Sinner’s Vows (Mafia Vows #3)

1. Dominic

1

DOMINIC

I open the door, step inside, and let my eyes adjust to the darkened room. Center stage is a four-poster bed, covered in black satin. On top lies a woman, spread-eagled and strapped to the four wooden bed posts.

She’s been waiting. Good. Just lying here, open to nothing but meditation, is the best place for her to be before we start. I bet she’s been visualizing everything I’m going to do to her, already ramping up her need. As always, they’ve set the scene exactly as I instructed. Only the best satin sheets and the softest hemp Shibari rope from Japan to tie her down with—I want her to be as comfortable as possible.

As the door closes quietly behind me, she’ll be aware of my arrival, what with her other senses heightened seeing how she’s also blindfolded. For a moment, I stand and just breathe. Even this she’ll hear in detail, tuning in with anticipation to every sound I make.

When I don’t move, she strains against the inch of space she has, her limbs shifting the black satin sheet covering her naked body.

Good. Nice and tight. They followed my instructions to the letter.

I take in a few deep breaths, on a knife’s edge. This is what she wanted, what she needs, and now I tilt towards the slow and sensual, focusing on her needs all the way, serving. Because this isn’t about me. It’s for me, too, but my needs are met by meeting hers. For a moment, I close my eyes and shut the doors in my mind. Doors leading to places I don’t want to go when I’m with her.

My steps sound quietly over the hardwood floor as I make my way to the console table where my items are laid out. The consent form. I pick it up and scan through it, making mental notes along. Once done, I reach for the matches, take one out, and strike it into a hot flame.

A match can burn twice. First in flame and then on flesh, during those last seconds before it turns to ash. I push the thought away as the mixed scent of sulphur and phosphorus drifts up when I light the row of candles standing sentinel along the wall. They are slightly scented, nothing overpowering but more like a warmth of clean linen with a hint of pine.

I take two and carry them over to the nightstands flanking the bed. As I put down the first one, she shifts, aware of my every move, her nostrils flaring as the new scent fills the space. I round the bed and place the other candle down. I’m right there by her hand, and when I do nothing more, she grapples for the rope and pulls it taut against the bedpost.

It’s her first real sign of distress, that her trust in me might be wavering. If only she knew what I am capable of.

I reach for her inner arm in a tender touch.

“Easy, baby,” I murmur to reassure her, leaving my hand there so my warmth can sink into her skin and calm her. Her fist clutches the rope and battles the restraint. “Deep breaths.” I wait until she inhales long, slow breaths, exhales them just as slowly, and her chest rises and falls in a steady, regular rhythm. It would help if I removed the gag, but it’s too early in the evening for that. “Good girl. Just like that.”

It’s a waiting game, and once she’s settled, I glide my fingers over her arm to her hand and for a moment caress her fingers. She’s let go of the rope, her grip relaxed, and as I stroke her gently, lacing our digits, sliding them together, seducing her with the smallest of touches, she traps my hand with her own. It isn’t a desperate hold, more like a lover’s touch, and a smile toys on my lips as I rub a slow circle with my thumb in the heart of her palm.

A small foundation of trust is here. Now to build on it. I study her face in the flickering candlelight. I don’t know this woman. We haven’t had each other before, but Luca sure knows how to deliver. She’s beautiful—darker skin with smooth, soft cheeks and plump lips circling the gag, black hair that tumbles loose over the satin pillow, its length seeming to melt into the fabric.

My gaze glides lower, to the elegant column of her neck, exposed and so delicate. It won’t take much?—

Fuck. This isn’t why I’m here. I close my eyes as my mind slips and I know I’ve left it too long. I need this more than she does—she isn’t the only one trying to reconnect with a part of herself that’s buried under debris.

Shut the door, Dominic. Just fucking shut it.

With a measured exhale, tension seeps from my body, cleansing my mind.

As I open my eyes, my gaze dips to her chest. With the slightest move, the satin slips and teases her nipples into hard peaks, and they are etched out against the sheet.

I bet she’s ready for me. Wet and willing. It would be as much her pleasure as mine to rip the sheet off her body and fuck her right now, but I’ve hardly started. I need this. The slow seduction. The tenderness and care. Having echoes of touch reverberating into her darkest parts, letting every sensory input turn as tight as the spring in her can go. When she finally orgasms, it would feel like a meteorite burning through the ozone layer to Earth. Shattering with such intensity that for weeks, she’d think of nothing else.

And for a few hours tonight, I will think of nothing else but getting her there. Fuck knows, I need my thoughts channeled into something positive, use my hands to gently weave every nerve ending in her body into bliss and not pain. Give her pleasure, and in the process, drain out the bottled-up poison in me.

I let go of her hand and stretch my fingers, releasing tension in all of them except my left-hand pinkie, which stays crooked. The woman arches her back at the missing connection, so I graze her cheek with a knuckle.

“Soon.”

But it’s a lie.

This is a test of her willpower just as much as mine. She can come at any time, whatever her mind dictates. Some women can orgasm through thought alone, and if she’s one of those, my purpose here would be to arrest her mind so she only comes on my command.

If she isn’t one of those women, I’m here to guide her there.

I take my time to set up the rest of the room, putting the remaining candles in place and then turning on the sound system. It’s a slow, heavy baseline, blended with other beats which only lure you into the most primal of rhythms.

