Captive for Christmas

by Annabelle Winters

  Brusco stands above me in all his glory, his cock oozing clean pre-cum until it drips down on my bare belly in thick drops like morning dew from a log. I look up into his green eyes, trying desperately to remind myself that this is fucking insane, that I’m about to fuck the man who murdered Mama and Papa, that it doesn’t get any more twisted than this, that there’s no way this is right, that my body is betraying me, my emotions can’t be relied on, that even my intelligence has abandoned me.

  So what can I trust, I wonder as I stare at Brusco fist his cock and look down along my glistening naked body, my big breasts hanging off to either side, my slit spread bare and pink before him like an offering to a god.

  “Do you trust me, Bari?” he whispers down to me, the look on his face making it clear that he’s using every ounce of willpower to keep his cock out of me, to hold back from holding me down and emptying those massive balls into my womb. “Do you trust what you know doesn’t make sense but is true.”

  “I . . . I . . . what . . .” I mumble, not sure what he’s asking, not sure what I’m asking.

  But then I know what he’s asking, I know what he’s saying, I know what he’s thinking, I know what he’s feeling.

  “You didn’t kill them, did you?” I whisper up at him, not sure if I’m trying to convince myself, not sure if my mind has snapped and I’m just telling myself what I want to hear, telling myself that what I’m doing isn’t sick, isn’t twisted, isn’t me giving in to raw physical need that’s darker than the plum cake on the tray to my left.

  Brusco shakes his head slowly, grimly, those green eyes narrowing as if he’s fighting his own internal battle, trying desperately to decide whether he can trust me! After all, if he knows he didn’t order the hit, then surely he suspects I might have done it, right?

  “You didn’t either,” he whispers, reaching out and cupping my face with his right hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb like he did when he first walked into this room. It isn’t a question. It’s a statement.

  “Then who, Brusco?” I mutter as he touches my trembling lips with his fingers, brings his other hand to my face and strokes my neck. His hands feel big and warm, comforting and protective. I feel safe with him even though he could snap me like a twig with his strength. I feel free with him even though I’m a captive. I feel like I’m his. Like I was always his. Like somehow this was all meant to happen, that the path to our forever had to twist its way through blood and grief, that it was the only way for a lonely prince and princess to break free like a butterfly fights its way out of a cocoon.

  “I don’t know, Bari,” he whispers, bringing his body closer to mine until his shadow blocks out the fireplace glow, highlighting his thick, broad frame in dark red as my arousal still surges, my need still throbs, my desire showing no signs of weakening despite how hard I just came, again and again. “But we’ll find out, OK? We’ll find out together. Together, you hear? You and I. Bari and Brusco. The Bellanos and the Barzinis. I still don’t fucking understand what brought us together in this room today, on Christmas Eve, but—”

  “I came here to kill you, Brusco,” I say like it’s nothing, the words just coming out like there’s no need to hide anything from him now, like my soul is as exposed as my body, my heart as bare as my breasts, my confidence that Brusco and I will solve this mystery together soaring as my need to be his soars along.

  Brusco grunts, his handsome, sleep-deprived face creasing up as he glances over to my left at the silver platter with a half-eaten Christmas cake. (No crumbs, of course.) “Yeah, I saw you looking at that cake-knife.” He looks back at me, a coldness flashing past his eyes—not a coldness directed at me, though. “Have you ever killed someone, my little mafia princess?” he whispers.

  I shudder and shake my head, seeing the shadow behind Brusco’s green eyes like it’s a living, breathing thing. Suddenly I remember what he is, what we both are, the life we were born into. There’s a moment of fear, but it passes quickly as Brusco slowly presses his warm body against mine, lining himself up with me, looking unwaveringly into my eyes like he’s searching for something.

  I wonder what he’s looking for, and then I find it in myself, the realization sending a dark wave of ecstasy through me, a sense of power, confidence, destiny. My parents are dead. They loved me and sheltered me, but they never pretended like I was bound for a “normal” life, whatever that might be. I saw what Papa did to men who crossed him. I saw how Mama stood behind him with a silent firmness at every step, never turning away from the darkness, never denying that it was a part of her, that she’d chosen to make it a part of her.

