37. Vian
VIAN
Rafe won, the fucker.
But I feel like a winner.
Zara is on her way home, and I have a surprise waiting for her. I’m stealthily trying to seduce my wife. I have needs, goddamn it. The only compromise I will make is to take it slow.
She walks inside, bringing my life back with her, and comes to an abrupt halt when she sees the white rose petals and candles lighting the stairs.
She slips off her heels, the smile teasing her lips betraying that she’s onto me. “Are we celebrating something?”
“You coming back home?” I say good-naturedly.
It’s one reason, and I missed her.
It was the first time I wished poker night to end sooner, and I wasn’t the only one.
A peal of laughter flows from her mouth. “Who won?”
“I won at life. Rafe won the poker game. The loser.”
She laughs some more, making me feel like a damn hero. “I like the attitude, husband.”
She sashays toward me, but I lose patience and cut the distance between us in two strides.
I pull her flush to my chest by the back of her neck, and she giggles as I inhale her sweet scent. “I missed you.” She smells like home. Like mine.
She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Me too. You’re still not getting into my panties.”
I wiggle my brows. “You wear thongs.”
“Semantics.”
“Exactly, baby.”
Nothing will deter me. My patience has beeped its last second.
With my palm on her ass, I urge her up the stairs and into our bedroom.
More rose petals and candles light a path to the bathroom.
Inside, more petals rest along the edge of the ample tub, soft music plays from the house’s integrated sound system, and silky petals glide around the sweetly perfumed water.
A bottle of non-alcoholic red wine chills on the floor with two glasses.
She takes in the romantic ambiance and says over her shoulder, “Pulling out all the stops, I see.”
“I live to love you.”
She rewards me with a beam that wires me up.
I help her out of her shirt and skirt. “Have I told you that you drive me wild with these fucking skirts?”
She bites her lip, playing coy. “Not my intention.”
“Sure, miss innocent with perfect legs and an ass to die for.”
I lower to my knees, my fingers digging into her waist, and place a soft kiss on her belly.
She threads her hand through my hair, our eyes locking as I peel her thong off and she helps me undress.
“We’re just going to take a bath,” she breathes, not sounding so sure.
A noncommittal hmm rumbles in my throat.
I am not necessarily reenacting our first bath together, but I intend to make her lose her mind just like then, when she begged for the tip only to end up slowly fucked and filled with cum.
Her hands skim down my torso, and she traces her finger over my bullet wound, then the knife wound marring my right side.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, placing a kiss on each mark.
“You didn’t mean to. I startled you. You reacted. Better safe than sorry.”
Her chest heaves with a deep sigh. “Not with you, baby. My impulse could have cost me everything.”
Then she moves to the other one, her gaze turning darker. “But this one was intentional.”
“He’ll pay for it,” I assure her. “Only my wife can kill me.”
She slaps my chest, a small smile teasing her lips. “You’re incorrigible.”
I help her in and scoot myself up, my back leaning against the tub. She lies on top of me, and I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying pure bliss.
“Even if I lose myself, bring me back. Promise me you’ll find a way for me to return,” she whispers.
“Whatever it takes.” I palm her chest in a silent vow.
Then I turn her face to me, and we seal the promise with a soft kiss, but my need takes over, my hands gliding down her body, evoking goose bumps in their wake. “Just the tip.”
A sound of protest rumbles in her throat, but she doesn’t stop kissing me. “Just the tip,” she murmurs, losing herself to the sensation as I grip the base of my cock and slip the head inside her.
Her walls wrap around my girth, swallowing me, and I push just an inch further.
“Vian...” she moans, those divine sounds ringing of surrender.
“You’re the one sucking me in, baby,” I rasp, overcome by pleasure.
Fuck, she feels so good, it takes everything in me not to come on the spot. Nothing feels better than being inside her.
“You knew… so shameless, husband,” she breathes out.
“Guilty, let me feel my woman now.”
“Just like the first time. We’re helpless.”
That we are––puppets on the string of our love.
I chuckle in her neck, nibbling along her sensitive skin, playing with her tits, twisting and tweaking the hard peaks.
She throws her head back for more, and I run my hand down her belly, pressing my thumb on her clit and rubbing circles.
She clenches around me, swallowing some more.
It doesn’t take much convincing before I am buried inside her.
A mix of moans and groans float around, and I gently push in and out of her, a leisurely pace when I want nothing more than to fuck her hard. My desire is as urgent as it is feral.
I dig my fingers into her waist, leaving prints on her unblemished skin while hers clutch the edges of the tub. Her eyes glaze over, a plea ringing in the moan stuttering out. “Please, baby… just like this. It’s enough. Be patient for now.”
While she embraces the pleasure, one wrong move, and she will cut our joining short. I can’t have that, so I keep a steady, slow pace, pulling in and out in a maddening rhythm, needing to come inside her and fill her sweet pussy with my essence. Even though it took seed, I can’t control myself.
She arches her back, her moans taking on a wild note.
