The Reaper's Mob Princess

Chapter 2

He chuckled at the praise, his c**k jerking and spasming one last time as his arms gave out and he collapsed around her.

“Well sense darlin' asked so sweet like”

His weight crushed her into the mattress in the best possible way—all that muscle and heat pressing her down into silk sheets that were absolutely destroyed now, soaked with sweat and c*m and her own release. She should've felt trapped. Instead she felt... safe. Which was terrifying.

Her arms wrapped around his broad back, fingers tracing the bloody furrows she'd carved there, feeling him twitch when she touched the raw skin. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips.

"Marked you up pretty good, bello," she murmured against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the sweat-damp skin. "Gonna feel me for days."

His c**k was still inside her, softening slowly but keeping his c*m plugged deep. Every tiny movement made her oversensitive walls clench, making them both groan. She didn't want him to pull out. Didn't want to feel empty again.

Her hand found his hair, threading through the messy black strands, scratching his scalp gently now instead of yanking. "You know..." She laughed, the sound vibrating between their pressed-together chests.

"I was supposed to be the one doing the ruining tonight. Had a whole plan. Straps, toys, you on your knees begging."

She turned her head, lips brushing his ear. "Maybe round two,"

She purred, that familiar wicked edge creeping back into her wrecked voice. "After you recover. See how that pretty Southern mouth handles being on the other end."

Her teeth caught his earlobe, tugging. "Unless you're scared, Talley Silverhand,”

A big roughly calloused hand gripped her throat. Not hard enough to choke, but hard enough to hold. Her eyes widened as he lifted himself off her. She felt that massive monster inside her start to harden again.

"I doubt you'll ever get your chance to peg me darlin' but now that you mention it, knees and begging sounds fun... For me that is,"

His chuckle was dark feral. He quickly rolled her onto her stomach, tugging her up roughly onto her knees. He took a moment and admired her heart shaped lush ass. He smashed both of her cheeks three times each. So hard his palm stung and bruises started to form almost instantly.

He pried her cheeks apart revealing her tight little dusky pink puckered hole to his hungry gaze. "I'm going to enjoy this part," He purred.

The hand on her throat sent electricity straight to her core—that primal squeeze that said I own you right now without a single word. Her pulse hammered against his palm as he lifted off her, and she felt him hardening again inside her ruined cunt.

"You can't be serious—" The words died in her throat as he flipped her like she weighed nothing.

Face down, ass up, the position she'd put countless others in but never been in herself. Her fingers clawed at the silk sheets as his hand came down on her ass—once, twice, three times each cheek—the crack of palm on flesh echoing through the penthouse.

"CAZZO—" She screamed into the pillow, tears springing fresh, the pain blooming hot and immediate.

Then his hands spread her cheeks and cool air hit her most private place. Her whole body went rigid. "Talley—" Real fear crept into her voice now, mixed with something darker. "That's... nobody's ever... I don't—" She was Valentina Rossi. She did the taking. She had a cabinet full of straps specifically because she was always the one in control, always the one pushing inside, never—

His breath was hot against her exposed hole and she shuddered violently.

"You'll break me," she whispered, and hated how much it sounded like begging. "That thing won't fit—it barely fit in my—ah—"

Her hips betrayed her, pushing back slightly despite her protests. "Per favore... be... be gentle... just... just at first..." His dark chuckle rolled over her like thunder as his tongue—hot, wet, impossibly skilled—dragged a slow stripe from her dripping cunt up to that tight virgin hole, circling the rim with devastating patience.

"Gentle ain't really my style, Kitten," he drawled against her flesh, the vibration making her whimper. "But I'll make sure you're ready to take every inch before I split this pretty little ass open."

His thumb pressed against her entrance, just enough pressure to make her gasp and clutch the sheets, her whole body trembling between terror and desperate, shameful need.

He lined his still cream covered slippery c**k up with her tiny little rear door and started to push in working that massive c**k into her virgin ass.

The pressure was impossible—a slow, relentless invasion that stole her breath and her sanity. Her virgin hole stretched around the slick head of him, burning, aching, opening for something it was never meant to take.

"Oh dio—oh dio—oh DIO—" The words came out in a keening wail, her face buried in the pillow, tears soaking the silk.

His c*m and her slick eased the way but nothing could have prepared her for this. Every inch felt like a mile, her tight ring of muscle screaming as it stretched around his impossible girth. She could feel herself opening, yielding, being claimed in a way no one had ever claimed her.

Her hands fisted the sheets so hard her knuckles went white. Her back arched, trying to escape, trying to take more—she didn't know which anymore.

Too big—troppo grande—I can't—" She sobbed, but her hips pushed back against him anyway, some traitorous part of her desperate to be filled completely.

Inch by agonizing inch he sank deeper. She could feel him in her guts, rearranging her insides, making room for himself where no one had ever been.

Halfway. More than halfway.

"Talley—" His name came out broken, desperate. "Please—I need—something—"

Her hand snaked down between her thighs, fingers finding her swollen c**t, rubbing frantic circles to chase the pleasure through the burning stretch.

