The Mafia Boss

Ch. 9: Just remember, you asked for this.

It takes me a moment to respond and before I know it, my fingers are tangled up in Torin's hair. His lips and teeth make quick progression on my mouth and neck, leaving me completely immobile. His movements are hash, but no less familiar in their pursuit. Having him touch me like this feels like old times. It feels heavenly. Like I'm finally home after being away for so long. The only thing working is my mouth as I let slip moan after moan. It's a fight for dominance, though why I'm resisting, I'll never know. Torin owns me. He always has and always will.

He knows it. I know it. Everyone knows it.

"I thought you wouldn't sleep with me even if I was the last whore on earth?" I remark, feeling for his cock.

I find his bulge and squeeze down, needing him to feel both pain and pleasure.

"Shut the fuck up, Imogen."

"Make me," I reply.

I'm flipped over and—for the third time in ten minutes—am shoved into the bookshelf. Only this time, my face is pressed into the hard wood. It's cool against my skin, the perfect addition to my red, hot cheeks. I can feel Torin's body blanketing mine from behind, his warmth seeping into me immediately. Next, his smell completely invades my senses. Cigarette smoke, mint and sandalwood are three scents I've never associated with Torin in the past, but the three combined are slowly becoming my favourite things. Part of me despises that because it's a testament to the man he's become. Cold. Heartless. Cruel. But, like the mint perpetrating through the smell of cigarettes, I sometimes see his good shining through. Like now. His words are harsh, but his repose to me tells another story. His entire body trembles as he presses into me and his arm, keeping me held in place, is covered in goosebumps. I can tell he's trying to hide it, but I see straight through him. Torin resents me. He resents me because he wants me.

"If you make a noise, I'll punish you," he says, plunging his threat straight down my ear.

My dress is lifted a few inches and his hands feel for my arse, stopping suddenly when he reachers my holster.

"I wanted to come prepared," I offer.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he slowly removes the leather strap and picks up where he left off.

"I've missed this arse," he informs, exposing my bare flesh by completely lifting the skirt of my dress.

He spanks me over my panties and rubs the now sensitive area, soothing away the throb.

"Do you enjoy pissing me off, Imogen?"

I nod.

"Because when you piss me off, I have to spank you."

I swear—with that one sentence alone—he ruins me.

"Please!"

"Please what?"

I thrust my arse further out, needing another. "Spank me."

He doesn't object. He delivers exactly what I want, exactly when I want it. It's amazing how quickly I fall into the role of submission. I've always preferred it this way in the past. Torin is—was—a gentle soul. The most compassionate man I knew. The type of teenager who bought his mum flowers and helped his sister with her maths homework. He once nursed me back to health after the flu with his hugs alone. But get Torin O'Brien in the bedroom and I swear a metamorphosis takes place. He's a completely different person, morphing into something far more dominating and sexier. It's what made us so perfectly matched. He seeks submission and I so badly want to be that for him.

It's been five years and I still want to be that for him.

"Hmm!"

Another spank.