Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

I looked up into his face, trembling. It felt as though my world had opened up and I was falling into a large, black hole. Lucien’s hands on my waist kept me steady as I looked into his eyes, that grey, pale laser-like eyes that were skimming over my face now, reading my expression clearly.

‘ Wh…why…?’ I stammered.

he pulled me into his arms and we stood for a while like that, my arms around his neck as I waited for the pounding of my heart to slow down.

Lucien was my rock, my strength. I could not go on without him. And he was leaving me , NOW?

Why?

Taking a deep breath, I looked up into his eyes and said fiercely,

‘Why?’

He looked deeply into my eyes and then traced a thumb over my full, parted lips.

‘I need to, little one.’ His gravelly voice was hoarse with emotion.

The phone in his pocket rang and with an oath, he lifted it up. The sight of the caller’s id made him stiffen.

“I need to take this.’ he growled and moved away, walking towards the house. He indicated with his free hand that I should do the same.

Belligerently, I stood on the grass in the gathering darkness. I wanted to scream and shout. But the sound of one of my babies’ wailing made my feet move, propelling me into the house.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

But inside of me, my mind was churning and I was angry.

***

Lucien

He knew Proserpina was upset. It was confirmed further when she did not come down for dinner. He was leaving in an hour; the call from his contact in the Middle East had confirmed Dmitri Rudenko’s whereabouts and he knew he had to go.

Right now.

When he raised his brows questioningly at Beatrice, the older woman shrugged her shoulders grumpily.

‘She weren’t feeling well, is all I know’ announced the old woman before marching out. His twins were not forthcoming either. Ria piped up, sadly.

“Why do you need to go now, Pappa? You have just come.’

That was it. He stood up, scowling. Tossing his napkin on the table, he strode out, making his way to his wife’s room.

***

Schwartz had agreed to meet him at the airfield. It was getting late.

When he stormed in, the first thing he noticed was that the room was in darkness, save for a small bed light.

His wife’s body was silhouetted against it. Those splendid curves that made his member harden immediately.

She spoke without turning around,

“Just leave me, please. I am not hungry.’

Her voice was low and full of pain.

He strode across and stood, looking down at her. Even when she had been weeping, as it was obvious, she looked so enticing. Her blouse was open; she must have just finished expressing herself. The faint smell of milk clung to her. She met his eyes, her own dull with pain.

She made no effort to stand up. All she did was a whisper,

“Just go, Lucien.’

And then, taking a deep, shaky breath, she went on,

“Leave me…’

Incensed and driven by a primitive need, he gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet. She cried out, fury in her eyes now as she raised her hand and struck him, catching his lip with her heavy ring. The ring he had gifted her.

He swore and holding her with one hand, he touched his lip reflectively. His cold eyes glinted.

“You have hurt me, woman. You have made me bleed.’

Then, pulling her to his hard length, he growled,

‘Make it better. Now.’

She took a ragged breath.

The act of striking him had been a reflex one, she had not intended to hurt him. But this…

She shivered and said contritely, “I…’

“Do it.’ he ordered and forced her against the wall beside the bed. She melted into his arms.

Then rising on tiptoe, she kissed his mouth, dragging her tongue slowly, tentatively across his lower lip, the one that she had caused to bleed. Licking, sucking, lightly and then, like a woman who was on fire for her mate.

He grunted an animalistic rumble before he kissed her back, hard and hurting, not a soft kiss between lovers, but one by a man who was barely holding back his passion. Grinding his erect member against her soft stomach, a hand snuck down to her skirts, yanking them up as he forced his fingers between her legs, finding the wetness that proved how she was on fire for him too. They kissed, urgently, their hands moving over each other, like people who would never meet again. But he held his ardour in check.

“I…I want…she moaned but he bit her lip hard.

‘Keep yourself wet and ready for me, woman.’ And then, hoarsely, his words against her mouth as she rubbed herself feverishly,

‘You are still a horny little b*tch for me, eh?’

His grey-blue eyes were devouring her as he spoke when he raised his glittering eyes to look at her, the blouse gaping open to reveal her large breasts tipped with deep pink nipples that stood erect and hard.

She felt her face flame. Her blouse was undone, her large breast pressed unashamedly against his chest. A small hand was placed on his shirt, where she had undone the buttons.

‘I need to catch that b*stard. So do not try to stop me.’ he grunted, rubbing himself against her suppliant body. She made a soft mewling noise of protest but he captured her mouth, holding her prisoner while she trembled.

‘I will get back and then…’

It was part promise part threat. His hot gaze raked over her, the prominent nipples aching for his mouth on them.

‘Now you need to feed my sons and daughter, woman.’ he said, a smile tugging against his mouth.

“Because when I get back, you will be servicing me, then these big tits will be mine to suckle.’ She felt her face go hot at his vulgar threat as he growled, coming closer, the coarse words spilling out of his mouth,

“To bite, to feast on.’ He slapped them lightly and she cried out.

Proserpina stepped back shakily, aware that her panties were soaking wet. But he was serious about leaving and she was not helping him. No, not at all.

‘Yes, Lucien.’ she said meekly, buttoning up her blouse under his watchful greedy gaze.

He turned to leave as though it was too much of a temptation, the unspoken appeal in her eyes.

‘When will you be back…?’ she whispered as his words sank in.

“I cannot say.’ he said, his voice cold and hard. And then, flinging a look at her, he added,

‘Do not expect me to call you. It is dangerous for you and the children to know my whereabouts.’

She stared at him in shock.

But before she could say a word, he had crossed back to her. Placing his finger against her mouth, he said,

‘I may be gone for months. Beston will keep you posted.’

And with one more final, hard stamp of possessiveness on her mouth, he turned and walked out.

She sank to the floor, too shaken to say a word.