Captive Bride: A Mafia Romance (The Dirty Kings of Vegas Book 3)

by Frankie Love

  What I’m hoping for is a real marriage. Even more than a hot husband, I want to be part of a strong partnership. One where we work together.

  Make a bond, a home, and start and raise a family. Build something. Together.

  I know I have a lot to give, and I can’t wait to share.

  We go straight from the airfield to the hotel. Papa has arranged stylists for me. As soon as I’m powdered up and ready, we go to an Irish-themed Vegas wedding chapel. It’s a tiny one, but the O’Malleys have packed out their side of it.

  A sharp twinge in my gut makes me feel like I should have brought all of the lost and forgotten aunts and cousins after all, just to show that our family has some substance to it. But I know it’s only foolish nerves.

  Papa is at the back, waiting to walk me down the aisle. Pride brims in his eyes and his smile gives me courage. I look to the groom’s side of the altar.

  A line of three big men stands at the front. The one in the middle starts to turn slowly as I walk toward him.

  I hadn’t thought before of how strange it is, walking into my wedding, waiting to meet my husband for the first time at the altar. The first words that I say to him are probably going to be ‘I do.’

  I feel like I’ve walked into a medieval fairy tale. As I remember it, those stories often ended up in a great mess of blood and gore. Now I’m in my own fairy tale, and I have to discover whether I’m the heroine or the victim.

  As my groom turns, the hard light in his eyes flips my stomach and sets it into freefall. A feeling like a thud, deep below the sea, echoes from far away. My breath catches, thick in my chest.

  He’s ten years older than me. But I knew that. Whatever I was preparing myself for, I never expected him to be so handsome. His chiseled jaw, his high, sharp cheekbones, the cleft in his hard chin, and his hands. His huge, strong hands. He could be a model or a movie star. Or a killer.

  He looks too good to be true. For a moment, I think he must be a rakish uncle or something. Not my future husband. Am I really going to marry him? He looks at me, serious. With intent. Not a trace of anything as frivolous as a smile. I’m melting inside. I’m so hot, I feel like I’m about to gush.

  Whatever else this marriage brings, I’m never going to have a hard time looking at him.

  And, yes, the first words I say to him are in response to the question, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  My natural response is, Are you nuts? He looks great, but I’m scared to death of him and I haven’t got the first clue who he is!

  Instead, I look in John’s eyes and I say, “I do.”

  I’m pleased that my voice is steady and strong, because it’s not how I feel. I practically have to bite my tongue to hold back from saying, ‘Oh, you fucking bet I do.’

  Chapter Three

  John

  Outside the chapel, we pose for photos. Kiera looks up at me. She speaks, but quietly, so only I can hear. She says, “You’ll be able to do whatever you want with me.”

  It’s true. She’s my wife now.

  I say, “I can hardly wait.”

  She lays a hand on my chest and smiles. I want to take her right here and now. She says, “Cool down, big boy. Looks like I’ve got a couple hundred of your closest friends and relatives to meet first.”

  Hard to believe I only met her fifteen minutes ago. Now we’re getting wedding pictures taken, though I don’t have much patience for it.

  I’d been rock hard just thinking of her photo. I am in no way ready to see her in the flesh. The way she sways, the soft roll of her fantastic ass and the slow bounce of her tits under the tight white wedding dress makes the blood hammer in my veins. And the scent of her.

  The kiss during the ceremony was formal. I felt her tenderness as she stretched up to my face, and I was pumped to have her in my arms. She tasted sweet in a way I’ve never known before.

  There have been moments since then when a kiss would have been the natural thing to do. One time in particular. Photos were being snapped, and we looked into each other's eyes. I could have kissed her then. I sensed she felt the same urge.

  But I want our first real kiss to be private. Just the two of us. And I think that’s what she wants too. I ache to know if I’ve read her right, but it feels even more important to trust her, and to hope she’ll trust me.

  The hottest part of her is the bright gleam in her eyes. In a face that’s bright with innocence, she has a naughty, dirty look in her eyes that has set me on fire from the first glance. I want to hold every part of her. I want her tits and her ass in my hands.

