Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

I pull the train of my dress around my shoulders, and huddle into the mattress of the narrow single bed. Seriously, this entire thing sucks. Why the hell had he left me behind? I mean, who leaves their wife in the basement of his house on their wedding night? Michael bloody Byron does.Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you are thinking. When it suits me, I am his wife, and when it doesn’t, I am not. And isn’t that the truth of it? I bring up my hand, stare at the ring on my finger. The black diamond in the center is smooth enough that I can see myself reflected in it. And the rubies surrounding it… Wow!

Honestly, if I had chosen a ring for myself, it would be this. Not that I had spent much time thinking about my wedding… Considering I had been too busy trying to focus on my fledgling career as a designer. And then there was that little issue that I had been in the foster care system until my sister Summer had turned eighteen and found a way to become my legal guardian.

So no, weddings and wedding dresses and wedding rings weren’t exactly the kinds of dreams I went to sleep with every night. And yet, I had known exactly the kind of gown I’d wanted. I hadn’t hesitated when I had stitched it. And the ring… OMG, the ring… Fact is, I love it. And I hate myself for it. And I hate that he knows exactly what I like. And the fact that he knows how to play my body, and that he knows that holding back my orgasms is a surefire way to break me down.

He had given me a taste of how good it could be between us, and yet, he hadn’t yet shagged me. I squeeze my thighs together. The way it had felt to have his fingers in me as he had twisted my nipples… Goosebumps pop on my skin and it’s not only because it’s cold. The thick fabric of the train of my dress is actually quite a comfortable blanket… It’s annoying how he’d been right about that as well.

Is there anything that over-the-top, control freak isn’t right about? I turn on my back, pull up the skirts of my dress. I had worn it after he’d left because it had felt like the quickest way to stay warm, and to a certain extent, that was true too. Except, it’s uncomfortable to sleep in it… Or wait, maybe I am uncomfortable because the bastard hadn’t let me come. He hadn’t let me orgasm, damn him. And he’d told me I can’t climax until he tells me to, but hell, if I am not going to try.

I pull up the skirt of my dress, and making sure I am still covered by the train, I slide my fingers into my panties. I thrust a digit inside my sensitized channel and gasp when I find myself wet. Pinpricks of pleasure radiate out from my touch, and I add a second finger, then a third.

It’s not enough, damn it. Nothing will be enough to plug that nothingness that yawns in my core, but this will have to do for now. I begin to fuck myself, weave my fingers in and out, as the tension begins to build at the base of my spine. I increase the intensity of my movements, and my entire body shakes. I squeeze my legs together, close my eyes as I shove my fingers in and out of my melting channel. And again. And again. The waves build up from my core, radiate out and up my spine, I don’t stop, I keep going. Come on. Come on. I am so close now. The waves spiral upward, and just as the climax threatens to spill over, his command echoes in my ears, You will not come until I give you permission.

I yank the fingers from my core and the orgasm recedes. The emptiness inside of me seems to grow bigger, thicker, until it envelops all of me, consumes me. Sweat beads my upper lip, sticks to my palms. Heat flushes my skin and I throw off my cover… I mean, the goddamn train. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, glance about the space.

He must have cameras here…somewhere, right? I stare at the walls, glance up at the ceiling… There! Above the doorway is the unmistakable eye of a camera. Aha… So he does have eyes on me, after all… Had he just seen my performance? Had he taken in how I’d almost orgasmed?

Does he realize just how close I am to losing my freakin’ mind? My stomach rumbles and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Bet my hair is a rat’s nest, given how I had writhed on the goddamn bed earlier, too. Not that it is my most pressing concern, but a girl has a right to be concerned about her looks, right? So what, if I am his stupid prisoner? Surely, he won’t deny me my basic rights… Like using a goddam, proper bathroom.

I stare at the bucket in the corner of the room. If he thinks I am going to be using that, he has another think coming. I have my dignity, goddamn it. I am not peeing in a stupid bucket, no bloody way.

I shuffle my weight from foot to foot. What the hell can I use to get his attention? Something that will ensure he comes back here…?

I take in the space, the light from the single bulb in the ceiling that came on earlier. At least, he hadn’t switched that off. It would have been goddamn creepy if he had, not that I am afraid of the dark… But still, I prefer not to think about this space with the lights off. I shudder.

I glance about the space again… Nothing… There is no piece of wood, or a nail…or anything I can use… And the goddam bucket… I refuse to touch it. Ugh. No, he has to come for me. He has to get me out of here… And there is only way I can think of to force his hand.

I stare up at the unmistakable eye of the camera above the door, then I begin to undress.