Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Nikki Belaire

I grasped at the slick surface with my shaking fingers. Trying to keep from sliding off the other side of your desk from the power of your attention. The force of your determination to getting me off. Luckily your free hand snaked up my body, over my stomach, and between my breasts to hold me in place. I flinched when I didn’t need to. I should have known better. You knew I wasn’t ready for you to circle my throat like you used to, I welcomed the warmth and weight of your forearm on my chest. Keeping me safe but without any intention of squeezing me.

  You demanded I let go and I did. Crying out your name and God and mercy until I collapsed against the wood. You kissed my mouth hard and final before scooping me up. Reminding me again as you carried me to the bedroom that you would never let me regret giving myself to you.

  I do feel regret though about your damaged iPad. Guilty from the screen cracking after slamming onto the floor with such intensity. I guess I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.

  I think of your dripping pussy when I swear I can still taste your essence on my tongue.

  Do you have any fucking idea how difficult it was for me to run next to you? My dick at half-mast the entire time while you smiled that cute little grin at me. When you challenged me to race to the end of the driveway. When you tugged at your braid absent-mindedly when we walked back for our cool down. Which I don’t ever think I can with you in those running tights showing off your cute ass so perfectly. You’re fucking killing me Giselle.

  I realized tonight that I didn’t think of him when you held me today.

  When you pleasured me just like you have almost every day for the past eleven days. My cheeks are blazing again thinking about how you make me orgasm over and over. With your tongue and your fingers and your words. Every day you give me so much and never ask anything in return. And every day when I tell you I’m sorry that I’m not taking care of you too, you ignore me. Reminding me you don’t want my apologies just my pussy. Dang it, Kane. Now, I’m blushing again!

  I think of my father when I find you hiding a gift in your desk drawer.

  You tried to act all nonchalant because I caught you. Pretending that the gorgeous box wrapped in my favorite color paper and a huge sparkly bow wasn’t for me. Dad was goofy about Christmas too. Keeping up the fun even after I knew the truth about Santa Claus. Although he was terrible about keeping secrets secret, especially when he knew we would really like what he picked out. Now that I think about it, I think you wanted to get caught. You want me to know that you have something really special for me. I hope you enjoy my surprise for you just as much.

  I think about New Year’s Eve when you give me my gift early.

  Fuck, rosy girl. I want to marry you too. Just like we planned. Don’t think for a fucking second I won’t make everything perfect for you.

  I think about your growl when I told you I’m glad we haven’t made love yet.

  It will make our wedding night that much more special. Like the first time. Which only made you moan louder. I think I may have moaned a little bit myself thinking about that night. Thinking about the next time.

  I’m scared but I know I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. You’ll make sure I’m okay. I have no doubts at all that you’ll do and say everything I need to be okay.

  I think about our honeymoon when your Mom arrives again.

  I like her just fine. A lot actually. But I’m getting more and more anxious to have you all to myself.

  I think of my parent’s marriage when I try to make you feel better over my Mom’s response to your present.

  Your generous nature just can’t understand how paying off her mortgage and car was simply too much, even from her future son-in-law. Too extravagant a gesture for her to willingly accept.

  Failing completely when I urged you not to take her refusal as an insult. My own chest ached when you shook your head. Too late you said. Besides, it’s already done, and you’re sure as hell not taking the money back.

  I hated that she hurt you. She is too, even if she’s not willing to admit it yet. Unaware how soft-hearted you really are. Explaining her reasons didn’t seem to help either. Describing how independent she is. Unwilling, maybe even unable, to rely on anyone else. Too self-sufficient to allow anyone to control her.

  Which I know increased your frustration. The tightness of your tone very clear when you emphasized you weren’t trying to control her. You just wanted to give her some financial relief so she doesn’t have to work so hard. So she can spend more time with me. A gift for both of us because you love me so much.

