The Mafia and His Obsession: Part 1 (Tainted Hearts 4)

It was a weak ploy to weaken me. But I had learned how to use his game on himself.

He thought he was dragging out the suspense. For me, I was just using each passing second to strengthen myself against the pain I knew was coming.

“Come here,” he finally said. Snapping his fingers with the words, he only stared at me. Emotionless. Just like the heartless man he was.

I moved forward, crawling closer between his legs. My body tightened in disgust, hating every moment of this. My skin itched with the urge to hide and run away. To fade away into nothingness.

He grasped my chin, pulling me closer. “I said come here.”

Pushing myself up, I crawled on his lap. With my thighs on either side of his hips, I straddled him, waiting for his next command.

“You have been spacing out a lot lately,” he continued, his eyes roaming my face diligently.

Only so I could escape you.

But even in my dreams, he was there. Always haunting me. Always making me cry soundless tears.

I shook my head mutely, and his eyes narrowed. His fingers dug into my thighs, slowly pushing my long dress up.

The hem grew closer and closer to my crotch, bunching tightly around my middle. Every time he touched me, I wanted to return the touch.

But in a different way. I wanted to claw his eyes out and watch his blood drip around us. I wanted to slice his throat open.

I wanted to stare into his soulless eyes.

His touch made me violent. Only problem was…the violence only existed in my head, buried deep inside. If only I could unleash it, then maybe I would get the taste of freedom.

But my freedom was a craving that would never be fulfilled.

His fingers inched closer, following an upward path. I trembled slightly but such a small shiver that even he missed it.

I am strong.

A soft whisper in my head resonated through my ears. I am strong.

Taking a deep breath, I released it quietly. Just as he touched me there. His thumb pressed harder, a slightly painful pressure. But not one I couldn’t bear.

I had been through worse than that.

Suddenly, he moved. And then I was under his body. Underneath him. Like always.

His body pressed against mine, trapping me into the soft mattress. His lips moved over my neck, placing kisses as he went. Biting softly and then harder.

Hard enough to break skin. He left his mark there as my blood slid down my neck in a single trail. Like a tear falling down your cheek.

Disgust filled me to full capacity, but still, I was frozen.

His wet kisses continued down to the valley of my breasts. He paused before slowly pulling away. My dress was ripped apart in mere seconds.

I blinked, waiting for this to be over.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

More kisses…more claiming. More marks on my body. His marks.

I had to bear them with pride, for they were my crown. My title. They showed who I belonged to.

I laid naked under him, my body bare to his pleasure. So he played me however he wanted. Pulling whatever strings he desired. Pressing whatever notes he wished.

My eyes widened at the prickling feeling in my arm. It was sudden, harsh, and then gone just as quickly as it came.

A few seconds passed before he propped himself on his elbows, hovering above me. His hardened bulge pressed against my core as he circled his hips, a tiny smirk on his face.

My eyes fluttered closed as I realized his game.

Forced pleasure.

He was going to make me crack under his hands. And like the whore I was…I was going to crack. Like every time he had played this game.

My jaw clenched as his hand traveled south between my legs. I refused. My body refused. My mind roared. My heart cracked a little.

But no matter how much I hated it, refused to want it, he made me want it.

My body might give in, but my soul was intact. He would not feast on my soul and heart. They were mine to keep.

His fingers invaded me, and my teeth snapped together, pressing hard, fighting against the invasion.

He pressed deeper. Another finger, opening me wider.

My eyes snapped opened as his other hand gripped my breast hard, pinching the nipple. “You are responding to me, just like the little whore you are.”

I hate you.

His thumb pressed over the tiny nub, circling over and over again, dragging a pleasure from deep within me. My thighs trembled in the effort of keeping my dignity.

My chest heaved with each breath, my vision clouding with unshed tears. The pressure of his fingers intensified, forcing me to feel it.

I hate you.

The tears trickled down my temple, soundlessly.

I hate you.

His fingers moved roughly inside of me, stretching me, hitting spots that jolted my insides. I clenched around him, my body wanting what he was giving but hating it at the same time.