  Is that what Brusco’s waiting to see in me, I wonder as he stares into my eyes, his cockhead pressing against my wet slit as he holds himself there, poised at my entrance, waiting for me to accept him before he takes me, before he completes our union. This is his mansion, his world, his empire, his rule of law. He’s stronger than me, can dominate me totally and completely, can take me any way he wants whether I nod my head or not. But still he waits like it matters to him. He waits like he needs to know I believe that I’m his equal, that what happens here is more than sex, that what happens here is important, what happens here is meaningful, what happens here is . . . is . . . is us.

  “Never killed anyone,” I whisper as I welcome the darkness that I know has always lived in me, is part of my blood, part of my past, part of my future, part of my forever. “You’d be my first, Brusco. You’d be my first.”

  7

  BRUSCO

  I know I’m Bari’s first the moment I enter her. I know it from the look on her pretty face, from the sound of her trembling voice, from the way those big brown eyes go wide as I spread her for the first time, enter her secret space that’s never been touched.

  “You’d be my first,” she whispered to me before I pushed myself into her, broke through her final barrier, claimed her completely, took her totally. She might have been talking about something else, but in a way this entire Christmas Eve has been about something else, hasn’t it?

  The warmth of her tight vagina almost makes me black out as I feel my cock get harder, bigger, thicker inside her, like it needs to fill every inch of her, stretch her to the extreme, claim all her feminine territory, possess her completely. She’s gurgling in ecstasy as I finally get all the way inside her and hold still for a moment, stroking her hair and looking down at her as we pant together, sweat together, be together.

  “I love you, Bari,” I whisper, kissing her gently on the lips as I flex inside her, the strong curve of my thick cock pressing against the upper walls of her inner space. “Even if you did come here to murder me.”

  “Well, nobody’s perfect,” she whispers through a shuddering smile, her eyelids fluttering, her fingernails clawing at my back as my balls tighten against her warmth. Then the smile fades and Bari exhales slowly as I start to move inside her.

  “That’s brutal,” I growl as my arousal pulls on me like a stallion champing at the bit, yearning to be let loose, aching to run wild. I pull back and drive back in with more power, dragging my cockhead against the upper wall of her vagina and making her eyes roll up in her head. “Aren’t you going to say you love me too?”

  “Hmmm,” she moans, arching her smooth neck back as I reach beneath her and cup her luscious ass in my big hands, spread her thick thighs so I can get the full power of my hips going. “Maybe I’ll say it as a Christmas gift tomorrow.”

  I grin as I see her spread naked on the leather couch before me, her breasts glowing in the firelight, big red nipples pointing off to either side, her healthy round belly shining like the moon. Slowly I spread her asscrack from behind and place my finger there, reaching up and squeezing her breast with my other hand until she’s firmly under my control, totally mine.

  “I thought your family did their gifts before Christmas morning,” I whisper, licking my lips as I start to pump into her with a slow but powerfu
l motion. “I’m certainly going to give you my gift before Christmas morning.”

  She snorts, her eyelids still fluttering, her tongue darting out and curling up as my balls clench in preparation to do exactly what I said.

  “Wow, that’s a one-liner worthy of a king,” she groans, smiling and writhing at the same time, like there’s both a girl and a woman in her at once, like she’s given herself to me but is still resisting in some way, still playing the game.

  Maybe she never stopped playing the game, I wonder as the flicker of the flame casts her soft features in dark shadow. I’m still moving inside her, still hard as a rock, thick like a tree-trunk, my balls slapping against her underside as I finger her asshole and fuck her harder. Maybe I lost this battle the moment I entered her, maybe she claimed victory the moment I claimed her, maybe I really have been slain on the battlefield by the most ancient, most subtle, most powerful weapon in human history, maybe I—

  “I love you,” she suddenly gasps, her eyes flicking open, her nails breaking the skin on my back and drawing blood, blood that trickles like a warm river along the contours of my muscle as I grin like a madman and start to pump into her with fury. I don’t know what prompted the sudden outburst, but as I feel my balls tighten again, my cock flex and throb, I know that it’s the same thing that made me say what I said, that makes me sure I love her, makes all the doubts seem like nothing, like it’s all just superficial frosting on a cake, easily swept away by the raw substance that lies beneath.