“Just like that. Be my good girl and come.”
She breaks apart for me so beautifully, crying out my name in sweet rapture, and I follow. I would follow this woman any-fucking-where.
Her rocking subsides, lying on top of me, spent and flushed. “You always get your way,” she tries for a chastising tone but fails.
What can I say? My wife is weak for me, but I am even worse.
We stay in the tub until our skin prunes and we finish the fruity bottle.
After we wash each other, we go to bed—entangled limbs and joined hearts, giving in to the most peaceful sleep of my life.
Today is going to be epic. I have a wife to proclaim as Underboss and a traitor to dismantle.
Normally, I bring the traitors to my underground labyrinth to deal with, but this time I employ a different strategy.
Inside the meeting room, the heads of the other families take their seats, sweeping their gazes from me to my wife, who sits at my right.
No woman has ever been present, but none of them dares to disapprove. The tension lies thick in the air; you could choke on it.
When Conrad pushes the traitor inside, the others observe him with shakes of their heads. Greed is such an ugly human trait, especially when it erodes common sense.
Paolo doesn’t look as mighty now, his head bowing. “I will go into exile.”
I let out a humorless laugh when my wife tilts her head, tapping her chin in thought. “I was thinking of that too—just a more permanent version.”
He glares at her, which my wife counters with such a stony gaze that he shifts on his feet. She pushes herself from her seat, a blade glistening in her hand. Strapped to the back of her skirt hangs a gun, and everyone can see it.
She looks lethal, a powerful goddess of justice who won’t pardon.
Keep it together. It’s her show and not about my unruly dick.
The other men watch in fascination as she reaches him. Placing the tip at his mouth, she nicks his lower lip. A single drop of blood coats the silver blade, a prelude to the life he will lose.
He opens and closes his mouth, his face reddening with mortification.
“Speak your mind as long as you still can.” Tipping her head, she motions for him to speak.
“You fucking bitch,” he spits. “No woman deserves a seat at the table. You’re weak and good for just one thing.”
It takes everything in me to remain seated, my muscles coiling taut to rip him apart limb by fucking limb for the crass insult.
As if she senses my struggle, she seeks my eyes, and we share a silent conversation.
She needs to establish her power. She has this, I tell myself.
I lean back, tipping my chin in agreement, and everyone else notices the exchange.
The asshole realizes he won’t survive, color draining from his face while the other members wear curious expressions, already concocting plans as they realize she has the power to sway me.
I smirk, letting them simmer in their delusion. Unlucky for them, my wife is loyal only to me.
They can believe what they want. It will make it easier for me to control them.
She turns her attention back to the cockroach and taps his cheek in short, demeaning slaps. “Oh, so petty.” Then she places the tip of the knife at his neck, slowly sliding it down and pricking his skin, the fine line gushing with blood. “Wasting your last words on me.”
He’s about to say something else when she grabs his tongue and slices it. The cut piece of flesh flops on the floor by her heel, and she stomps on it.
A mix of surprised gasps and awe echoes in the eerily silent room.
“I wasn’t finished talking. See what impatience does?” She shakes her head, tsking.
Eyes blown wide, he gurgles on blood that coats his mouth and flows down his chin in rivulets of red.
She walks back to me, and that is my cue.
“Betrayal calls for death. No mercy,” I say and point my gun straight at his head.
The bullet erupts, shredding his brain, bloody gore sticking to the wall behind him. He falls to the ground, his body jerking one more time before it stills for good.
I slip my hand under the table and press the button.
A moment later, Conrad comes inside and orders two men to retrieve the body. They take the garbage out, and I shift my attention to the men around the table. Moving to the other topic on today’s agenda, I announce my new Underboss.
“This is a family affair. My uncle served me and the organization well. I have full trust that my wife will do the same.”
I don’t wait for their acknowledgment, another subtle sign of power. Instead, I pluck the folded knife from my pocket and slice my palm, then hers, shaking hands to cement the union.
“Blood in.”
“Till death comes for us,” the others say in chorus, accepting the unstoppable progress.
My wife will redefine a woman’s role in the Mafia, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.
After each member welcomes her, they retreat one by one.
All the shit from the last four years unclenches its chokehold on me, the pointed talons easing from my soul as the wounds heal.
Alone, she slides her leg over my lap, straddling me. Locking her arms around my neck, she plays with the ends of my hair. “Thank you for believing in me.”
I brush my lips against her forehead. “I’m many things, but not a fool.”
“I swore my loyalty to you. I gave you my heart a long time ago. My body is yours to do with as you please. The world is yours, and so am I,” she murmurs.
I curl my fingers into her silky hair, tugging her head back so I can have better access to nibble her neck. “I might own the world, but you own me.”
“I love you, Vian. I wish these eight letters could encompass my love for you and reveal how deep my feelings run. What you truly mean to me, I can’t express.”
“Show me instead, mi sol. Let me experience it every day of my life. I love you. Till no end.”
The End