My Mr Mafia
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- Parts 50
MatureComplete Tue, Mar 22, 20223h 16m
His gaze immediately sets on me looking me up and down
"Stop stealing the food" I say and take his hand pulling it closer to my mouth biting the strawberry of its stem
Luca looks at me surprised
"Who's stealing the food now" he says and kisses me
"Toshé"I say as I sit on the counter
"I see you are stealing my clothes too not just my food"he says and stands in front of me as I look down at him he places both of his hands on either side of my waist
"What ya gna do about it"i say and he looks at me with dark lustful eyes
"This"he says and takes a strawberry putting whip cream on it my favorite
He says open and I open my mouth
Then he tells me to close my eyes I do exactly as he says
"Good girl"he says and I feel the wet cream touch my cheek as he smeared it in my face
"You ass"I say and I take the can of whip cream spraying it on his face we both laugh as I signal him to come here fuzz I'm laughing to much to talk
I kiss his nose and his cheek every where the whip cream went and he takes a cloth wiping the drops that spilled on my face,arms and chest
"Lukaaaa!"I laughed while he kisses my neck and my shoulders
Lea is a normal girl with the unfortunate luck of catching a mafia gangsters eye but she wants nothing to do with him
He kidnaps her as soon as he sees her right from her family's car and tries to force her to stay with him and avetualy she makes a disition and starts joining into the gang but everyone notices it and turns their heads
Their relationship meat be kept a secret or bad things will happen
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A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.
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