  We’ve a reception and a party to get through first, and a receiving line at the doorway to the massive Kingpin ballroom.

  All she has to do is stand next to me, smile and accept compliments from all of the guests as they file in past us. Doesn’t sound like too much to do. Shouldn’t be a demanding task.

  Except I know she literally just flew in. Hundreds of people are coming and she has no idea who any of them are. They’ll all be scrutinizing her, looking for any little strands of gossip they can chew over.

  Everybody’s taking pictures.

  People twist for selfies like we’re fucking waxworks or statues. Like we’re pieces of public art.

  I whisper to her, “One of the downsides of the O’Malley fame is people see us like animals in a fucking zoo.”

  It thrills me that she has the social skills to whisper back, “I know I’ve married into Vegas royalty. I can stand paying the price.” She feels like one of us already.

  She’s a lovely fish that’s been pulled straight out of the water and put on public display. And she bears it with poise and charm and grace. I’m proud to have her standing next to me, radiant in her virginal white wedding gown. God, I’m falling in love with her already.

  The wedding dinner is an obscenely magnificent feast, and I’m glad to see she has an appetite. She’s going to need her strength for the night we’ve got ahead of us.

  Parties are not my thing. Especially not parties where I’m the center of attention. I’m happy at the reception, though. I’m proud to have this beautiful girl as my wife and I’m feeling my new status. My chin is up, my back is straight and long, and my eyes are ready to meet everyone else’s. I feel like I’ve stepped up fully into manhood.

  I’m a married man. Head of my own family, as well as the heir to the larger family. We will move into a big separate house on the O’Malley compound. I’m ready to start making babies. The thought makes my chest swell, as well as my cock.

  We cut the cake. When we kiss afterward, we’re cheek to cheek. It still feels like a fantastic intimacy. But I was right. I knew it. She went for the cheek. She wants to save our first real kiss, too. Could be that she hated me on sight, but that’s not what her eyes say. Not the sway in her hips, either.

  More picture-taking and I lead her out for the first dance. People crowd around with their phones and cameras. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but she waltzes beautifully.

  I ask her, “Do you do the rumba and the foxtrot and all that as well?”

  “Wait till you see me tango.”

  Her eyes widen as she notices the pulse that bangs through my cock, hardening me against her thigh when we dance closely.

  She pulls my face close to hers. “You know I’m a virgin. I’ve hardly even kissed a boy. Not in a way that counts.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  She squeezes me, and her eyes light up as she nods.

  “Okay,” I tell her, “we got the dancing started. We’ve done our party duty.”

  She looks up into my eyes. “Can we go to the suite now?”

  The lights are low in the suite. She’s beautiful in the wedding dress. Ripe and lovely, but with a glow of pure innocence.

  She’s in front of the mirrored closet doors. I can see her face in front of me and her back, thrillingly bared by the deep scoop of the dress, in the mirror. I see the lights of Las Vegas through the window, reflected beh
ind my own shape.

  She looks up at me. Questioning. Anxious. I can tell that she’s shy but fighting it, acting like she needs to be strong. Or she wants me to see her that way.

  I tell her, “You don’t need to act with me. I know this must be nerve-wracking for you. The new family. Everything.”

  She shrugs. “You didn’t know what you were getting either. Do you like what you’ve seen so far?”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “You’re beautiful. I saw a photo, but it didn’t begin to do you justice. How about you? Do you like what you see?”

  “God, yes.” Her eyes flash. “I could eat the face off you.” Her hands twitch and tremble. She swishes the skirt of her dress.

  My voice thickens as I move closer. “I had a hunch you wanted to wait until we had some privacy for a proper kiss.”

  She smiles. “At least until there were no distractions.”

  “Since I laid eyes on you, nothing has distracted my attention for an instant.”

  She sighs. “Well, if you didn’t kiss the Blarney Stone, you must have a chunk of it in your pocket.” She looks down at the front of my pants. “Is that it there? Looks like you might have gotten away with the whole rock.”