  “Just in time,” I growl, clenching my teeth and slamming into her so deep it sends a tremor through her curves, a ripple through her flesh. And then I come, my climax erupting like the ancient mount of Vesuvius, my semen pouring into her like hot lava, tearing through her virgin land, destroying the past and sowing the seeds of the future.

  Our future.

  8

  BARI

  I feel the past explode like a star burning through the last of its light, and I scream as Brusco explodes inside my depths, his heat filling me so completely I’m overflowing before I know it. My own climax comes screaming in like a stormwind, and I can smell blood in the air, almost taste blood in the air, the blood from my hymen, the blood on Brusco’s back, the blood in our past, the blood in our future, blood mixing and swirling as his semen pours into my womb.

  “I love you,” come the words, and I’m saying them in a scream that comes out like a whisper—or perhaps it is a whisper: I don’t even fucking know. I can barely see straight, and it’s all I can do to hold on as Brusco grabs my hair and ass and rams his powerful hips into me with such force my teeth rattle in my head. My nails are still deep in his back, tearing at skin and flesh as he fills me again and again, his heavy balls slapping against my wet underside, his hot seed pouring out of me and flowing down my bare asscrack.

  Soon the leather couch is so slick with our combined juices and sweat that I feel my ass sliding down. Then I’m on the floor, Brusco never letting go of me, staying with me, staying inside me. He holds me down as he keeps pounding into me, and I wrap my legs around his hips as my unstoppable climax peaks and crashes, flooding me with ecstasy that drowns out every other sense, rolls everything into one like my whole life is being sucked into a black hole and then spat out the other end, into a new world, into the future.

  Our future.

  We pant and gasp together, our bodies wrapped so tight it’s like we’re one. Brusco’s thick masculine scent fills me with every breath, and I can smell every part of him, taste every part of him, feel every part of him. In the background I can hear the fire crackle and hiss, see the flames cast shadows that dance against the walls like dervishes. My senses are overwhelmed with what’s happening, and it’s only when Brusco finally groans, arches his neck back, and then finally collapses on top of me after pushing out the last of his load that I realize my face is streaked with tears, my hair matted and twisted from the way he’s been pulling and clawing at it, my fingers sticky with my mate’s blood just like my cunt is sticky with his seed.

  “Are you dead yet?” I mutter through a trembling smile as Brusco lies still against me, his heavy body feeling wonderfully warm on top of me, his weight like a blanket over my shivering skin, the contours of his hard muscles seeming to match perfectly with the soft curves of my natural shape.

  “Bang, you got me,” he whispers against my neck, his breath hot and heavy. “But I got you too,” he adds with a devilish snarl as he purposely flexes his still-hard cock inside me.

  We both laugh at once, embracing each other even tighter on the soft silk rug. Somewhere in the back of my mind I can feel my brain screaming out in panic, telling me that I’m insane, that I’m crazy, that I complicated things beyond repair, that it’ll be a goddamn miracle if I ever unravel this mess I’ve walked my curvy ass into.

  No, you simplified things, comes the whisper from my curvy ass, like my body is calmly responding to my brain, speaking with a lazy confidence that makes me giggle like a girl, close my eyes and sigh.

  Well, it is Christmas, I tell myself as Brusco and I laugh together again like it’s all going to work out, like the most important decision has been made and now everything’s gonna fall into place.

  Yes, it is Christmas . . .

  And what’s Christmas without a Christmas miracle?

  9

  BRUSCO

  “It’s a miracle you weren’t home when your parents were killed,” I say as we both stare into the crackling Christmas fire which seems to be burning brighter than ever even though I haven’t tossed another log on it in a while.

