THE MAFIA KING BROKEN ROSE novel Chapter 158

Chapter 158

I came again, the orgasm ripping through me like a scream, muscles locking around him, legs shaking, tears stinging my eyes as I clenched around him so hard he nearly lost his rhythm.

He pulled out at the last second, flipping me back onto the counter like a ragdoll, spreading my thighs and ramming back into me without pause, needing to fer! every inch again. My hands were still cuffed behind me, back arched, tits bouncing from the force of his thrusts, my voice hoarse from how loud I was moaning, pleading.

I didn’t know how long it lasted–how many times he made me come, how many filthy things he whispered into my skin while he fucked every hole he could reach. At some point, the cuffs came off, only for him to pin my wrists down above my head again with his bare hands, growling into my mouth as he spilled inside me a second time, deeper, hotter, longer.

We lay there afterward, tangled, used, skin hot and sticky, the smell of sex heavy in the air. My thighs trembled involuntarily, and his fingers never stopped roaming, tracing lazy lines down my stomach, over my slit, gathering the mess he made of me.

Eventually, when the silence stretched, I turned to him, voice soft, wicked.

“Ever thought about a threesome?”

His breath caught barely noticeable but I felt the shift in his body, that heat flaring behind his eyes again.

“Because I’ve got ideas…” I murmured, biting my lip.

His grin was slow. Dangerous.

“Tell me everything.”

He didn’t wait for me to reply.

He scooped me up without a word, muscles flexing as he carried me out of the kitchen, still slick with sweat and cum, his cock softening but not quite retreating as it pressed against my thigh. I let my head rest on his shoulder, breath still shallow, cunt aching in the most delicious way, tingling from every place he’d gripped, bitten, fucked.

Through the hall, past the dim lights, into the bedroom–he didn’t even glance at the bed. He made straight for the bathroom, flicking on the light to reveal a glass–walled shower already fogged from residual heat. He nudged the dial, steaming water roaring to life in seconds. Then he stepped in, pulling me in with him, still holding me.

“You’ll need a bath after that,” he murmured, voice low, smug, darkly amused. “I made a mess of you.”

“No complaints,” I said with a crooked smile, arms around his neck as the spray hit us both, washing sweat and salt and come from our skin.

The water hit like heat lightning, stinging and soothing all at once. He set me down gently, and I let the water roll down my spine while he grabbed washcloth and lathered it up with soap that smelled like sandalwood and spice–him.

He started slow. His hands moved over my shoulders, my collarbone, my chest, the cloth a teasing whisper between my breasts, down my stomach. He cleaned me like I was breakable–until his hand cupped my pussy again, fingers pressing in hard, massaging my folds with the slick warmth of soap and heat and possessive hunger.

I gasped, hips jerking toward his palm, breath fogging the glass. “Dom…”

“You’re mine, Aria,” he said simply, fingers working soft, steady circles around my clit, then dipping lower, rubbing the soreness he’d left behind like he was soothing it and claiming it at the same time. “You don’t need anyone else.”

The ache built again. God, it hadn’t even faded.

“Just an idea,” I said, breath catching when he pushed one finger inside, the slippery pressure making my thighs clench. “I thought it might be fun…

Chapter 158

He snorted, Fun, huh?”

Two fingers now, pushing in deeper, curling just right while his thumb stroked the slick bud above. My knees nearly buckled, and he caught me pres me back against the tile wall, water cascading over both of us.

“Fun is watching you squirm like this,” he whispered, mouth brushing my ear. “Fun is knowing you’re sore because of me, filled with me. Hot some

stranger.”

I whimpered when he bit my neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave. me dripping again, gasping under the spray.

“You like being touched like this?” he murmured. “You want more hands on you?”

I moaned, unable to answer.

“You want someone else to see this pussy, spread for them? Beg for it?”

a mark.”

His fingers didn’t stop. Every curl, every grind of his palm had

My breath hitched, body shaking from how close I already was, how humiliatingly fast he had me right there again. I nodded–but he didn’t stop.

“No,” he said simply fingers thrusting deeper, pace building.” Not gonna happen. You’re mine. You come for me. You come on my fingers.”

“Fuck–Dom-!”

He sank to his knees suddenly, hands gripping my hips, spreading my thighs wider under the downpour. And then his mouth replaced his fingers, tongue lapping through my folds, slow and decadent, like he was eating a five–course meal and I was dessert, appetizer, and main course. He flicked the tip against my clit, licked up the slit, sucked hard on the swollen bundle until I screamed.

I came fast, clenching around nothing, thighs twitching on either side of his head as he held me there and didn’t stop licking until my whole body sagged against the tile.

He stood, eyes dark, glistening water trailing down his jaw as he licked his lips clean.

“Threesome,” he muttered, shaking his head like the idea was a personal insult. “You’re barely walking from me. What the fuck would you do with two?”

My mouth parted, something filthy right on the tip of my tongue.

But then he kissed me, and I forgot what I was about to say.

I was exhausted from the sex, my body ached, and yet somehow,

lying there wrapped up in his arms, I’d never felt more awake.

His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, warm and steady, his fingers lazily trailing along my spine like he didn’t want to stop touching me–not even for a second.

I shifted slightly, feeling the soreness in my thighs and the burn in muscles I hadn’t used in weeks.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, rough with the kind of softness he only ever saved for me.

“Mm–hmm.” I pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous thoughts?.”

I smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

We laid in silence for a moment longer, and then I turned my face toward him.

“Can I ask you something?”

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09:47 Mon, 26 May MT

Chapter 158

“You’re already in my bed. You can ask me anything.”

I hesitated.

“Your parents…” I started carefully. “Are they… gone?”

He went still. Not tense, exactly, but quiet in a way that told me he didn’t usually talk about them.

“No,” he said after a beat. “Not dead. Just… awa….

I looked up at him. “Away where?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Last I heard, they were on some island off the French coast. Might’ve moved. They change locations when the novelty wears

off.”

I blinked. “You talk to them?”

“No,” he said simply. “Not since I was eighteen.”

There was no bitterness in his voice. That made it

“You don’t want to?”

“I don’t need to.”

I pulled the blanket a little higher over us, watching him. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “They wanted the perks of a family name without the responsibility. The reputation without the chaos. They didn’t want blood on their hands, so they handed me off to caretakers and disappeared.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“You’re serious.”

“I was five when they left. Told me they were going on a cruise. They left then. And came back after a few years to drop Julian. Then my father thought it was best to drill the family secrets and learnings into my brain. He then left again.”

His eyes were on the ceiling now, like he wasn’t seeing it at all.

“The estate kept running. Nannies rotated. Tutors came and went. I learned how to shoot before I lost my baby teeth. By the time I was ten, I was already being prepped to lead. All while they sent postcards from exotic resorts I wasn’t allowed to visit. My grandfather raised me most of the time until he died. He was worse than my dad.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Not at first.

I just reached for his hand beneath the covers, interlaced our fingers.

“They didn’t come to your grandfather’s funeral?” I asked quietly.

“No. They sent flowers.”

I felt it then–this deep, aching sadness for him

For the boy he must’ve been. For the silence he grew up in. For the cold, distant life where love was a postcard and parenting was a delegated task.

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