MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

You Are Not Leaving

After Julian left, a strange scene of loneliness settled over the penthouse like a held breath.

Isabella stood where he had left her, still wearing only his black shirt, the fabric soft against her bare skin and the faint marks he had left on her. The ache between her thighs pulsed with every shift of her weight. She could still feel the stretch of him, the heat of his c*m slowly slipping down her inner thighs, the ghost of his hand around her throat.

She did not try to leave.

She moved through the suite slowly, the shirt brushing the tops of her thighs. She drank more of the coffee he had poured, ate a few bites of fruit without tasting them, then returned to the wide bed. The sheets still smelled like them—s*x and cologne and the faint metallic edge of gun oil that seemed to cling to everything that belonged to him. She lay on her side, knees drawn up, eyes closed.

She must have dozed, because the next thing she felt was the mattress dipping behind her and a warm, fully clothed body pressing along the length of her back.

Julian’s arm slid around her waist, heavy and sure. His mouth found the side of her neck, right over the bruise he had left earlier.

“Miss me?” His voice was low, rough, still carrying the edge of whatever meetings he had walked out of early.

Isabella’s breath caught. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“I cut them short.” His hand slipped under the hem of the shirt, palm spanning her stomach before sliding lower. Fingers brushed through the sticky mess he had left inside her. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this. About how full you still are of me.”

He pushed two fingers into her without warning. She was swollen and sensitive, and the sudden stretch made her gasp. Julian made a dark, satisfied sound against her skin.

“Still so f*****g wet. And sore.” He curled his fingers, slow and deliberate. “Perfect.”

Isabella’s hips pushed back against his hand before she could stop herself. “Julian—”

“Shh.” He withdrew his fingers, brought them up, and painted her lower lip with her own slick. “Open.”

She did. He pushed the fingers into her mouth and watched her suck them clean while his other hand worked the button and zipper of his jeans. The thick, heavy weight of his c**k pressed against the cleft of her ass a moment later, already hard.

He didn’t make her wait.

Julian shoved the shirt up over her hips, lined himself up, and sank into her in one long, relentless thrust. The burn of it pulled a broken sound from her throat. He was too big, too deep, and she was still tender from the night before and the morning, but he didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt.

“f**k,” he growled against her ear. “Still so tight. Still takes me like she was made for it.”

He started moving—slow, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. One hand stayed locked around her hip, holding her exactly where he wanted her. The other slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her n****e that was already hard.

“You never said you belonged to me,” he murmured, repeating her earlier words with a dark edge of amusement. “But look at you. Wearing my shirt. Sleeping in my bed. Taking my c**k like it’s the only thing that matters.”

Isabella’s fingers twisted in the sheets. “I—ah—Julian—”

“Say it.” His next thrust was harder, sharper. “Say whose p***y this is.”

“Yours.” The word left her on a shaky exhale. “It’s yours.”

“And you?”

“I’m yours.”

A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest. He pulled out just long enough to push her onto her stomach, then climbed over her, knees bracketing her thighs. He sank back in from behind, deeper this way, one hand fisting in her long dark hair and turning her face to the side so he could watch every expression that crossed it.

He f****d her like that—possessive, thorough, the heavy bed frame creaking with every thrust—until her moans turned into broken cries and her cunt started to flutter around him. When she came it was with his name in her mouth and his hand still tangled in her hair, her body clamping down so hard he had to fight to keep moving through it.

Julian followed a few strokes later, burying himself as deep as he could go and flooding her p***y with a thick pulse of warm c*m. He stayed inside her afterward, chest pressed to her back, breathing hard against the side of her neck.

After a long minute he spoke, voice quieter but no less certain.

“You’re not leaving today. Or tonight.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I’m going to keep you full of me. Mark every inch of you over and over again, till you forget how to function without it.