  “Is this all bravado or are you always this much fun?”

  “I’m more laughs than a box of monkeys, me. But no. I’m scared out of my fucking skin.”

  “Of the family? The big occasion?”

  “Family? Us McCarthys are as scary a family as you’ll find. No, of you. And of that fucking telephone pole you’ve totally failed to conceal.” She steps closer. “I haven’t ever done any of this before. I’m so afraid that I’ll disappoint you.”

  I stroke her cheek. Our eyes flicker over each other’s faces. I hold her neck, cupping her head in my hand. Her lips part and she sighs as our heads tilt.

  My instinct is to be gentle with her, but I’m inflamed by the anxious anticipation in her eyes and the wet glisten of her lips. It makes me want to take her hard. To treat her rough. Whatever I do, I’m determined to savor the experience.

  Her scent drives me mad. I hold her waist. Our lips join in a kiss. Our bodies connect and wrap together as I fold her in my arms. Like the world has washed from a sepia tone to bright neon and glitter, I feel a glow of light from the inside of both of us.

  We kiss.

  Soft.

  Deep.

  Long.

  Then fast. Hungry and wild. Hard.

  Raw.

  I press my leg between hers. Her pelvis rocks on my thigh.

  We gasp and pant, holding onto each other. My cock grinds against her.

  She says, “Tell me what to do.”

  “Lift up your dress. Turn around. Show me your ass.”

  I stand back.

  “Like this?” Slowly, hesitantly, she turns as I told her. As she pulls up the hem of her dress, her milky thighs emerge. Thick. Soft. Trembling.

  Blue lacy panties frame her ass cheeks. They look so innocent, it makes me want to rip them. Tear them. Yank them with my teeth.

  She looks over her shoulder at me. “Set your feet apart,” I say. As she does, my eyes are fixed on the soft flesh inside her thighs. “More.”

  Each time she responds, I’m pumped harder. Longer and fatter. I ache so much for her, I could bend over double.

  “Bend forward. Lean against the wall.”

  The crotch of her panties is dark. Soaked.

  Chapter Four

  Kiera

  Nervous, I ask him, “Do you like my legs? My ass?”

  He springs forward. In the mirror, I see his burning eyes. His huge, eager hands freely roam over my body. My body that is now his. I never let anyone do the things he’s doing with me. But he takes me as a right. This big, handsome stranger.

  Behind him is the draped and canopied bed. I can’t help thinking of it as a sacrificial altar, where I’m going to be taken. Opened up. Split wide and speared.

  He’s huge, leaning over my back. He slaps my ass. His palm lands flat with a crack. The ass cheek stings, hot. His fingers burn against me. Then he slaps me again.

  He covers my back and he groans into my ear, “I like your ass even more now.” With a hungry snarl he adds, “I like it with my mark on it.”

  A long sigh pulls out of me. “I belong to you, John. I feel it now.”

  My ass trembles. His huge body presses my flesh and the thick, hard ridge in his pants burns against my ass.

  My panties are soaked and my scent rises hot. He slips his hand underneath me. His fingers slide over the wet fabric. It’s drenched in my juices. I moan and he pushes up along the length of my channel. When he reaches the front and squeezes my mound, I nearly fold in half. My breath flutters and I moan as his fingers go straight for my clit.

  His voice is low and hot in my ear. “You’re so wet.”

  He slides his fingers in through the side of my panties. I shudder and gasp as he runs along my swollen folds. His fingertips shove along the length of my lips. He stops at the front and presses at the bottom of my clit.

  Then he circles around it, dragging on my flesh, pulling all the way.

  My hips buck and I push back into his hand. My pelvis rolls and twists as I grind my hungry pussy against his finger.

  “Oh, my God, John.” I moan, “Yes. Do whatever you want with me now.”

  His lips are so close to my ear.

  “I’m going to stick my cock all the way into you.”

  I feel like a waterfall opens and cascades through me. “God, yes, John. Please.”

  “But I’m going to make you wait.”

  “Oh, John.” I’m shaking.

