Chapter 18: Kira - Marrying the Mafia Daddy

My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for the hem of his wifebeater. It’s not nerves, though. No, it’s excitement. Domenico usually revels in his control so much that he does, well, everything. Gathering the soft fabric, I pull it up his body.

He chuckles and raises his arms, helping me when I can no longer reach due to our prominent height difference. As soon as the fabric’s gone, I can only stare at the exposed skin.

This isn’t the first time I’m seeing him shirtless, but it’s the first time I’m unashamedly drinking him in. Taking my time, I study the ridges of muscle on his stomach, and the trail of dark hair that starts just below his navel and narrows as it disappears into his sweatpants.

His gray sweatpants, which hide absolutely nothing, make it a hard task to lift my eyes to his broad and powerful chest. It’s covered in the coarse hair that I can’t help reaching for and twirling around my index finger. There are a few gray hairs I haven’t noticed before, but only a handful.

I’m so lost in my discovery I barely register when he lowers the zipper in the middle of my sports bra and pushes it down my arms so I’m now completely naked in front of him.

Continuing my scrutiny, I run my hands up to his shoulders and trail down his arms. Corded muscle runs down to his biceps, which flex when he drops his arms to his sides. His forearms are a landscape of veins and sinew, the kind that stand out when he clenches his fists, and I watch his hands curl and uncurl as I study him.

Every inch of his upper body is covered in tattoos.

Not the kind you see on college boys who get one small symbol to mark a milestone. This is something else entirely. His skin is a canvas of black and gray ink that flows from his shoulders down his chest, across his ribs, wrapping his torso in patterns I can’t begin to decipher.

Some are geometric, sharp lines and angles that catch the light. Others are softer, washed-out grays that blend into his skin like smoke.

There’s a gun on his left bicep. The barrel is pointed downward, smoke curling from it in delicate gray wisps that trail across his skin. On his right, he has an ace and a pair of dice, with the numbers facing up in what I assume is a winning combination.

The ink is old—I can tell by the way it’s settled into his skin, faded at the edges in a way that makes it look like it’s always been part of him. I’m staring. I know I’m staring, and I can’t stop.

“Are you going to finish the job, or am I doing this myself?” Domenico’s voice is laced with amusement.

Heat floods my cheeks. My hands drop to the waistband of his sweatpants, and I quickly push them down his hips, taking his boxer briefs with them, both sliding down his powerful thighs until he steps out of them.

His cock juts thick and heavy from between his legs, the head flushed dark and glistening with pre-cum. I instinctively lick my lips, and a part of me wonders what it would be like to kiss him there.

I let my eyes trail the veins that run along the shaft, prominent and pulsing. If I’m being completely honest, Domenico’s dick intimidates me. And I’m kind of glad he’s been the one to take actual sex off the table, because I’m not even sure he’d fit inside me.

Still, the sight makes my inner walls clench, and I can feel wetness pooling between my legs.

I reach for him without thinking, then stop, my hand hovering inches from his skin. “Can I touch you?”

Domenico’s jaw tightens. Something dark and hungry moves through his eyes. “You never have to ask me that, Kira. You’re my wife.”

My fingers wrap around him. He’s warm and solid in my grip, his skin smooth over hardness, and when my thumb brushes over the head, spreading the wetness there, he makes a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a curse.

“Fuck!”

I look up at him, watching his clenched jaw and flaring nostrils. There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing I did that.

Experimentally, I slide my hand down his length before bringing it back up. His stomach muscles tighten. Oh. I do it again, slower this time, watching his face instead of my hand.

“Kira,” he warns.

“What?”

“You know what,” he growls.

I absolutely don’t, but I’m starting to enjoy finding out. Tightening my grip slightly, I stroke him again. His hips jerk forward, almost imperceptibly, but I catch it.

A grin pulls at my lips. “You like that, Daddy?”

“Baby, you’re holding my cock in your hand. What the fuck do you think?”

I laugh softly and use my other hand too, curious about the weight of him, the heat, the way more wetness gathers at the head every time I stroke upward. He’s so big my fingers don’t meet around him, and that probably should intimidate me more than it does right now.

Instead, it makes me bolder.

Going back to using just one hand, I sweep my thumb over the head again. Domenico groans, his eyes closing for half a second. I’ve never seen him like this. Usually, I’m the one squirming and moaning while he watches me fall apart. Having even this small amount of power over him feels intoxicating.

So naturally, I do it again. And again.

His hand shoots out and closes around my wrist. “Why did you stop me?” I whine, not happy at the interruption.

“Because otherwise I’m going to come all over your hand, wife.” His voice is rougher now, strained in a way that makes pride bloom in my chest. “And I’m not ready for that yet.”

I furrow my brows, not understanding. Then… yeah, I do understand, and I feel a blush warming my cheeks.

“Mmm, good girl,” he croons. “I want to taste you again.” His hand slides between my thighs, fingers finding me wet and ready, and he groans against my neck. “Drink you down. I’ve been thinking about it since last time. Going fucking mad with it.”

