The Filthy One

The pressure on my chest and throat from his hand is intoxicating. Mixed with the deep thrusts and his order for me to come, I don’t think twice. I let the building orgasm free, feeling myself pulse against him as his movements become erratic and he joins me with one last push, his deep growl sending a thrill down my spine. My entire body tingles, sensitive to every touch on my skin, and Marco kisses me again, softer this time. Leaving me boneless in his arms.

As he pulls away, I notice the red on his shirt, where my hand had been, then I look at my own hand and see it’s covered in blood, my dress completely ruined with the splatters of red. I almost gag at the sight until Marco grabs my hand and moves it down, pulling me in for another sensual kiss.

“You do not feel bad about any of this. It is not your fault.”

I’m lost for words, confused about my own actions, confused about who Marco really is, and confused about the people I thought I could trust.

Today has been a lot. I’m married, Kai gave me away, my stalker has been found and I helped kill him. Then on top of all that, I had sex with my new husband while covered in another man’s blood.

It’s all a little bit too much, and I can feel my mind checking out, like this part of my life is some seedy motel where rooms are by the hour. I need to walk away, to put distance between me and this man I thought I understood. This client I thought I could trust. This madman who literally bloodied my hands. Most of all, I need to squash the small part of me that is grateful for him.

Marco’s dick is still inside me, my legs still wrapped around his waist, as he opens the door and carries me upstairs.

I can’t find the words to speak, so I stay silent and allow him to place me on his bed, remove my dress, and take me into the shower.

He sheds his own clothes before stepping inside with me, and slowly cleans away the blood and cum. It’s not sexual, but as usual with Marco, it’s everything I need.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RIVER

“I’m bored.” Dressed like a boardroom executive, I’m at the threshold of Marco’s office, leaning against his door jamb—arms crossed—determined to get my way. For once.

It turns out being a Regina—or queen of this fucking criminal world—is a lot of work, but today, no one is asking me to look at files and determine who needs help with what. Mostly, I take care of the Italian families that are struggling in the area.

With an entire team behind me, we find jobs or housing. We feed those who can’t seem to make ends meet. When Marco told me about my role as the Regina, he gave me free rein over our kingdom. I have a budget and I have appointments with members of the community who come to us for help. The stories are sometimes heartbreaking, usually heartwarming. This job is like a calling for me, a way to absolve myself of this negative energy.

I get to bring good because, in this world, we take care of our own.

Unless you’re killing them for revenge.

I ignore the voice in my head that’s been wreaking havoc on my conscience, ignore the twisting in my lower belly every time the images of my wedding night assault me. To be fair, Marco has been my therapist in many ways, soothing my mind and battering my body with powerful orgasms. That night I screamed at him, slapped and punched him, insulted him over and over again and he let me. With his hands in his pockets, he allowed me to exhaust myself to the point of falling on the floor and sobbing. That’s when he picked me up and sat me on his lap where he whispered in my ear. “There are no ends I won’t go to, no lives I won’t take, and no rules I won’t shatter if it means you’re safe. It’s non-negotiable.” I fell asleep in his arms and woke up the next morning with his cock buried in my pussy and his tongue coaxing my lips open.

“If you need more work, I’m sure I can find something for you to do.” He pushes away from his desk, legs spread out and a grin so wicked it could make the devil jealous.

“I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Maybe you should so my cum can cleanse that dirty mouth of yours.” Goddamnit, how does he do this to me every time? His filthy mouth is a hot button to my aching clit.

“Maybe I’ll just strip down to nothing and go see what Lucas is making for lunch.” I begin to pop open my shirt but I don’t get to the third button before Marco is right in my face, one hand grabbing the top of the door jamb, the other cupping my heated pussy.

“I don’t think you want to play that game, Tesoro.” Hmm, possessive Marco is the sexiest Marco of all. Although, playful Marco likes to spank me and workaholic Marco likes to fuck me in his big mafia boss chair.

“Then I suggest you entertain me. Who knows what your bored wife is capable of doing?” Without a moment’s hesitation and with the dexterity of a man on a mission, Marco unfastens my pants—his hand diving in—and buries two fingers inside my aching pussy.

“My cunt. My orgasms. E tutta mia.” It’s all mine. I’ve learned that phrase since he says it all the time.

“Yes!” It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to build. In the month since our wedding, Marco has learned every inch of my body, every one of my erogenous zones, every plea that falls from my lips. My husband may be many things, but he’s not a slacker when it comes to my pleasure.

“Who is allowed to see your tits, River?”

“You.”

“Bene.” Pushing the material aside, he sucks on the flesh of my breast before biting down on my nipple and soothing it with a wet, hot, lick.

“Who is allowed to see your cunt?”

“You.” My hips are pushing at him, silently begging for more.