The Mafia's Irresistible Desire

His gaze is drunk with lust, dark like orbs of burning coal. He towers over the bed, his sinewy muscles rippling with suppressed strength. The core between her thighs clenches as she takes bated breath at the glory of the man standing before her.

The storm outside does not bring its expected chill. Instead, gusts of wind become mist, the room, a sauna steaming with desire. It is like her body already knows what it is like to be touched by him and is familiar even with his soul.

He moves toward her with that swagger, every stride a proof of his strength. His hands burn a hole of pleasure where they plant themselves on her ankles and pull her writhing form toward him. His gray eyes never leave hers. It is almost as if they would both die if they lose eye contact with each other.

With his numerous fingers feathering across her skin, the feel of them coarse her so sweetly, and as he grabs her neck and nibbles on her ear lobes, she stiffens with pleasure.

The sensation of his tongue on her was like flicking flames. Lara moans, her toes curling with pleasure. She grabs his arms, desperate to hold onto something, so she doesn't drift from this place of heavenly bliss.

They begin to move in synchrony, his heaving chest pressing onto her supple bosom, taking her breath away.

“You are mine now,” he growls. Strangely, she finds herself believing his words, trusting him like a living god of truth. If he said she was the moon, an antelope, or a deer, she would still have believed him.

He growls again, biting down on the delicate valley between her collar and jaw. Another moan escapes her. Involuntarily, her crimson nails leave trails of bruises down his back as something goes feral within her, mad wantonness.

She grabs his face and takes his lips between hers, the taste of him like molten pleasure. She drinks him like a thirsty animal in the middle of a desert. It is almost as if she has been starving for years.

“Take me” She whispers against his lips, then his hands move with practiced precision to her drenched core. He palms it and proceeds to play her like a fiddle.

“Fu…” she whimpers, writhing with pleasure.

“Hush, I haven't even started yet, Mia anima,” His face pulls in a wicked grin that sets her heart pounding even faster…

**

Her eyes suddenly pull open to reality, goosebumps lingering all over her skin. She finds herself drenched in sweat, and her body feels heavy. A strange scent hangs in the air. That smell…

She sits up languidly, trying not to move swiftly, or else her head might spin even more. She sniffs the air, wondering what that smell could be. Inhaling it, it comes off as raw, masculine, and even divine. Intoxicating, to say the least. Her core clenched reflexively.

“Where am I?” She mutters under her breath, a light feeling weighing down on her, making her feel like a kite suspended in the middle of nowhere. The dream feels so raw and real.

“What the hell…” She cusses, burning her face in her palms momentarily as she slowly starts to become aware of her environment.

Glaring around, she finds herself in what seems like a five-star hotel room. The decor is dark and accentuated with hints of white and red. How she got her is what she cannot explain, no matter how much she tries to remember.

Wait… Did she…? She glances at the duvet that shrouds her and snatches it off with so much speed that it leaves her head reeling, making the room spin like a roller-coaster.

“Fuck! I am naked! What have I done?” She gasps. Examining her skin, she finds bruises all over her body. Bite marks, hickeys, fingerprints. She begins to wonder who did this to her. Perhaps an animal?

Her heart runs miles per second as she tries furtively to understand what is happening. She had left for the bar with her friend, Claire. They’d have a shot, and another one, then some more.

“Oh, shit!”

She's never been drunk before and has never had the head for alcohol, even a day-old hibiscus drink could get her a tiny bit tipsy. Cracking her head even more, she remembers nothing, absolutely nothing.

She scrambles from the bed and grimaces from the sharp pain that pierces her temples. She pauses for a bit until the room steadies, then takes an inventory of her surroundings.

Her slutty black gown is crumpled at the other end of the wide room as if it had been impatiently flung across the room. She rubs at her temples. Her lingerie is nowhere to be found. Her eyes rove over the bed and caught the blood stains on the white sheets.

“No…” Her palms slap her mouth shut in shock as tears of anger blur her vision. She sits slowly on the cold tiled floor and wraps her arms around herself. Her mother is going to kill her.

For years, she has been sheltered and trained. Groomed to lead and to make wise decisions. No room for errors. People like her don't have many chances. Every moment is a make-it-or-break-it moment. Now, it takes only one night to flush all that she ever worked for down the drain?

She sits still, staring blankly at the large ceiling-to-floor windows that frame the city of Grosthe. The storm has calmed a bit, so she can now make out the largest billboard that hangs above the tallest building.

It is her father’s. He died yesterday. They say it was a heart attack. Lara scoffs… If he had not died from a heart attack yesterday, he would have probably died today or whenever he found out his only heir had made the stupidest mistake.

What had she been thinking? Remorse washes over her. Then, a thought sweeps by.

“Where is Claire?” She wonders aloud. Her friend was supposed to have been watching her. How did she let this happen? She scrambles on her feet and teeters about the room in search of her phone. She finds it lying on the bedside table. She checks the time. 3:15 am,12 missed calls from her mother, and 20 from her head of security.

“Holy shit!”

A fresh wave of grief overshadows her as she sees none from her father. This is why her friend dragged her from her bed in the first place, to come here and drown her bereavement in alcohol. A noble cause, so to say. Now look where it has landed her.

There are no missed calls or voicemails from Claire, which is rather odd. Perhaps Claire too, is writhing in the arms of a stranger. Her friend's promiscuity is not a shocking revelation. She shakes her head while dialing Claire’s number. For some reason, the line goes dead. Unavailable.

All the alarm bells in her head go off. Something is wrong.