"Tell me—" She gasped, voice wrecked."Tell me I'm yours," she begged, all pride shattered, fingers working her c**t desperately as he bottomed out in her ass. "Tell me you own this—own me—per favore, Talley, I need to hear it."

His hand fisted her hair, yanking her head back as he began to move, and the only answer she got was his growl against her ear: "You've been mine since you climbed into that car, Kitten."

"f**k this ass is f*****g heaven. Everything about you is heaven Kitten. You've been mine for longer than I think you know baby," He drawled lazily as he started a languid f**k of her ass.

His words hit somewhere deeper than his c**k—straight into her chest, cracking something open she'd kept locked tight for years. The Roman Queen of New York, owned. Claimed. And she wanted it so badly it terrified her.

"Longer than—ah—what do you—" The question fractured as he pulled back slow, dragging against every nerve ending in her stretched hole, then pushed back in with that same devastating patience.

The burn was fading now, replaced by something darker, fuller—a pleasure she'd never known existed. Her fingers on her c**t stuttered as her brain tried to process his words and the sensation of being split open at the same time.

"You knew," she gasped, realization dawning hazy through the fog of pleasure. "Before tonight—you f*****g knew—"

Her walls clenched around him involuntarily and she moaned, long and broken. The languid pace was destroying her worse than brutal would have—every stroke deliberate, claiming, like he had all the time in the world to take her apart.

"Who—cazzo—who are you, Talley Silverhand?" She turned her head, trying to see him over her shoulder, mascara-streaked and ruined. "Who the f**k did my father send me to—oh dio—"

His next thrust went deeper and her eyes rolled back, the question dying on her lips.

"Doesn't matter," she heard herself babbling. "Don't care—don't f*****g care—just don't stop—please”

His hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back further as his pace quickened, that lazy drawl hot against her ear.

"Smart girl, finally learning when to stop asking questions." His free hand came down hard on her already-bruised ass, the crack echoing through the penthouse as her scream dissolved into broken sobs of pleasure, her whole world narrowing to nothing but the relentless claiming of her body and the man who'd somehow always owned it.

His c**k throbbed, his abs tightened. He wasn't going to last much longer. He started to pound her really hard. His hips are driving like a trip hammer.

His head fell back. "f**k Kitten I can't hold it much longer,"

The brutal pace shattered what was left of her mind. Each thrust drove the air from her lungs, drove thought from her head, drove everything out except him—the feel of him splitting her open, the sound of his ragged breathing, the slap of his hips against her bruised ass.

"Give it to me—" The words tore from her throat, raw and desperate. "Fill me up—riempimi—I want to feel it—want to feel you—"

Her fingers worked her c**t frantically, chasing the edge that was right there, so close she could taste it. Her ass clenched around him with each thrust, greedy, trying to milk him even as he destroyed her.

"Come inside me, Talley—" She was sobbing now, tears and mascara ruining the pillow. "Per favore—mark me—own me—make me yours,”

Her orgasm hit like a freight train—different from the others, deeper, darker, radiating out from somewhere primal. Her whole body seized, her ass clamping down on him so tight it must have hurt, a scream ripping from her that didn't sound human anymore.

She felt him swell inside her, felt the first hot pulse of his release flooding her guts, and she came again on top of the first one—wave after wave crashing through her until she couldn't tell where one ended and another began.

"Talley—" His name became a prayer, a curse, the only word she remembered.

Her arms gave out and she collapsed forward into the ruined sheets, his weight following her down, still buried deep as the last pulses of his release filled her.

"Mio," she whispered against the silk, barely conscious, one trembling hand reaching back to find his hip and hold him there. "You're mine too, Louisiana... whether you know it yet or not."

His answering chuckle rumbled through her back as his teeth found her shoulder, biting down one last time. "Oh Kitten, I'm counting on it."

Sunlight cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows, brutal and unforgiving. Valentina groaned, every muscle screaming as she tried to move. Her ass throbbed. Her p***y ached. Bruises bloomed across her hips, her thighs, her throat—a roadmap of the night before.

The bed beside her was cold.

She sat up too fast, wincing, the sheets falling away from her naked body. The penthouse was silent except for the distant hum of the city below. No coffee brewing. No shower running. No six-foot-eight Louisiana bastard sprawled across her expensive mattress.

"Cazzo," she whispered, something sharp twisting in her chest.

Then she saw it—his ruined polo crumpled on the pillow where his head should have been. Underneath, a photograph, a letter, a small black box.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the photo first and then the letter.

Faded, yellowed at the edges. Two men standing in front of a social club she recognized—her uncle's place, back when the neighborhood still smelled like garlic and gunpowder. One was her father, young and sharp-eyed, maybe thirty. The other...

Those green eyes. That jaw. Different man, same impossible features.

Her breath caught.

She unfolded the letter with shaking fingers, his handwriting surprisingly elegant for hands that rough:

Kitten

Our fathers made a deal before either of us were born. You were promised to me. I was promised to you. I've been watching you build your empire for ten years, waiting until you were ready. You're ready now.

The ring was my grandmother's—she ruled Louisiana the way you rule Manhattan. Wear it when you're ready to rule both beside me.

I'll be at your mother's Sunday gravy this week. —T