Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

“Don’t you want to see yourself, Flower?”

Yes.

Yes.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Liar.” He laughs lightly. “Admit it; you were dying of curiosity to find out how I have tied you up.”

“You into Shibari or something?” I huff. “Is that why you needed to tie me up before you made me come?”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“I allowed you to come earlier too,” he reminds me, “but that was before.”

“Before?”

“Before I realized that I need to show you exactly what kind of a man I am.”

I scowl. “I’m not sure what you mean, Christian.”

Without saying anything else, he comes to a halt, I assume, in front of the mirror in the bedroom. He lowers me to my feet. My knees tremble, and he grips my shoulders to hold me in place. Then he pushes my hair to the side and leans in close enough for his breath to raise the hair on my temples. “Do you want to see yourself? Do you want to see how I see you, Flower?”

I swallow. Somehow, I know this is more significant than he is letting on. The previous times when he made me come, when he fucked me, he didn’t tie me up. So, what changed that he decided to indulge himself this time around?

My mouth dries. I slowly nod, and I feel his chest rise and fall behind me. Then he loosens the knot on my blindfold, and the ribbon falls away. I blink as I adjust to the light, then take in my reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, a glow to my skin that I definitely didn’t notice before, and his handiwork.

“Oh my god,” I whisper. “You…you…”

“Wrapped the wool around you to accentuate your most beautiful physical asset-your breasts.”

I take in how he’s looped the yarn just under my bust before crisscrossing it so it frames my breasts. He’s wound the yarn in a series of intricate twists, coiled it in a pattern that is complicated enough that I can’t believe he did it himself, then knotted it under my cleavage. The result is that he’s pushed my breasts up as if they are an offering, my brown nipples beaded, with the areolae framing them like they are a rare flower. He’s drawn the yarn down to hold my pussy lips apart, baring my clit like a glistening jewel.

I can’t take my gaze off it, and he must notice, for he places his cheek next to mine. “What do you think?” he murmurs.

“It’s…” I try to form the words, but my brain cells seem to have short-circuited. “It should seem lewd,” I finally say, “but…”

“But?”

“But the entire effect is so much more…worshipful,” I whisper.

“And it is,” he says in a serious tone. “It’s a combination of pain and affection, of my wanting to push your pain limits by mixing torture like impact play, biting, wax, needles with the sweet comfort of being touched and held and kissed.”

“Hold on…” I gulp. “Did you say torture?”

He loops his finger around the strip of yarn that parts my pussy lips and tugs. Pain slithers over my nerve endings, and heat suffuses my skin. Moisture pools between my thighs, and I can’t stop the moan that bleeds from my lips.

“Exactly.” He nods as if we have been communicating without words. “This is my way of offering up my time to you, so the focus is entirely on you.”

“So, you’ve done this with others?”

“And if I have?”

“You have focused entirely on other women too?”

“Right now, my focus is entirely on you.”

“You fucked me earlier,” I remind him, “but you decided to tie me up only now?”

“Like I said, I felt it was time you understood what kind of a man you are dealing with.”

“Which is?”

“I have proclivities, Flower.”

“No kidding.” I tip my chin toward my tied-up reflection.

“This is just the start, you know.” He holds my gaze in the mirror. “It’s only going to get rougher from here on.”

“And you’re trying to scare me, why?”

“So you know what you’re getting into.”

“Are you saying you’re giving me a way out?”

He raises a shoulder. “I’m offering you a chance to let go of your inhibitions.”

“And that helps me, how?”

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror when you have stripped back the mask you wear to the world and liked what you saw?”

“Is that what this is?” I scowl back at his reflection. “Me … unmasked?”

“It’s you, as I see you.”

“Which is how, exactly? As your, how do you say, your submissive?”

“As mine.”

A thrill runs through my body.

“Wh-what does that mean?”

“Mine to do with as I want. Mine to hold. Mine to play with. Mine to push your limits.”

“Ah…” I tilt my head. “Now I get it.”

“You do?”

I nod. “I am how you strip back the mask you wear to the world.” I turn to face him. “You use my body as the canvas through which you can express your deepest desires. The ones you can’t even admit to yourself. You use my emotions to articulate what you are feeling, my tears to give voice to your expression, my-”

“Your pain to revel in what I cannot ever tell anyone.” His lips twist.

“And what is that, Christian? What is it you cannot tell anyone else but which drives you to reach for extremes to feel something?”

His gaze widens for an instant, then all expression fades from his face. That mask I referred to before? It’s back in full force. If he seemed inscrutable before, now he seems unreachable.

He steps back from me, and the cold air instantly rushes in to occupy his space. “Stay,” he commands as he spins around and stalks out of the room, only to return with a pair of scissors.

“What are you-?”

He cuts through the ribbon that ties my wrists together, then snips off the yarn that runs from the wool around my breast to my pussy. The pressure on my labia ceases, and already, I miss it. He cuts through the knots he’s woven under my cleavage, then up the side of the corset he’s created out of the wool. The entire composition falls apart, and he snatches up the pieces as I stand in front of him absolutely naked.

But does he look at me again? Nope. He walks toward the doorway. “You can use the bed. I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”