MAFIA'S PIANIST ✔
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MatureComplete Wed, Sep 13, 20236h 39m
"𝘈 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵"
"No?" he questioned as her eyes flew open and she nodded.
"It wasn't an option baby" he whispered as he placed a kiss on her thin neck, making her shiver and clutch onto his suit "When I say something you do it"
"N-No" her answer wavered and his grip on her jaw tightened. He noticed a small adhesive bandage on her neck from when the knife dug at her skin yesterday.
His thumb caressed the spot as her heartbeat quickened "See" his eyes met hers "I didn't even touch you yesterday, but you already have a bruise. What do you think will happen when I finally make you mine?"
She gulped hard but refused to give up to a person who was practically a stranger to her "I'm not yours" she breathed out.
"Again, not an option baby"
▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁
Abigor Hayes, the mafia feared by nations. He was known for committing every single crime that the world has known, but never getting caught for it. Being the current head of the powerful Hayes family, no one could even touch him.
What happens when the Mafia King attends the annual ball and meets Aria Leighton, a woman with unearthly beauty and magic in her fingers? He now wanted what he shouldn't have, but are things really as simple as Aria makes them seem to be?
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He strokes himself with his eyes closed, and there he is-laid out in front of him, thighs parted, skin slick with desire. He imagines his hand sliding up that throat, feeling the shiver rise under his palm before tightening just enough to draw a gasp. His mouth would follow-hungry-down that taut chest, licking, biting, until a rough moan spills out. He knows how that body would respond: the way the hips would lift, aching for more, when his tongue moves lower, so much lower, tasting that salty, trembling skin. And those eyes... those 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 eyes drowning in pleasure, staring back at him with that kind of yielding that would drag a growl from his chest. He sinks deeper into it-deeper into the vision-imagining his fingers there, buried to the knuckles, while the other writhes beneath him, lips swollen from begging too long.
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