The Mafia Devil’s Wrong Bride
I growl as I move to the other nipple, sucking the skin around it, leaving a huge hickey before I bite down on the little bud.
Her back arches against the cuffs, her cries spilling past my fingers. She’s trembling so hard now, I can feel it through the mattress.
And then I stop.
I rip my mouth from her tits. Her head snaps up, glassy-eyed, confused, desperate.
“W-why did—”
I smirk, wiping her spit across her flushed cheek with my thumb. “Because this was never about your pleasure, Mi amor. This was punishment.”
Her lips part, chest heaving, but I don’t give her the release she’s craving.
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