Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride novel Chapter 11

Dante's POV

Gia shook her head weakly, trying to deny it.

“That was…” But her words broke off, as if even her mouth had stopped believing her.

I cupped both of her breasts, fingers splaying wide as I caressed them too gently, drawing circles around her hardened peaks, savoring the heat, the weight, the way her skin shivered beneath my palms.

A whimper escaped her lips, soft and helpless. Her hands shot out instinctively, not to stop me, but to grasp mine for balance as her knees wobbled beneath the weight of sensation.

"Watch how your nipples are hard and aching," I murmured, tracing her areola. "Not just for my touch... but for my mouth too. You want that, don’t you, pretty doll?"

She shivered, eyes shutting, lips parted. I leaned in, dragging my mouth along her neck, right against the spot she told me she didn’t like being touched. The second I brushed my lips there, her body jolted in my arms.

Liar.

I pushed her further. My mouth hovered just at her peak, and I groaned. "Would you like me to take one in my mouth? Hm? Let my tongue swirl around this perfect, needy little nipple?"

“I… um…” she stammered, trying so hard to hold on to her defiance.

Then finally, softly, “No.”

Another lie.

I smirked, cocky. She was still fighting it, still pretending she had control. My mind spun with the ways I could punish her, strip away every last layer of pride she put up. This beautiful, stubborn body needed to be taught. She needed to learn what it meant to submit, to obey, to never, ever deceive me.

And yet… I liked the way she resisted.

God, I fucking loved the fight. It made my revenge on the only piece of Vincenzo's property I could find more rewarding.

All the women I’d been with before her were too easy and eager. They submitted without the thrill of being broken. There was nothing to conquer in them, no satisfaction in their surrender.

But her?

My pretty little doll was unlike any of them.

She didn’t hand herself over freely. She fought me, even when her body screamed otherwise.

And fuck… that reminded me so much of…

And just like that, the memories came crashing into me like a wave I couldn’t outrun.

Esmeralda. My beautiful wife lying in my arms, bloody, limp, cold.

I jerked away from her, my breath ragged as I tried to force them back into the dark where they belonged. But they clawed their way through, like they always did, tormenting, refusing to let me go.

Her blood had been crying for vengeance ever since that night.

Vincenzo, that filthy traitor, had joined the other rival mafia clans to lay an ambush for us. I still remembered the flare of headlights, the screech of tires... and then he shot her.

Not once.

Not twice.

Ten fucking times.

Ten bullets in the woman I loved.

I still saw her face, her lifeless eyes, her body torn apart, and my hands trembling, soaked in her blood as I screamed her name, begging her not to die.

I could still hear her last breath choking out in my ear.

‘I love you Dante.’

I didn’t want to think about Esmeralda, not here, not now.

Didn’t want to feel this pain, this goddamn ache that tore me apart every time her face invaded my thoughts. But fuck… that night haunted me, gnawing through my sanity.

And now, I had the only living, breathing piece of Vincenzo I could lay my hands on.

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