“Oh, God,” I moan. “I want that, too.”

“Get on the bed.”

I immediately do as he says, and he follows me. Then he’s moving. Down my body, his mouth leaving a trail of heat—my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, my ribs, my stomach. Each kiss is lingering and possessive, and by the time he settles between my thighs, my heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

The sight of his broad shoulders between my thighs, his mouth inches from where I’m most sensitive, sends a jolt through me.

“I love the way your pussy tastes,” he growls, and then his mouth is on me.

The first contact is flat, the broad press of his tongue against my entrance, and the sensation is so intense I arch off the bed with a moan. His hands clamp down on my hips, holding me in place, and I can feel his fingers digging into the flesh.

There’s no rushing as Domenico uses his tongue to work me open with a patience that feels criminal. Especially when I have none myself.

“Stop teasing me,” I moan, barely recognizing my own voice.

“As you wish.” His words are the only warning I get before he uses his hands to peel my pussy lips apart, exposing my clit.

“Domenico!” I cry as he blows air straight on my bundle of nerves.

Chuckling, he hardens his tongue and uses it to circle my clit with precision that makes my thighs shake, and the sound that tears from my throat is raw and broken.

“Domenico—”

“Stay still.” His voice is muffled against me. “Let me do this.”

I try. God, I try.

But his mouth is magic, and his tongue is wicked. Every time he sucks my clit between his lips, I lose whatever composure I had. My hips buck against his hold, seeking more pressure, more friction, and each time he lets me move for exactly one second before pinning me down again.

He reads me like a book written in a language only he understands. When my breathing quickens, he slows down. When my thighs tremble, he doubles his efforts. He moves one of his fingers to my opening and pushes inside.

“I think my greedy wife needs more,” he grunts.

“Yes!” I cry. “Please!”

Adding a second finger, he scissors and curls both deep inside me. The combined sensation of his fingers and mouth is too much.

“Oh… yes. Yes. Domenico!” I scream as an orgasm hits with almost no warning.

One second I’m hovering on the edge, the next I’m crashing over it. I clamp my thighs around his head as a moan tears from my throat. It’s followed by his name, broken into syllables I can’t control.

My back arches off the bed, my fingers finding his hair and twisting, and he doesn’t stop or even slow down. His tongue keeps working me through it, dragging the pleasure out until I’m shaking and sobbing and begging him to stop because I can’t take anymore.

He doesn’t stop.

Domenico adds a third finger, and all three of them touch the spot that makes white-hot lightning crack behind my eyelids. His mouth is relentless, sucking and licking and driving me toward a second peak that’s already building, already cresting.

I’m making sounds I don’t recognize—desperate, pleading, half-formed words that dissolve into moans.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growls against me. The vibration of his voice against my clit sends another shock through my core. “You’re taking Daddy’s fingers so good. My filthy girl.”

“Yes! Daddy! I’m so close again!”

The second orgasm breaks harder than the first. It rolls through me in waves, each one stronger than the last, and by the time it peaks, my whole body is shaking, my fingers twisted so tight in his hair I’m probably hurting him and I can’t make myself let go.

He works me through it with his mouth and his fingers, relentless, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and he’s going to spend every second of it devouring me.

I come back to myself in pieces. My body is flushed, trembling, every nerve ending raw and oversensitive. My husband’s mouth is still on me, gentler now, lapping at me with a tenderness that feels almost cruel after what just happened.

When he lifts his head to look at me through my spread legs, I can’t help gaping at his wet mouth and chin. The sight of him like that makes something possessive and hungry coil tight in my belly.

I want more. I want everything.

“Take me.” The words come out ragged, stripped of whatever composure I had left. “Please, Domenico. I want you inside me. I’m ready.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before moving up my body. His cock drags against my inner thigh, leaving a wet trail, and when he positions himself between my legs, I can feel the head pressing against my entrance.

Not pushing in. Just resting there, hot and heavy and so close I could scream.

“Are you?” he asks, his voice rough but controlled.

“I am,” I argue.

His eyebrows rise.

My confidence lasts all of two seconds. My eyes drop between us, and seeing his cock resting against me brings back the thought I had when I first undressed him. How the hell is that supposed to fit?

So, okay, maybe ready was a bit too ambitious.

“Kira.”

“I’m thinking.” I glare at him when his mouth twitches. “Don’t,” I snip.

“Don’t what?”

“Look smug.”

“I haven’t said a fucking word.”

Which somehow makes it worse. A part of me wants to throw my arm over my face to avoid looking at his I-just-ate-the-canary expression. But I just know he’ll move it if I do, so I don’t even bother.

I glare at him before looking between us again. He’s huge. There’s no getting around that fact, and suddenly the idea of him pushing all of that inside me makes my stomach tighten for reasons that aren’t entirely sexual.

“Maybe…” I swallow. “Maybe I’m not ready for all of you.”

The teasing disappears from his expression.

“There you go.”

“But I still want you inside me,” I add quickly. “So, what do we do?”