  But of course that’s not how she sees it. The same endless argument she and my father always had. That’s why they didn’t make it. He wanted to take care of her. She wanted to take care of herself.

  At least that comment made you chuckle. Teasing me that now you know where I got my damn stubbornness from. Which I think is definitely the other way around.

  You didn’t like my answer when you asked me if they argued a lot when I was a kid. Frowning when I said all the time. Until they didn’t. She finally left, and I ended up splitting my time with them. Every other week with each of them until I went to college. I didn’t like it but as I got older I knew it was for the best. They were too different to be together. Opposites that couldn’t stay attracted.

  You took that philosophical observation even worse. Spinning me around so hard, my braids flapped against my face. Goosebumps lifting on my bare arms from my back pinned against the freezing window. Your huge hands cupped my cheeks. Divorce is not an option, you growled against my lips. We don’t give up. We don’t give in. We give all we have to make it work.

  I reminded you that I was talking about them. Not us. Yet, the tension in your body didn’t soften until I agreed. Until I confirmed that we were permanent. That forever was the only choice. That I would always stay.

  Which is what I wanted all along. I might have been lost for a few days from the trauma, but I’ve always known where I belong.

  I think of Jane when you surprise me.

  When you sneaked into the bathroom as I dried off after my shower. When you whispered from behind me that you didn’t want to wait. Although all thoughts of consulting with the therapist instantly evaporated like my own damn sanity when I realized what you meant.

  Your lips on my bare back.

  Your fingers on my hardening cock.

  Your naked body pressed into mine.

  You wanted me to fuck you.

  Right then.

  I didn’t know what the hell to do. With your body, fuck yes. With your mind, I had no fucking clue. Was it safe? Normal? Healthy?

  But when you slid around and climbed me like you owned me, you didn’t give me any opportunity to resist. Like I ever could. Like I ever would.

  For a few seconds, I think we were both paralyzed. Each of us stunned by the realization. Dazed to suddenly be together. My throbbing dick trapped between us. Your taut rosebud nipples grazing my pounding chest. Our rapid breaths heavy and eager mingling between our lips.

  Until you whispered, “tell me again that you love me.”

  Then I knew exactly what the fuck to do. The desperation in your wobbling voice fucking pushed me over the edge, and I had no other choice but to show you—fucking prove to you—how I felt. There was no other option except to grasp your hips and slowly glide you down to the only place you belong. To the only cock you’ll ever feel inside your sweet pussy ever again.

  You were tight. So damn tight I was scared I would hurt you. I was hurting you. God damn it. I almost fucking lost it when you tensed under my hands. I swear to god I could feel the panic tightening your little body. Your muscles squeezing in uncertainty. But thank fucking god you relaxed when I demanded that you tell me you love me. That you want this. That you want me.

  You did. Over and over. Reassuring both of us. With your words and your kisses and your body sheathing mine in your insistence.

  We fucked standing up. Something we’ve never done before. My grip tightened on your ass when I w
ondered if it’s because you never did with him. Fucking motherfucker. I pushed that bastard and his bullshit out of my brain. All my focus on you. What you need. What you deserve.

  So I made love to you. In the middle of the bathroom. Broad daylight and open door be damned. Slow and cautious. Yet genuine and sincere. I wrapped your delicate fingers in mine and held them to my chest. Holding your hand. Providing you the reassurance I know you like. Your legs squeezing my waist harder confirmed I gave you what you hoped for.

  I told you what else I needed you to know. That you’re my gorgeous little chameleon. Sweet yet stubborn. Innocent yet naughty. Independent yet so damn giving and generous.

  You nodded. Agreeing and accepting and absorbing everything I said. You smiled your indulgent smile when I told you I hoped I would put my son inside you today. That I would raise him how my father raised me. Love your women. Cherish them. Kill for them. Anything to keep your wife, your mother, your daughter safe.

