Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

She was. The pressure was building, the tension coiling tight in her belly, and she could feel herself getting close.

”Because...” she gasped.

”Because you love my dick,” he finished for her. ”Because you’ve been aching for this. Because nothing else satisfies you the way I do.”

His hand moved between them and found her clit. He rubbed it in circles while continuing to pound into her, and the combination of sensations pushed her over the edge.

She came hard, her orgasm ripping through her without warning, her body convulsing around his cock. She screamed his name, not Dimitri, not anyone else....just Dante. Over and over as pleasure crashed through her in waves.

He didn’t stop. Kept pounding into her, extending her climax, pushing her toward another one before the first one had even finished.

”Again,” he commanded. ”Come again. I want to feel you come on my dick again.”

And she did. Because he was right. Her body was completely his. Her pleasure was completely his. She was his in a way that terrified her and excited her and made her hate herself for wanting it so much.

When he flipped her over, she didn’t protest. Just got on her hands and knees and let him position himself behind her.

This angle was different. Deeper. His cock hit spots inside her that made her vision blur. He gripped her waist with both hands and started fucking her with the kind of intensity that made her wonder if the bed would survive.

”You feel perfect,” he groaned. ”Every fucking time. You feel like you were made for my cock.”

She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, her entire body surrendered to him. Her mind was gone. All that existed was the physical sensation of him inside her, stretching her, filling her completely.

When he reached around and found her clit again, she came immediately. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, and he groaned her name.

But he didn’t stop. Just kept fucking her through her orgasm and into the next one.

”I’m going to fuck you all night,” he said, his breathing ragged. ”I’m going to make you come so many times you can’t remember why you were angry with me. I’m going to remind you that you belong to me.”

He pulled out of her pussy and positioned himself at her ass.

”No,” she said, even as her body was already adjusting, already preparing for him.

”Yes,” he said simply, and pushed inside.

It was intense. Different. A stretch that bordered on pain but quickly morphed into pleasure. He started fucking her ass slowly, deliberately, his hand coming up to grip her hair and pull her head back.

”Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice rough. ”Is this what you were thinking about when you were alone? When you were touching yourself?”

She couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. The sensation was overwhelming.....his cock in her ass, his hand in her hair, his other hand coming around to rub her clit while he fucked her.

”Dante,” she gasped. ”Please...”

”Please what?” he asked, pulling her hair harder. ”Please fuck you harder? Please make you come? Please remind you that you’re mine?”

”All of it,” she sobbed. ”All of it. Please.”

He gave it to her.

His pace increased, becoming almost frantic. His hand on her clit rubbed faster, and she felt another orgasm building, different from the others, deeper, more intense.

When it hit, she screamed. Not his name. Just a raw, primal sound of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Her body convulsed. Her pussy and ass both clenched around him, and that was all it took. He came, burying himself inside her, his cock pulsing as he filled her.

They collapsed onto the bed together, both breathing hard, both completely wrecked.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Then Dante pulled out of her and stood up. He looked down at her body, marked with bites, covered in bruises, the evidence of what had just happened written all over her skin.

Isabella lay there, unable to move, unable to think. Her body was exhausted. Her mind was shattered. She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to hate herself for letting him do this to her.

And she did hate herself. But not enough to ask him to leave.

”Don’t move,” Dante said.

He walked to her bathroom.

Isabella could hear water running. The sound of him moving around, gathering things. She lay there, completely vulnerable, completely exposed, and waited.

Dante returned with a towel and a bowl of warm water. He cleaned her carefully, gently, in complete contrast to the brutality of moments before. He wiped her body down with the kind of tenderness that made her chest ache.

It would have been easier if he was brutal all the time. Easier to hate him if he didn’t have this capacity for gentleness. But he did. He was capable of both. The darkness and the light, twisted together in one man.

When he was finished, he set the items on her nightstand.

That’s when he saw them.

The bottles of pills.

Multiple bottles. Some empty. Some half-empty. Some nearly full. And by the number of them, the frequency with which they’d been refilled, she’d been taking them heavily. Regularly. Obsessively.

Dante’s jaw tightened.

He picked up one of the bottles and read the label carefully.

Anxiety medication. But not just any anxiety medication. This was a high-dose benzodiazepine. The kind of medication you took when your anxiety was severe enough to be debilitating. The kind of medication that could become addictive if you weren’t careful.

He looked at the prescription dates. Looked at how much had been refilled. Did the mental math based on the dosage and the dates.

She was taking double the recommended dose.

That was dangerous. That was the kind of medication abuse that led to dependency. That led to serious health problems.