  I shudder and whimper as his fingers press around the edge of my opening. “I’ll make you wait until you can’t stand it anymore.”

  “John…”

  My head tips back and my eyes roll as his finger breaks in. He slides it up inside me.

  “You’re so tight. And so very wet.”

  “Yes, John.” My knees shake. “All for you.”

  I moan as he pulls his finger out. When he brings his hand up to my mouth, my lips and my teeth seize on his fingertips. I’m giddy with the dark tang. My tongue curls around his fingers and I suck.

  “That,” he tells me, “is all mine.”

  He licks his fingers too before he shoves them back inside me, making me arch my spine and throw back my head.

  “John.” I’m shaking. I plead, “John, you make me feel so good, I don’t think I can stand it.”

  His fingers open me and explore me. Like he owns me. His deep laugh fills me with trembling. “You’re wet enough.” And he commands me, “Take off your dress.”

  His pupils are huge as I stand to face him. The glow of his eyes burns my flesh as I peel the wedding dress off. I want to make it as slow and seductive as I can. To make him feel that I’m in charge. I’m not, though. I’m jittery. My knees shake as I start to reveal myself to him, exposing my more than abundant flesh.

  He stares hard at my neck, then my shoulders, and the heaving tops of my breasts as I squeeze out of the dress. My nerves make it feel even tighter. I’m definitely wetter than I’ve ever been. I ache with need for him.

  I slip the dress down and it falls like a white cloud to the floor.

  “Come here.”

  I do as he instructs me. He strokes and feels my face, my throat, down to my shoulders. He takes hold of my breasts through my bra, squeezing, feeling. Teasing and kneading, like a master, an expert. My buds are hard and they ache to be let out of the bra.

  “Take it off.” He says, like he can read me.

  Suddenly shy, aware of how exposed I am, I’m nervous. He sees it and an evil grin tugs the side of his cruel mouth.

  “Come on. I want your tits. Get it off.”

  Shaking, I do as he tells me.

  He grabs my breast. Hard. Bending over, he takes my hardened, elongated nipple in his mouth. I’m exploding inside. He licks greedily as he sucks.

  Pausing to look into
my eyes, he says, “Mine.”

  Then he makes me wait until he feels my shudder of anticipation. Slapping and squeezing my ass, he’s even rougher with the other breast, nipping with his teeth until I whimper.

  “Get up on the bed.”

  I’m afraid, but I’ll accept my fate. He follows me, keeping his hands on me as I move to the mound of silk pillows, sheets and covers. I try to walk tall and not show my fear. I step out of my shoes.

  “You won’t be needing your panties,” he commands. “Drop them.”

  As I do, he drapes his suit coat perfectly on a chair. He pulls off his tie, then undoes his cufflinks and unbuttons his shirt. When he pulls off the shirt, I gasp at the powerful, inked sculpture of my husband’s ripped torso.

  He slips off his shoes and socks, then stands, feet apart, looking all over my body as he undoes his belt. I clamber back on the bed as his pants slide down.

  My stomach plunges. A cascade falls through me. That can’t all be him. The bulge inside his boxers is enormous. What am I opening myself up to?

  I almost shriek when he slides his boxers down. The size of his cock as it bounces free and waves in the air makes my mouth dry.

  My hands and feet betray me, scuttling, crab-like, backward up the bed.

  “There’s no getting away from it,” he leers, climbing up after me.

  I can’t keep the shake out of my voice, but I look straight in his eyes. “Take me, John. Make me yours. Completely.”

  He parts my thighs wide, then lifts my ass in both hands. My blood pounds in my pussy as his shaft presses against me, riding along my swollen lips. I’m gushing inside and out. His heart hammers hard against my breast and his hips tilt back. I tremble when the bulb of his massive cock slides up between my wet lips, rubbing me. Getting wet with my juices.

  Then it drops in to fill my entrance.

  He presses in. I’m lightheaded. Hot flesh reams into me, drilling where no one has been before. He stretches me wide, cutting me open with an ache so unbearable that I want more. Then I shout as a raw burn snaps me open.