  You shook your head when I promised you he would take care of you long after I’m gone. You don’t like thinking about me dead. Hell, I don’t either. I’ll miss you too fucking much. Yearning for you from my fucking grave, rosy girl. But I swore I would always protect you even if I’m not here.

  Clinging to me as I slowly lifted and lowered you. Your free arm coiled around my neck as the friction built between us. Until I welcomed your silent release. Until your contracting pussy milked a wordless explosion out of me while we hugged each other. The gentlest and quietest we’ve ever fucked. But you didn’t seem to mind. I know I sure as hell didn’t.

  I didn’t lose control. You didn’t cry. Doesn’t seem like much, but it was. A whole hell of a lot after all you’ve been through. Especially when I glanced over and almost couldn’t fucking breathe from the beautify of it. Not sure how I missed us before. I guess I was so focused on your gorgeous face. But us together is fucking magnificent too.

  I nudged you to look too. Lift your head to see how fucking amazing you are, I told you. Your beautiful eyes met mine. Scanning us entwined together in our reflection before your gaze dropped to the floor. Fuck that shit. Eyes on me. Eyes on us rosy girl. You shivered from my command but obeyed like the good girl you are. Resting your cheek against mine rather than my shoulder, you finally smiled. Making my cock come to life again still inside you. But I didn’t push. I just held you until you finally spoke. Admitting what you’ve been fretting about all this time. As if I give a damn that you might not be able to play like you used to. You’re not ready to be tied up or spanked or blindfolded. That you may never be.

  I’m sorry I got more pissed than I should have. But I hate when you think the worst. That you worry over what you can’t do when all I want to focus on is what you can do. You’ve got balls coming in here and seducing me. On your terms. The way you wanted. I’m fucking impressed and so fucking hard again. Once again you blow me away how damn amazing you are.

  I think of you when I take one last long look at myself in the mirror.

  Hoping you’ll like my dress. My flowing hair. My genuine smile. Well aware that what you’ll really like the most is that I’m there and we’re finally doing this.

  I’ll have a different name, be a different person the next time I see myself. I guess I already am with everything that happened. Experiences, good and bad, wanted or not, make us who we are. But you seem to still love the girl I was and the girl I am now. Nothing has changed my feelings for you either. So I guess we really should do this. I’m ready to do this.

  I think about you while I watch you sleep.

  Peaceful and content. You and me. Both of us finally happy.

  God you’re so fucking beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of you curled up in my bed with that slight smile covering your sweet face.

  You let me marry you today, rosy girl.

  You let me put my ring on your finger and my name next to yours.

  You let me make love to you again. Really this time. Not a test of you or of me like in the bathroom.

  But because you love me and trust me.

  And thank fucking god I was the only one fucking afraid when I held you. Yeah, I know that’s being a weak ass pussy. But it would fucking kill me if you looked at me with fear. If you ever look at me again like you’re frightened of me.

  You didn’t. Not once. Not when I kissed you or fucked you or came deep inside you. Smiling while you rested your head on my chest afterward and told me how lucky we are.

  We’ve made it. To the end of the nightmare. Which is really just the beginning for us.

  Jane won’t like it, but I’m not going to write in this stupid journal any longer. Not that I’ve been that great at keeping up with daily entries lately anyway. But, why would I want to waste time on writing about our life when I can actually just enjoy spending it with you?

  As much I fucking hate admitting I was wrong, I guess it did help. But I don’t need it anymore. You’re back with me—physically, mentally, and emotionally. That’s all I’ll ever need. You are all I ever need.

  I think about our baby when I tell you you’re going to be a father.

  I’m going to be a mother.

  We’re going to be parents.

  I never expected you to be so overwhelmed. I knew you’d be thrilled and thought you might caress my stomach with a reverent touch. Or sweep me up, deluging me with kisses and murmurs of elation. Or even make love to me with a frantic urgency I could barely stand.

