MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

The Morning After

THE NEXT MORNING

Isabella woke to the low rumble of a man’s voice and the soft weight of a heavy arm draped across her waist.

For a second she didn’t move. The sheets smelled like s*x and expensive cologne. Her body ached in places she hadn’t known could ache. Every shift of muscle reminded her exactly what Julian had done to her—how many times, how thoroughly, how completely he had taken her apart and put her back together again.

She was still in his bed.

The arm around her tightened. Warm lips brushed the back of her shoulder.

“You’re awake,” Julian murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Good. I was starting to think I had broken you.”

Isabella turned her head just enough to see him. Morning light filtered through the tall windows, painting the sharp lines of his face in gold and shadow. He looked unfairly good for someone who had spent half the night buried inside her p***y.

“I’m not that fragile,” she said.

One dark brow lifted. “No?” His hand slid lower, palm spanning her stomach before dipping between her thighs. She was still sticky with him. His fingers stroked through the mess he’d left, slow and deliberate. “You’re still full of me.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away.

Julian watched her face carefully as he pushed two fingers back inside her, curling them just enough to make her breath catch. “Sore?”

“A little.”

“Good.” He withdrew his fingers, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean without breaking eye contact. “I like knowing you’ll feel me every time you move today.”

Isabella swallowed. “You’re terrible.”

“You knew that when you stayed.” He sat up, the sheet falling to his waist, revealing the hard lines of his chest and the tattoo that covered one arm. “Get up. Shower, I’ll have breakfast sent up.”

She hesitated. “Julian—”

“Don’t.” His voice stayed quiet, but the edge in it was unmistakable. “We’re not doing the morning-after speech where you try to leave and I pretend I’m fine with it. You’re here. You’re staying. At least for now.”

She met his gaze. “You don’t get to decide that.”

A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. “Don’t I?”

He leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, and claiming—before pulling back just enough to speak against her lips.

“Shower, Isabella. Then we talk. About last night. About what happens next. And about the fact that you walked into the bedroom of one of the most dangerous men in this city and let him f**k you until you couldn’t stand.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip.

“I want to know why.

Isabella stood under the hot spray longer than she needed to, letting the water beat against her sore muscles. Her body felt used in the best ways possible—tender between her thighs, faint bruises blooming on her hips and the side of her neck where his mouth had been. Every ache was a reminder of how thoroughly Julian had taken her apart.

She dried off with one of the oversized towels and found a soft black shirt waiting on the counter. His. It fell to mid-thigh. She didn’t bother putting on anything else.

When she stepped back into the bedroom, Julian was already dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. A tray of food sat on the low table near the windows—coffee, fresh fruit, eggs, toast. He didn’t look up from his phone until she approached.

“Sit,” he said, his voice low.

She did, curling her legs. He poured her coffee without saying a word to her. Finally setting the phone aside, his eyes fixed on her with that same intense stare from last night.

“You could have left,” he said. “After the first time. Or the second. You didn’t.”

Isabella wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “Neither did you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “I don’t usually keep women overnight.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.” His voice stayed even. “I’m not a good man, Isabella. The things I’ve done… the people who want me dead… you walking into my life complicates everything.”

She met his eyes. “Then why did you let me stay?”

Julian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The movement brought him closer, close enough that she could smell the clean scent of his skin and the faint trace of last night still clinging to him.

“Because the second you looked at me like that—like you weren’t afraid—I wanted to ruin you for anyone else.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then back up. “And I did. Didn’t I?”

Heat coiled low in her stomach. She didn’t answer.

He reached out to brush a strand of damp hair behind her ear, fingers lingering against the same cheek. “Tell me why you came to that party last night?Why did you let a stranger put his hands on you?Why did you let me carry you up those stairs knowing exactly what I was going to do to you?”

Isabella’s pulse kicked. She could lie. She could give him the easy answer. Instead she told the truth.

“Because I was tired of being careful,” she said quietly. “everytime I act like you going clubbing doesn't annoy me. I wanted someone who would take care of me, someone I could show off, I wanted you to feel the same way.”

Julian’s eyes darkened. “And now that you’ve done that, what happens next?

She held his gaze. “I don’t know if I can go back.”

For a long moment the only sound was the distant hum of the city below. Then Julian stood, took the mug from her hands, and set it aside. He pulled her up with him, one hand settling at the small of her back, the other sliding into her hair.

“Then don’t,” he said simply.

He kissed her—slower this time, but no less claiming. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low against her mouth.

“I have meetings this morning. You’ll stay here. Eat. Rest. When I get back, we’re going to finish this conversation.” His thumb stroked over the bruise he’d left on her neck. “And then I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to now.”

Isabella’s breath caught. “I never said I belonged to you.”

Julian’s smile was pure darkness.

“You will.”

He kissed her once more, hard and brief, then walked out of the bedroom, leaving her standing there in his shirt, heart racing, body still aching from him—and already wanting more.