A Beautiful Mistake: A Mafia Romance

CHAPTER FOUR

"Suck!" he orders, his voice rough with desire. I stare at him, mouth full and drooling, frozen in place. Two warring instincts battle within me: one urging me to obey, to please him and ensure Melina's safety; the other screaming at me to resist, to maintain some shred of control. I don't know how to do this, and a part of me wants to defy him, to see how he'll make me obey. It's madness, but I can't help testing his limits, even in this vulnerable position.

He smirks, an evil glint filling his eyes as his hand drops to my chest once more. His fingers graze my n****e, sending unexpected shivers through me. The gentleness of his touch contrasts sharply with the roughness of his earlier actions, leaving me off-balance and confused.

"Was I wrong about you, blondie?" he says, his voice a silky purr that sends goosebumps across my skin. He takes my n****e between his fingers and pulls, the sensation a mix of pain and something else—something I'm afraid to name. I moan involuntarily against his c**k, the sound muffled but unmistakable. My eyes close as unfamiliar sensations course through my body, each touch sending sparks of unwanted pleasure through me.

"Do you also get off on pain?" The question hangs in the air, unanswered but resonating within me. Do I? The thought terrifies me, but I can't deny the way my body is responding to his rough treatment.

Thank you for the feedback. I'll continue expanding on the remaining parts, providing more detail and slowing down the pacing. Here's the continuation:

The grip in my hair tightens, his fingers tangling in my blonde locks. There's a moment of stillness, the calm before the storm, and then he begins to move my head against his c**k. My eyes shoot open, realization dawning that he's done being gentle. The slow, deliberate movement quickly gives way to something more forceful, more primal.

My throat burns as the head of his c**k hits the back repeatedly. Each thrust is deeper than the last, leaving me gasping for air as he ruthlessly f***s my face. The taste of him fills my mouth - salty, musky, overwhelming. I struggle to breathe through my nose, my chest heaving with the effort. Tears spring to my eyes, partly from the physical discomfort, partly from the emotional turmoil roiling within me.

I try my best to avoid grazing him with my teeth, not wanting to provoke him further. The thought of biting down crosses my mind - a last, desperate act of defiance - but I push it away. The consequences would be too severe for both me and Melina. Instead, I focus on relaxing my jaw, on suppressing my gag reflex and enduring.

His groans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure that contrasts sharply with my muffled whimpers. He curses in Spanish, words I don't understand but whose meaning is clear from his tone. His pace increases, becoming more erratic, more desperate. I can feel the tension building in his body, sense that he's approaching his climax.

His free hand, which had been at his side, moves to my breast again. He squeezes and massages, his touch alternating between rough and gentle. The dual sensations - the assault on my mouth and the attention to my breast - are overwhelming. To my shock and shame, I feel a warmth building between my legs, a wetness I've never experienced before.

The moment stretches on, feeling both endless and too brief. Then, with a final, guttural groan, he reaches his peak. His c*m fills my mouth, the taste salty and unfamiliar. I struggle not to choke, not to pull away, even as tears stream down my face.

"I knew those pretty lips were made for my c**k," he says, his voice husky with satisfaction. He slowly pulls out, a string of saliva and c*m connecting us for a moment before breaking. His hand releases my hair, and I sway slightly, dizzy from lack of oxygen and the intensity of what just happened.

In that moment of freedom, survival instinct takes over. I scramble to my feet, my legs shaky beneath me. Without thinking, I turn and bolt for the door. It's a suicidal move, running without permission, but I can't process what just happened - how I responded to his touch, craved it even. The shame and confusion are too much to bear.

As I flee down the opulent hallway, my bare feet padding softly on the cool marble tiles, my mind races with questions. What was that? Did I just enjoy a man's touch? Crave it? Get wet from it? And worse, from a man like him? The conflicting emotions of fear, shame, and unwanted arousal swirl within me as I desperately seek to put some space between us.

I slam the door of the room I was bathed in earlier, the sound echoing through the opulent space. My heart pounds against my ribcage, each beat a reminder of what just transpired. I lean against the cool wood, my legs trembling beneath me, threatening to give way at any moment.

My fingers trace my lips, still swollen and sensitive from his forceful use. The taste of him lingers on my tongue, a stark reminder of my submission. Part of me is disgusted with myself for responding to his touch, for craving more. I'm supposed to hate this, to fear it. After my previous abduction and the horrors I endured, how can I possibly want a man's hands on me? Especially his - a dangerous criminal who's holding me captive?

But another part of me, a part I'm ashamed to acknowledge, is still tingling from his touch. The memory of his hands on my skin, the intensity in his dark eyes, sends a shiver down my spine that's not entirely from fear. I've never felt desire like this before, not since before my first abduction, and it terrifies me. My body betrays me, still humming with an unfamiliar warmth, a need I thought I'd never experience again.

I slide down the door, hugging my knees to my chest. The plush carpet beneath me feels too soft, too luxurious for the turmoil I'm experiencing. I think of Melina, of the deal I made to protect her. The guilt crashes over me in waves, threatening to drown me. How can I be feeling this way when I'm here to keep her safe? Am I betraying her by finding pleasure in this situation?

My mind replays the events since my arrival - the fear in the cell, offering my body to save Melina, and now, the unexpected desire his touch has awakened in me. I want to hate him, to hate this, but I can't deny the spark he's ignited within me. It's confusing, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

As I continue to rest against the door, my body still trembling from the intensity of what I've experienced, all I can think about is how I want him to touch me again. The thought both thrills and horrifies me. What kind of person does that make me? Am I broken? Have the traumas of my past warped me so much that I now crave the touch of my captor?

The room around me, with its luxurious furnishings and soft lighting, feels like a mockery of my inner turmoil. I'm trapped not just in this gilded cage but in the confines of my own conflicting desires. The weight of my decision, of my sacrifice for Melina, presses down on me. But now, it's tangled up with these new, frightening feelings of desire.

What am I going to do now? How can I face him again, knowing how my body responded to his touch? And more importantly, how can I protect myself - not just from him, but from my own traitorous desires?