  The comment is casual, without any underlying meaning—certainly no underlying accusation. But when I see Bari narrow her eyes and look up at me, I remind myself that even though I’ve claimed her as mine, even though she’s given herself to me, even though we’re wrapped in each other’s arms in front of a warm hearth, there’s still so much to unravel, so many unknowns, so many secrets . . .

  “I’m sorry,” I say, blinking and clenching my jaw. I’m almost amused at how I just backed down before this woman even said a fucking word to me. She’s already under my skin, isn’t she? “I didn’t mean to imply that—”

  “It wasn’t a miracle,” she says, her expression softening as she blinks and looks down for a moment. But when she looks up again those brown eyes are hard and focused. “It was by design. It wasn’t a secret that I’d be out of town. The people who killed Mama and Papa spared me for some reason. They don’t want me dead. Not yet, at least.”

  My body tenses up as a fiercely protective instinct burns through me like that Yule fire, and I pull Bari close, blanketing her with my muscle. “Not ever,” I growl. “You’re mine now. You’re Barzini Family property. Anyone who even comes close to you is going to burn.”

  She giggles and groans, pushing against my bare chest. “Um, you’re a bit close, I think. I need to breathe, you know.”

  “I’ll help you breathe,” I whisper, leaning in and kissing her full on the mouth like I’m giving her mouth-to-mouth. It’s a wet, sloppy kiss, and when we break from it we’re both laughing like kids in love, wiping our mouths and cuddling closer.

  We stay silent for a long time, and my head buzzes as I listen to our hearts beat in time, sense our breathing fall into rhythm. Soon even the crackle of the fireplace seems to be in perfect sync with our bodies, and I’m so fucking happy I almost cry.

  “What’s that ticking sound?” Bari murmurs after a while.

  “Might be the bomb you smuggled in to kill me,” I grunt, reaching down her front and delicately lifting her bare left breast. “I’d better check every nook and cranny, every secret hiding place on your body.”

  My cock is hardening again, and I massage Bari’s breast as she shudders in my arms. Then she pushes my hand away and turns her head.

  “It’s that old grandfather clock,” she says. “Oh, shit, Brusco. It’s going to
be Christmas soon!”

  “It’s already Christmas as far as I’m concerned,” I growl, grasping her boobs again even as she tries to playfully break free. “And I’ve got my gift and my miracle all in one package.”

  Bari gasps as I pinch her nipple hard, plucking at it and smothering her with a hot kiss. She arches her neck back as I lick her smooth, creamy skin, breathe deep of her sweet scent, slide my hands down between those heavy thighs, groaning as I feel how hot and sticky her mound is. I’m aching to push myself back into her, fill her again and again, seal this deal forever.

  “So you’re not going to return me?” she whispers as I slowly push her down on the soft rug of hand-woven silk and roll on top of her, smoothing her hair back and looking into her eyes.

  “Return you to whom?” I say with a fake frown. “You got a guy? Hold on a minute while I have him killed and tossed in the fucking river.”

  She snorts, her face going flush like she’s almost ashamed at herself for laughing at my dark joke. But the shame doesn’t stick, and she smiles and looks at me with a playfully dreamy look in her eyes. “Oh, Brusco! That’s so romantic,” she whispers, a devilishly dark grin breaking on her sweet round face.

  It sends a beautiful chill through me as I remind myself that this woman is just like me, born and raised in both privilege and hardship, burdened with responsibility along with the freedom to impose her will upon the world. Fuck, are there any limits to what we can achieve together? What our children will achieve?

  The thought of children makes my body stiffen as I think back to my dead parents, wonder what they’d think if they knew what I was doing, what I just did, what I’m going to do again and again as the clock winds down to Christmas morning.

  “Are you planning a big Christmas party?” Bari asks, breaking me from my thoughts before they spiral downwards to a place I don’t want to access right now—never want to access again. Mother and Father are dead and buried. This is my time. Our time.