She Left Her Cheating Fiancé, Then Met the Mafia Boss Who Wanted Her novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Kneel

In the hotel suite Dominic asks again and Ariella says yes; he ties her wrists loosely with his tie, makes her beg and gives her the first orgasm of her new life, then holds back from more; at dawn she finds her bakery's address on a note, and she never told him where she works.

The suite was on the top floor of the Falcone Hotel, and it had a lock on the inside.

I turned it myself.

Then I turned around, and Dominic was standing in the middle of the room with his coat already off.

He had not touched me since the car.

"Ask me," I said.

"Do you want this?"

"Yes."

"Say all of it."

"I want you to put your hands on me," I said. "I want you to tell me what to do."

His eyes went darker than I thought eyes could.

"Come here."

I crossed the carpet in my bare feet. I had left my shoes at the door, and I didn't remember doing it.

He took my face in both hands.

His palms were rough, and the tattoos on his wrists were warm against my jaw.

"Look at me the whole time," he said.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

My stomach dropped. "Okay, sir."

"Good girl."

I made a sound I had never made before.

He kissed me.

It was not careful. His mouth took mine hard, and I opened for him at once.

His tongue stroked along mine, slow and sure.

My hands found his shirt and held on.

He walked me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed. Then he pulled back and looked at me.

"Arms."

I lifted them, and he drew my dress up and over my head.

I stood in my white underwear with my arms still half raised, and every part of me heated under his eyes.

"Beautiful," he said, low. "Hands behind your back."

I put them there.

He took off his tie, black silk, and wound it around my wrists. He did it loose, and he showed me how loose.

"You can slip that in a second," he said. "Do you know that?"

"Yes."

"Tell me if you do."

"I won't."

"Then tell me why."

"Because I want it," I said. "I want you to be the one who decides."

His breath went out of him in a rough line.

"Kneel."

I knelt on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

The silk pulled gently at my wrists, and my knees sank into the wool.

He stood over me and unbuttoned his cuffs one at a time. He rolled his sleeves up, slow, and the ink covered both forearms to the elbow.

"You're shaking."

"I'm not scared."

"I know." He crouched in front of me and tipped my chin up with two fingers. "You're wet."

I could not look away from him.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I'm wet," I said. "For you."

"Up."

He lifted me by the waist, tossed me onto the bed and pulled my underwear down my legs.

I lay there with my wrists tied under me and my thighs open, and he stood at the end of the bed and looked.

"Dominic."

"Quiet." He knelt on the mattress. "You'll make noise in a minute. I'll hear it."

He put his mouth on me.

The first stroke of his tongue went flat and slow from my entrance to my clit, and my whole body arched.

"Oh, God."

"Not him," Dominic muttered against me. "Me."

He did it again.

He held my hips down with both hands and licked me open, thorough and steady, and I heard myself say his name in a voice I did not know.

He found my clit and circled it with the tip of his tongue.

I pulled at the tie. It held, because I wanted it to.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Don't stop."

He slid two thick fingers into me and curled them, and the room went white around the edges.

"There," he said into my skin. "That's what I wanted. Say my name again."

"Dominic."

"Again."

"Dominic, I'm going to."

He stopped.

His mouth left me, and his fingers slid out, and cold air hit all the wet places he'd been.

I cried out. I couldn't help it.

"No, no, please, why did you stop?"

He sat back on his heels and looked at me, flushed and wrecked and shaking on his sheets.

"Because you didn't ask properly."

"Please," I said. "Please, sir, let me come."

His mouth curved, finally, into a real smile.

"There she is."

He lowered his head and took my clit between his lips and sucked.

I came so hard I saw stars.

I screamed. I bucked against his mouth, and he held on and rode every wave out of me with his tongue and his thick fingers, steady and relentless, until I was sobbing and boneless.

When I opened my eyes he was braced over me with one hand beside my head.

His mouth was wet. His eyes were black and very gentle.

He undid the tie, rubbed my wrists, and kissed each one.

"That was yours," he said. "Nothing else tonight. I'm not done with you, but I won't take you on the worst night of your year."

"I want you to."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because when I do, I want you sure it's not about him." He pulled the sheet over me. "Sleep."

I fell asleep with his hand on my hair.

I woke up at dawn.

The bed was warm beside me and empty.

Through the door, low voices. Two men, outside in the corridor, and the creak of leather shoes.

On the pillow lay a folded sheet of hotel paper.

I opened it.

In neat black handwriting, it read: Orchard Street Bakery, 6:15 a.m.

I had not told him where I worked.

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