I watch her face the whole time—the way her lips part, the way her eyelids flutter, the way her breath comes in short, desperate gasps.

“Am I doing okay, Daddy?” she asks, and her voice is so small, so uncertain, that something in my chest cracks wide open.

I rear up and grab her throat, pressing my thumb against her pulse. Then I kiss her. Hard. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth while she moans against me.

I taste blood—mine or hers, I don’t know—and the metallic tang only makes me kiss her harder. Her hands claw at my shoulders, my chest, anywhere she can reach, and when I break the kiss, we’re both breathing like we’ve run a mile.

I grab her hips and buck up against her, grinding my cock against her clit. “You turn me on so fucking much,” I growl against her mouth. “Look at you. Grinding on my dick like you were made for it. So fucking beautiful.”

She comes with a sob, her thighs shaking against my hips. I don’t stop. I keep grinding against her, keep rubbing her clit, until she comes again, harder this time, her whole body seizing.

Before the aftershocks have even faded, I grab her and spin us around. She’s on her back on the carpet now, her hair fanned out around her head, her eyes dazed. I kneel between her spread thighs and grip my cock, stroking it hard and fast.

“Hold your pussy open for me,” I tell her. “Both hands. Show me where you want me.”

“Mmm,” she moans as she spreads her lower lips, exposing her pink, swollen entrance, glistening wet and begging.

I position the head of my cock right against her opening and stroke myself twice, hard, and then I’m coming. I shoot my cum all over her entrance in thick, hot stripes, painting her pussy with it, watching it drip down to her ass.

She moans, her hips lifting, seeking, and I slide two fingers through the mess and push it back inside her, working my cum into her while she whimpers.

“Fuck,” I groan. The sight is beyond perfect.

I lean down and kiss her, slow this time, my mouth gentle against hers. When I pull back, she’s looking at me with those wide hazel eyes, and something soft has replaced the hunger.

She laughs. Softly. A sound so unexpected that it takes me a second to process.

“I think,” she says, her voice husky from screaming, “I’ve learned my lesson now.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Have you?”

“Mmm.” She traces one finger along my jaw. “No more pretending to sleep.” Her mouth twitches. “And apparently no more sulking.”

I can’t help grinning at the pointed way she says the last word. I know she wasn’t sulking, but provoking her got a reaction, so I’m not regretting being an asshole.

“From now on, I’ll come find you when I’m scared instead of hiding.”

Something warm settles in my chest. I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Good girl.”

I grab the blanket from the couch and wrap it around her after lifting her into my arms. Then I carry her to the bedroom. Her head rests against my shoulder, her breath warm on my neck.

“Shower,” I tell her as I push the bathroom door open with my foot. “Then bed. I want you asleep for real this time.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she murmurs against my skin, and the word lands exactly where it’s supposed to.