Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 97

Aria’s POV

I gasped as he thrust into me completely, my body stretched around his length with an intensity that bordered on pain. The sensation was overwhelming—he filled me so completely that I could barely breathe, every nerve ending screaming with the sudden invasion.

"Fuck," he growled against my ear. "You're so tight. Every time feels like the first."

I wanted to protest, to remind him that this was purely contractual, that we were only doing this for the medical benefits. But the words died in my throat as he began to move, each thrust deliberate and controlled, designed to drive me out of my mind.

"Damian," I managed to whisper, my hands clutching at his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not like this..."

"Shouldn't what?" he asked, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision. "Shouldn't enjoy it? Shouldn't want more?"

The accusation in his voice made heat flood my cheeks. Because he was right—I did want more. Despite everything logical in my mind screaming that this was dangerous, that I was getting too attached, my body craved his touch like an addiction.

"This is just... practical," I gasped out between thrusts. "For conception purposes."

"Is that what you're telling yourself?" He shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. "That this is just business?"

"Yes," I lied, even as my body arched beneath him, seeking more of his touch.

"Then why are you so wet for me?" he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Why do you moan my name like a prayer when I'm inside you?"

Before I could answer, he pulled out completely, leaving me empty and desperate. I couldn't suppress the whimper that escaped my lips at the loss.

"Turn over," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

I should refuse, I thought desperately. I should maintain some dignity, some control over this situation.

But my body was already obeying, rolling onto my stomach before my mind could form a coherent protest. I felt exposed, vulnerable in this position, completely at his mercy.

His hands traced the curve of my spine, fingers trailing fire across my skin. "Such a good girl," he murmured, and the praise sent electricity straight to my core. "You pretend to be so strong, so independent. But look at you now."

I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance again, but he didn't thrust in immediately. Instead, he teased me, sliding just the tip inside before withdrawing, over and over until I was trembling with need.

"Please," I found myself begging, my voice muffled by the pillow.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone maddening calm while I was falling apart beneath him.

"Please... just..."

"Say it," he demanded. "Tell me what you want."

I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight, I thought desperately. I want you to claim me so completely that I forget this is supposed to be temporary.

But I couldn't say those words. Couldn't admit how far I'd fallen.

"I want... I need..." I stammered, my pride warring with my desperate desire.

His hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back so he could speak directly into my ear. "You need my cock inside you. You need me to fuck you like the desperate little thing you are. Say it."

The crude words should have offended me. Should have reminded me that this was just a transaction, that he saw me as nothing more than a vessel for his heir. Instead, they sent heat pooling between my thighs.

"I need..." I started, then stopped, biting my lip.

"Stubborn little princess," Without warning, he slammed into me completely, forcing a sharp cry from my lips.

The pace he set was punishing, each thrust driving me deeper into the mattress. I gripped the sheets desperately, trying to anchor myself as he took me with a possessiveness that should have terrified me.

"You feel that?" he panted, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Feel how perfectly you fit around my cock? This isn't just business, piccola. This is ownership."

It's not ownership, I tried to tell myself. It's chemistry. Physical compatibility. Nothing more.

But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself. This felt like so much more than a contractual obligation.

The sound of a gentle knock on the bedroom door made us both freeze.

"Mr. Cavalieri?" Jennifer's voice drifted through the heavy wood, professional but persistent. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to discuss today's meal preparations."

Damian's body went rigid above me, but instead of pulling away, his hand clamped over my mouth, effectively silencing any sound I might make.

"Just a moment, Jennifer," he called out, his voice perfectly controlled despite the fact that he was still buried deep inside me. "What did you need to discuss?"

My eyes widened in shock. Was he seriously going to have a conversation while we were in this position?

"Well, sir," Jennifer continued from the hallway, "I wanted to confirm the menu for today. I was thinking of preparing that seafood risotto you both enjoyed last week, and perhaps some fresh bread from the village bakery."

Damian's hand pressed more firmly against my mouth as he began to move again, slow, deliberate thrusts that made my entire body tremble. The combination of pleasure and the fear of being discovered was intoxicating in the most dangerous way.

"That sounds perfect, Jennifer," he said, his voice steady even as his hips maintained their torturous rhythm. "I'm sure Miss Rossi will appreciate your attention to detail."

"Oh, wonderful! And I thought perhaps some of those honey pastries she's grown fond of. The ones with the almonds from the estate orchards."

"Excellent choice," Damian replied, and I felt his free hand trail down my spine possessively. The contrast between his casual conversation and the intimate way he was touching me was maddening.