Once everything is in place, my mind is in the right space, too, and I turn to her. In the flickering glow of all the candles, her breathing syncs with the music. It’s a sight I relish like a delectable treat. The beats vibrate through my body as I palm my erection. Soon.

I toe off my shoes and strip my socks, then start to unbutton my shirt as I pad over to the foot end of the bed. Dropping my shirt to the floor, I however keep myself contained, belt buckled, willpower harnessed. Then I reach for the edge of the sheet and slowly drag it off her, exposing her beauty inch by inch, her body lifting into the erotic glide of satin flowing over skin.

She’s a beautiful canvas on which I’m going to draw with my tongue, my lips, my fingertips, then maybe with more, depending on how I feel.

As I drop the sheet to the floor, I kneel onto the bed and move on my hands and knees until I’m hovering over her body. We’re not touching, but she’s pushed her hips up to mine, seeking connection. I dip my head, my mouth at her temple, my lips soft as I inch them over her delicate skin to her ear, where I run them along the shell and down to the lobe.

She’s exquisite, so soft, with the faint scent of lilies clinging to her skin, but it’s the helpless moan escaping from her that only hardens me more.

“I’m slow, baby, so bear with me,” I murmur, my warm breath popping a rush of goosebumps down her neck and beyond.

She moans again, and now, I’m completely into it, sinking into the moment, my blood thrumming with the beat. My lips press to her skin, tasting her, licking and nibbling and placing open-mouthed kisses on every inch of her, sucking and teasing her nipples, then going down until I’ve reached her lower belly, where I pause.

I’m still perched over her, touching her with nothing but my lips and tongue, but now, I shift my weight so I can press my palm to her pelvic bone. She quivers, and when I massage her there with just the right amount of pressure, her breathing becomes strained.

“No. Not yet,” I instruct, lifting my hand, leaving only my fingertips connected to her skin. She’d cry out in protest if she could, but it’s too soon to remove the gag.

For a minute I wait, allowing her pending orgasm to retreat. I get off the bed and pad over to the console, my gaze roaming over the selection on display. Nothing here will inflict pain, because I don’t do that shit outside of office hours, but sexual torture is real. The only difference is that sublime pleasure is the ultimate outcome, and women will endure everything I do to them, knowing I’m getting them there with a helluva bang.

I pick up a peacock feather and make my way back to the bed.

By the time I deem her ready for me, I’ve worked through several props, and she’s soaked the sheets, but still she hasn’t come. Her scent overpowers every candle in the room, and my cock is begging me to make it end. I strip my belt and pants, and when I fist my cock, need ripples through my body. I want that tight pussy now, and with trembling hands, I rip open the condom and roll it on. She’s gone quiet, maybe sensing freedom and release are seconds away.

I unhook her legs, one after the other, and she pulls her knees up, opening as wide for me as she possibly can. I’m on her in seconds and force myself to ease into her with slow thrusts. She comes on the third one, and her whole body trembles, her thighs shaking as I drive in and out, maxing her orgasm to the deep beats of the music which set this rhythm in the first place.

And still she comes. I don’t stop pounding into her, my own release stalling. I haven’t earned this.

Her cheeks are wet, and I curse softly. I reach for the gag and unclip it, and it falls to the side.

“Shh, baby girl,” I try to soothe her, but she’s full-on sobbing now.

“Harder,” she pleads as if she knows exactly what I need. “Fuck me harder. Please.”

And it’s the only way I’m going to get there. I slam into her, thankful that nothing about her is fragile, that her body can take mine, that she is ready for my need. By the time my release rockets out of me, I feel another orgasm hugging my own. She cries out, her feet hooking over my thighs, pressing me as deep into her as I can go as we peak together.

It’s intense. Powerful. Our bodies one. All tension seeps out of me as I press into her, acknowledging again that I’ve waited too long for this, for my antidote. For my own sanity, I need to do this more often.

When her legs go slack, I adjust my weight, lifting off her inch by inch. She slides her feet down my calves, trapping me.

“Baby—”

“Let me touch you,” she whispers. “Let’s me see you.”

I lower my head to kiss her, finally connecting our lips and forcing her to be quiet. It’s a slow, deep, and erotic kiss, aimed to distract her, because none of that’s happening. With us kissing, my cock stirs afresh where it’s still lodged in her body. Fuck. I can just start again. I bet she’d be there for it all. We can probably go the whole night.

With a last soft sweep of my tongue, I close off the kiss and slip from her body. “I’ve got to go.”

“Why? Please stay.”

I know she needs aftercare, somebody to hold her and talk to if she wants this. It isn’t going to be me. It’s never me. “I’ve a funeral in the morning.”

She stills. “What? I’m sorry…whose funeral?”

“My dad.” And the only way I’d be able to get through tomorrow is by fucking a stranger tonight.

I deal with the condom as she says nothing, probably digesting my words and fucked-up attitude. Her arms are still tied and she’s still blindfolded, but she’s relaxed now, sinking into the mattress with a sated afterglow. I stop the background music, find my clothes, and get dressed. My head is shifting away from the space of release, back to reality.

“Who are you?” she asks.

Somebody you don’t want to know in real life.

“Someone will be here as soon as I leave to take care of you.” In every way I can’t. Hold you, talk to you, make you laugh. Love you.

I walk out, never answering her question.