Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 17

Damian's POV

The cold shower had done nothing to help her. If anything, she looked worse.

Her soaked uniform had become a second skin, the fabric clinging to every line and curve of her body with unforgiving precision. The white shirt, once professional and modest, now revealed the gentle slope of her shoulders, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the way her chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Water droplets traced paths down her throat, disappearing beneath the soaked fabric that had lost all pretense of coverage.

She pressed herself against the shower wall, breathing hard, her skin flushed a delicate pink despite the freezing water cascading over her trembling form.

"Do you know what you're doing?" I asked, my voice rough.

She shook her head, then nodded. The contradictory gestures revealed just how far gone she was. Whatever aphrodisiac Adriana had slipped her was strong—stronger than I'd anticipated when I'd seen her tampering with those champagne glasses.

She looked at me with those pitiful, pleading eyes, water droplets clinging to her lashes. Her whole body trembled.

I stayed where I was, arms crossed, making no move to help despite her obvious desperation.

My first night with her had been a mistake—a moment of weakness I couldn't afford to repeat. I was Damian Cavalieri, heir to one of Italy's most powerful criminal enterprises. I didn't lose control over orphaned bar girls who meant nothing beyond a single night's entertainment.

"Cold water will help you solve this problem very effectively," I told her firmly, my voice carrying the authority she'd learned to obey that first night.

But she seemed to have lost all reason. Before I could react, she began tearing at her remaining clothes with desperate fingers. The soaked uniform peeled away from her skin as she stripped with frantic urgency.

Her hands moved lower, fingers working frantically at the waistband of her black slacks. The fabric clung to her wet skin, but she pulled and tugged until the material gave way.

By the time I fully processed what was happening, she stood completely naked before me in the shower stall, water streaming down her flushed body.

Her hands moved to cup her breasts, fingers circling her hardened nipples as soft moans escaped her lips. Her other hand traced a path down her trembling abdomen, moving lower until her fingers found the swollen flesh between her thighs.

"Please," she begged, her voice breaking with need. "Please. I can't take this anymore."

"You're not thinking clearly," I said harshly. "You don't even know what you're begging for. Just like the first time—you were calling out your boyfriend's name, oh wait, *ex*-boyfriend's name, while you rode me and begged me to help you. Do you want me to pretend to be Marco again?"

"No." Her voice was clearer now, more focused despite the drug coursing through her system. "I know who you are. Damian. You're Damian."

The moment she spoke my name, my hand closing around her throat as I pulled her back against my chest. The large mirror on the bathroom wall reflected our image back at us—her naked, flushed body pressed against my fully clothed form, my hand controlling her completely.

I trapped her arms behind her back with my free hand, forcing her to face the mirror and watch our reflection.

"Is this what you want?" I demanded, my hand moving to cup her breast roughly, leaving red marks on her pale skin where my fingers pressed too hard.

She let out a broken moan. "Please."

My fingers circled her nipples, teasing them until they hardened painfully, then continued their journey downward. Her body responded to every touch, arching against me despite the humiliation of being forced to watch herself in the mirror.

"So wet," I murmured against her ear, my fingers sliding easily between her thighs. "Can't tell if it's shower water or your own arousal."

I found her entrance easily but refused to give her what she craved, instead sliding my fingers teasingly along her clitoris flesh without penetrating.

She went weak in my arms almost immediately, her hips pressing back against me as she begged for more. The drug had stripped away every defense, every pretense of dignity or resistance.

I spread her legs wider with my knee, then slowly inserted one finger, moving with deliberate torture rather than the quick relief she desperately needed.

She moaned and writhed against me, trying to take more, to force my hand to give her what her body was screaming for.

Just as she began to adjust to the single digit, I thrust three fingers deep inside her without warning.

he tried to pull away from the sudden stretch, but I caught her chin with my free hand, forcing her to look at our reflection in the mirror.

"Watch," I commanded. "Watch yourself cum in my hands."

Water streamed down between her legs as I worked my fingers inside her, and I couldn't tell where the shower spray ended and her own wetness began. When she finally shattered around my fingers, crying out as her body convulsed with release, I withdrew my hand and brought my wet fingers to her lips.

"Clean them," I ordered.

She obeyed without question, her tongue working over my fingers with the same desperate need she'd shown for everything else.

But it wasn't enough. The aphrodisiac still had her in its grip, and simple proximity wouldn't be sufficient to ease her suffering.

I lifted her easily, her weight negligible in my arms. Water streamed from both of us as I carried her from the confines of the shower to the bedroom beyond, leaving a trail of droplets on the expensive carpet. She felt impossibly fragile against my chest, her wet skin cool to the touch yet radiating an inner heat that spoke to the drug's relentless effects.

Her head fell back against my shoulder, exposing the elegant line of her throat.

I deposited her on the bed with more force than strictly necessary, watching as she settled against the pristine white sheets.

"You want my help?" I asked, my voice deadly calm.

"Yes," she whispered immediately. "God, yes."

I reached for her ankle, my fingers closing around the delicate bone with deliberate pressure.

"You're going to regret asking me for this favor," I said, my voice carrying absolute certainty.