Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

Anger rolls off him in waves, and the hair on the back of my neck rises. I stare up into his blue eyes and shiver. There is no trace of the man who had fucked me… Or of the man who had married me… Who had made pancakes for breakfast for me. This man is closed up and hurting. He is raging at me… At the world. He is wounded, and not just from the physical hurt I had caused him. It’s the fact that I had run away from him. That I had taken the little bit of empathy he had begun to show me, and turned it against him. I had left him…had insulted him, had ground his ego underfoot as I had run away from him… With the help of his brother, who had also betrayed him. It probably convicts his brother doubly in his eyes.NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

I chew the inside of my cheek, “I… I know you are angry with me Mika, but-”

“You know nothing.” His voice is low, so hard… So harsh that a shiver runs down my spine. He is shutting down, taking any emotions that he may have once shown me and shoving them so deep down that I might never reach him again. My heart begins to thud in my chest and my pulse rate spikes.

“Mika, please listen to me.”

“You may call me Michael,” he commands as he takes in my features. Those blue eyes are cold fire, like ice-chips, that glow with the reflection of the northern lights.

A cold sensation coils in my chest. I have to reach him. I can’t let him build up these walls between us again. If he does, I’ll never be able to get through to him.

“Mika… I mean, Michael,” I tip up my chin, “I have something for you.” I reach for my bag and he grabs my wrist.

“Don’t fucking touch that.”

“I just want to return something that I took from you.”

“Oh?”

I nod, “If you’ll only let me open my handbag.”

He releases me, only to snatch my bag from me.

Jerk.

He opens the handbag, pulls out the knife, then throws the bag aside.

“Did you think you could stab me again?”

“No, Michael. It’s not that; its-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “I don’t believe a word you say. Do you know how much this knife means to me? Is that why you took it?”

“Michael, please. Please, let me explain.”

He laughs, “If you think you can tell me what to do, you have another think coming.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I curl my fingers into fists, “Will you, for one second, stop posturing and let me explain, you macho asshole?”

He stills, then looks me up and down, “You, clearly, have no attachment to your life. It’s why you marched in here, and with my knife on you.”

“That’s what I am trying to explain to you.” I swallow, “I came because-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, “just shut the fuck up. I have had enough of your tricks, you pathetic excuse for a woman.”

I pale, “Thought I was your Beauty.”

“I was, clearly, mistaken.”

“I am not, though.”

He frowns, “The fuck do you mean?”

“There’s a reason I returned, and with your knife.” I swallow, “I want you to use it on me.”

He sneers. “How many lies can you tell? It’s a record, even for you.”

“It’s not a lie,” I say through gritted teeth. “Seriously, haven’t you been listening to a word I am saying?

“No more tricks,” he growls, “turn around. On your hands and knees, or I’ll make you do it.”

“I’ll do it… Just… I want you to use your knife and-”

He grips my shoulder, applies enough pressure so I am forced to turn around. I push up on my hand and knees, then flinch when he taps the outside of my thigh.

“Spread your legs,” he says in a hard voice, and fuck me, but my knees go weak. Moisture beads my core and my pussy clenches. I slide my legs apart, or as much as the skirt of my dress will allow.

I hear the sound of him moving, the scrape of metal on metal. I turn, glance at him over my shoulder, in time to see the glint of light off the blade. He swoops down. I flinch, then cry out when I feel him slice through the skirt of my dress. Cool air assails the heated flesh of my thighs.

“Wider,” he growls. “Part your thighs.”

I obey, slide my legs apart, even as my core dampens further. What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I find his rough handling of me, the thought of him taking me right here in this church… Which is, technically, a blasphemy… Why do I find that so much of a turn on?

I sense him move a second before the blade nicks my skin. I whimper, feel the draft on my pussy lips and know he’s cut through my panties.

Silence descends and I can feel the blood pumping in my ears. My heart beat ratchets up further, even as a sinking sensation crowds in on my chest. My belly twists and more moisture slides down my inner thigh.

I hear the jingle of his belt, the rasp of his zipper being lowered, and all of my nerve endings seem to catch fire. I push up my butt, knowing he’ll spot the small movement…but I don’t care. I am horny for him. I want to feel his thick, fat cock inside me. I want him to take me, to fuck me, to prove to me that he is alive. To show me that I am still worthy of him. Bloody hell. I squeeze my eyes shut. Why am I so ready to degrade myself like this? I lower my chin… Wait… Wait as he grips my hip.

I sense him move closer, the heat of him enveloping me, holding me in a space where there is only me and him.

“Stay still,” he commands as his hand moves.

I glance over my shoulder in time to watch him slice through the dress at my hip. He rips the fabric apart, and cool air strikes my hip, a second before a lick of pain slices through me. I huff, crane my neck, to find his hand moving. What the hell? The breath rushes out of me. He’s carving something on my hip. Another tingle of pain crawls up my spine.

“Michael,” I groan, “what are you doing?”