Domenico lowers his head until his mouth brushes mine. “We compromise.”

“How?”

He rolls his hips slowly, dragging the head of his cock through my wetness before resting it against my entrance again. “Just the tip.”

My pulse jumps, my lips parting in surprise. I hadn’t considered that. “Just the tip?”

“Enough for you to feel me. Enough for me to feel you. Nothing more until you’re actually ready for more.”

I stare at him, thinking about it. About how badly I want him. About how relieved I am that he isn’t about to push that entire thing inside me.

“Okay,” I whisper.

His eyes sharpen. “Okay, what?”

“Just the tip, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” His voice drops lower. “Now ask me nicely.”

The grin that spreads across my face is bright and sudden. “Can I please have your tip inside me, Daddy?”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark and hungry. Then he leans back on his heels and fists his cock while inching closer. I moan out loud when he rubs the tip all the way along my slit and up to my clit. The touch sends zings of electricity sparking all along my skin.

“Again.”

“Daddy, please give me the tip,” I whine.

The head of his cock breaches me slowly. The stretch is immediate, burning as my body resists then yields in increments that feel like they’re being measured in heartbeats. He’s thick, so much thicker than his fingers, and the pressure of just the tip inside me is enough to make my vision blur.

My inner walls clamp around him, trying to pull him deeper, and the sensation of my body fighting against his restraint is maddening. He holds absolutely still, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Relax for me.”

I try. I really try. But my body is greedy, hungry, clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. He’s barely inside me and already I feel full, stretched.

Domenico moves in shallow, controlled pushes. But true to his word, he never gives me more than the tip before he withdraws and starts all over again. Each thrust sends a shock through my core.

“You’re so tight,” he grunts. “Taking just the tip and you’re squeezing me like a fist. Fuck, Kira. When you’re ready to be fucked properly, you’re going to take all of me. Every inch. And you’re going to come so hard you forget your own name.”

My fingers dig into his forearms. I can feel the muscle flexing under my grip, the veins standing out against his skin, and I leave crescent marks with my nails.

Right now, I don’t care. All I care about is the maddening, teasing rhythm of his cock barely inside me, the promise of more just beyond my reach. Letting go of my hip, he moves his hand between us and thumbs my clit.

“Domenico!” I cry, my insides clenching around him. “I’m going to… I’m so close… don’t stop, Daddy.”

He growls, the sound completely primal. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.”

I lift my hips, instinctively trying to get more of him inside me, but every time I try, he retreats. “I thought you were my good girl,” he tsks. “But you’re being very bad right now, Kira.”

“I need… I need…” My words disappear beneath a scream as I come around the tip of his cock. “Daddy!”

He continues to play with my clit, not stopping until I come down from my high and force my eyes to open. I can feel a satisfied smile spreading across my lips.

“That was perfect,” I sigh.

I want to say more, but I forget what when he pulls out of me. The sound I make is pure protest—a whimper, high and desperate, my hips chasing the sensation as it leaves me. My inner walls clench around nothing, empty and aching, and I could cry from the loss of it.

“I’m going to come,” Domenico says, his voice tight with restraint. “And I can’t come in your cunt yet.”

His hand wraps around his cock. He pushes himself firmer against my legs, and I pull them up so there’s more room for him. I can’t look away as he strokes himself with quick, firm pulls.

“This is how much I want you,” he groans. “I almost slammed into your tight cunt to fill you with my cum. You make me fucking forget everything.”

“A part of me wishes you had,” I admit, not able to pretend the thought doesn’t make me ache for more.

“Play with your breasts for me,” he groans.

I obediently move my hands to my breasts, squeezing and rolling the nipples. “Mmm,” I moan.

“Fuck!” he grunts.

It only takes two more strokes, then he’s coming. Thick pulses of cum shoot across my breasts in hot, heavy ropes that land with a warmth that makes me gasp.

Domenico’s gaze drops to my chest, then back to my face. His breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched. “Rub it into your skin,” he says. “Like lotion.”

I hold his eyes, smirking as I do what he says. My palms press against my breasts, spreading his cum across my skin in slow circles. The sensation is warm and slick, his release coating my fingers, my palms, and the swell of my breasts.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

His hands join mine, his larger palms overlapping my smaller ones, helping me work the cum into my skin until it’s absorbed, until there’s nothing left but the faint sheen of moisture and the smell of him on me.

I notice a small drop on my hand, but instead of rubbing it into my skin, I lick it away without looking away from his hypnotizing blue eyes.

“Fucking hell, Kira,” he rasps. “What are you doing to me?”

He kisses me before I can come up with a reply.

His tongue pushes past my lips with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl. I can taste myself on him, just like he can taste himself on me. The combination of flavors is overwhelming in the best possible way.

His forehead rests against mine when we break apart. We’re both breathing hard, and his hand is still on my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple in slow, absent circles that make me shiver.

“Next time,” he says, his voice low and rough with promise, “I’m going to give you more.”