  When you dropped back down into your chair and just stared at me, I was as stunned as you were. Making me sob when you shook your head, swearing under your breath, and swiping at the tear sliding onto your cheek. The strongest man I know wasted from the news he’s been waiting too damn long to hear. Brought to his knees by the knowledge of his unborn child. Crying with joy for us, for our growing family.

  Instead, it was me who ran to you. Unable to climb onto your lap fast enough as you dragged me closer and buried your face into my neck. Clutching me so tight I had to whisper for you to give me a bit of air.

  That’s when you finally spoke too. Cupping my damp cheeks with your trembling fingers and thanking me over and over. I giggled and reminded you that you may have had a little something to do with it too. But you didn’t laugh. You weren’t in the mood for jokes. Not at all.

  You kissed me. Wild. Frenzied. Worshipful.

  I loved it. And, you. So much.

  Then you took me. Right there in the quiet of my studio. Ripping off my dress and panties before guiding me to you. Huge hands roaming my body while I rode you. Stroking over the hips you worry won’t be wide enough to deliver your child. The pink nipples you’ll soon have to share for a while. The small of my back no longer marred by anyone or anything.

  You let me control you and our love making. Letting me have you slow and deep and wonderful. Until your own need took over and you laid me out on the previously neatly folded backdrops. Admiring me for only a second before you plunged inside me again. Protecting both me and our baby within me with your restrained ferocity until you and I were both exhausted and happy and complete.

  I think about myself when I look at both of you.

  How damn lucky I am to even be here. To be alive. To be safe. To be the wife of the only man I love and the mother of the most beautiful little boy on this earth.

  Enjoying how amazingly easy this first night home from the hospital has been. Which I know won’t last. That’s okay. I know we can handle anything together. Fussy nights and messy faces and dirty diapers. Toothless smiles and first words and wobbly steps. We’ve got a lifetime of adventures waiting for us as we navigate growing from two to three. I’m ready—more than ready—to experience them all with the both of you.

  Right now, I should put my diary away and sleep too. Be as content and peaceful as you are with your small son snuggled into your huge chest. Protected with your long fingers curled around his back. Hopefully aware of how loved and wanted and blessed he is. How much we all are.

&nb
sp; I guess this is my final entry in the daisy journal. Very surreal and almost bittersweet. But, now I have a baby book to fill out instead. Maybe even your Daddy will write it in too sometimes. Because he knows more than all of us how important it is to let go of the past, cherish the present, and believe in the dreams waiting in our future.

  The End

  Want to read more from Nikki? Check out chapter one of her dark mafia romance, 192.

  I fucking hate this bastard.

  The way he shovels huge chunks of sausage into his mouth with his hands. Instead of using a fucking fork like a normal person. Wiping the grease from his stubby fingers after each bite on the crumpled napkin next to his plate. His lips smacking and spewing crumbs while he speaks with Dante, his brother and most trusted captain. Gloating from the expansion of his territory as his team—not his lazy ass—brings down another family encroaching on his domain. Reveling in his power and money and dominance. Unconcerned with everything and everyone else except himself.

  Including her.

  Especially her.

  My pulse pounds in my head from her absence. Only one reason she’s not here. No question that he hurt her. Just how bad are the injuries.

  Finally, the arrogant prick shoves away from the black walnut table. The coffee mug bucking against his untouched bowl of strawberries from his gratuitous force. His barrel chest strains the buttons of his thick white dress shirt as he rises. Too big for a crisp look, he settles for comfort instead. Of which he deserves absolutely none. So fucking ironic he prevents pain and constraint for himself while doling out both to the person who deserves torture the least of all of us.

  From the sound of his chair legs scraping across the tile, the housekeeper scurries in, offering him his gray cashmere coat with trembling fingers. Which he yanks out of her hand without bothering to look at her. Not a word of thanks or appreciation. At least better than the slew of profanities he usually berates her with. He nods toward me while he rams his huge arms into the gaping sleeves. Already huffing from the exertion.