How can he be so calm? I thought desperately. How can he act like nothing is happening when he's...

My thoughts scattered as he hit that perfect spot inside me, and I had to bite down on my own lip to keep from crying out.

"Also, sir, Dr. Rosetti called to confirm tomorrow's appointment. Should I tell her you'll both be attending?"

"Yes," he said, his voice carrying an edge of something dark. "Make sure Miss Rossi's schedule is completely clear. This appointment is a priority."

The reminder of why we were really here—the medical procedures, the clinical aspect of our arrangement—should have been sobering. Should have reminded me that this was all temporary, all part of a business transaction.

Instead, it made something twist painfully in my chest. A reminder that once I was pregnant, this would all end. He'd get his heir, I'd get my money, and we'd go back to being strangers.

That's what you want, I told myself firmly. That's the plan.

But the thought of going back to my old life, of never feeling his hands on me again, of never seeing that rare moment when his control slipped and he looked at me like I was something precious... it made my heart ache in ways that had nothing to do with physical pleasure.

"Thank you, Jennifer. We'll be down for breakfast shortly."

"Of course, sir. Enjoy your morning."

We listened to her footsteps retreating down the hallway, but Damian didn't remove his hand from my mouth immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his chest pressing against my back as he spoke directly into my ear.

"You were so good," he murmured, his voice rough with approval. "So quiet, so obedient. You're learning."

He began moving again, faster now. His hand finally moved away from my mouth, instead gripping my hip to pull me back against each thrust.

"Tell me," he panted, his control finally starting to fray. "Tell me you want this."

I want this, the words echoed in my mind. But saying them out loud felt like crossing a line I wasn't ready to cross. Like admitting to something that went far beyond our contract.

But my body was betraying me, arching beneath him, meeting each thrust with desperate eagerness. I was so close to the edge, so close to that shattering release that would leave me boneless and satisfied.

"Come for me," he commanded.

The order, combined with a particularly deep thrust, sent me over the edge. I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my cries as the orgasm crashed over me, leaving me shaking and gasping beneath him.

He followed moments later, his own release tearing a groan from his throat as he buried himself deep inside me one final time.

We lay there for a moment, both breathing hard, the weight of what had just happened settling between us like a physical presence.

That was just sex, I told myself firmly as he slowly pulled out of me.

"Come," he said after a moment, his voice still rough. "We need to clean up before Jennifer expects us downstairs."

I followed him into the en-suite bathroom on unsteady legs, hyperaware of the wetness between my thighs, of the way my body still hummed with satisfaction.

He turned on the multiple shower heads, and steam immediately began filling the space. The sound of rushing water seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence between us.

"After you," he said.

I stepped under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, trying to find some equilibrium.

Then I felt him step in behind me.

"Turn around," he commanded softly.

When I complied, I found him watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Water streamed down his powerful chest, following the lines of muscle and the trail of hair that led to his still-impressive length.

Don't look, I told myself. Don't think about how he felt inside you, how he filled you so completely...

But my treacherous gaze dropped anyway, taking in every detail of his magnificent body.

"See something you like, piccola?" he asked, his voice carrying that familiar arrogance.

Heat flooded my cheeks. "I was just... the water pressure is very good."

His laugh was low and knowing. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Before I could respond, he reached for the expensive shower gel, squeezing some into his palm. "Let me wash you."

"I can do it myself," I protested weakly, even as my body betrayed me by leaning toward him.

"I'm sure you can," he agreed, his hands already moving to my shoulders. "But I want to do it."

His touch was firm but gentle as he worked the soap across my skin. Those large hands mapped every curve, every hollow, with a thoroughness that spoke of possession rather than mere cleanliness.

His fingers tracing a spot on my collarbone where his mouth had been particularly insistent. "Good."

"That's not good," I protested, though my voice lacked conviction. "People will see."

"Let them." His hands moved lower, cupping my breasts with a familiarity that should have outraged me. Instead, it made me arch into his touch.

His hands moved lower, slipping between my thighs to where I was still sensitive from our earlier encounter.

"Damian," I breathed, my hands instinctively reaching out to steady myself against his chest.

"Still wet," he murmured, his fingers exploring with maddening gentleness. "From me, or from wanting me again?"

Both, I thought desperately, but couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Answer me," he commanded, his finger circling my clit with just enough pressure to make me tremble.

His mouth found my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his fingers worked me with ruthless precision. The water cascaded over us both.

"Look at me," he commanded when my eyes drifted closed.

I forced them open, meeting his intense gaze.

"That's it," he murmured as I trembled on the edge of release. "Let go for me."