Married to the mafia boss Series

Anastasia

A million thoughts are running through my mind.

For starters the fact that Angelo Ricci is naked, on top of me, after we’ve just had sex. I am a virgin. Was a virgin. My father never let me close enough to a boy to have sex with and at ballet I was too focused on my career.

I’ve given up a piece of me-a piece that has always been protected and not mine to give away. It was always my father’s duty to find me a husband to marry. Someone of high rank and a loyal Bratva member. Particularly one who would take over when he died. On my wedding night, my virginity was supposed to be my gift to my husband.

So many conflicted feelings are making me feel both giddy and a little nauseous. I let Angelo take my virginity. It was amazing and unexpected, but he is still the man who kidnapped me and I am still Viktor Vasiliev’s daughter and the shame when he finds out I’m no longer his pristine untouched daughter…

No one will want me.

I mentally shake my head. That’s not true, any man of the Bratva would love to become my father’s son-in-law. Many of his men have tried and failed. Some tried too hard to win my heart and ended up dead at my father’s hands.

The caring look of Angelo when he was inside of me. The explosion of pleasure, the bursting feel of emotions. It was all overwhelming. It is still overwhelming as I try to process what has just happened.

What this means.

The soreness between my legs is a pleasant feeling. My heart and body wants more, wants to feel the indescribable pleasure yet my brain is avidly against what just happened.

My hands are still tangled in his dirty blond locks. My fingers skim over the cochlear implant attached to the side of his head. He’s wearing his hearing aids. He’s very peculiar. Sometimes he refuses to wear them, I’d think if I could miraculously hear, I’d never take them off. Yet, when the world is silent, you feel more connected. Your other senses are heightened. You experience things others might have missed.

Angelo and I are apart of that same world and when it’s just the two of us, in the silence, everything seems so much more complete.

He rolls us over so I’m on top of him. He keeps me warm and my heart near bursting. I can’t stop smiling as his strong arms hold me close and tight. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest below me. The fresh bergamot smell of him puts me to sleep. My eyes slowly closing, I nod off for a few minutes until my dreams carry me away.

***

I wake up before Angelo. Even when I stir above him, he doesn’t move.

Gathering new clothes, I put on some comfortable leggings and a sweater and head toward the door. Before I was like someone on house arrest-except a bit more extreme-Angelo always kept the doors locked especially while we were sleeping or if he had to leave me alone. Now, as I turn the doorknob to his room, I am free.

A brief thought fills my head, I could leave. I could open the elevator and head into the lobby, and leave. I could be free. And this is where everything has changed, because I don’t want to be free.

I am free with Angelo. Happy with Angelo. Call it what you want, but what is between us can only be described using words lovers use to each other.

In the kitchen I look in the fridge and pantry to see it fully stocked. I pull out a few ingredients and set the oven. Isabella is nowhere in sight and I know she wouldn’t appreciate me doing the cooking but I wanted to do something special. Something I haven’t done in a long time. Something that will be like a little piece of home. Something I can share with Angelo.

My family’s recipe for pirozhki. My mouth is watering thinking of it. I’m relieved everything I need is in the kitchen. As I mix the ingredients in the bowl start to feel my stress dissipate. My worries become nonexistent and there’s nothing but my mind occupied on doing something I love, baking. Just like how I’d lose myself when dancing. My feet itch to put on my ballet shoes, in a box on the top shelf of my closet back at home. My body is crying out to get back on stage and release all my pent up emotions.

But I can’t.

And I guess baking has always been second best.

Lost in making sure everything comes out as perfect as my mother her mother before her made it, I am rushing around the kitchen. Flour on my face and clothes. I feel proud of my work as I put it in the oven. I turn the oven light on and stand in front of it, watching and hoping that after all this time I still remember how to make pirozhki perfectly.

The smell must have woken Angelo because hands snake around my waist pulling me back into his solid body. I don’t even have to look up to know it’s him. I can tell by his scent, his feel. His calloused hands, gently and eagerly roaming my body. I hadn’t noticed him sneaking into the kitchen, too preoccupied with making sure I don’t under or overcook.

“What are you making?”

“Pirozhki,” I sign each letter.

Angelo tilts his head.

“One of my favorite traditional Russian dishes. You’ve made me succumb to baked ziti, lasagna, and osso buco, so now I’m going to enrich your tastebuds with my famous family recipe.”

He smiles and kisses my brow. I watch him turn into the dining room, he already takes his seat at the head of the table anticipating the arrival of my dish.

I open the oven and check to see if everything is cooked. Perfect. The pirozhki smells amazing and the bread is a nice golden brown.

Pride radiates off of me as I stride into the dining setting down the pirozhki in the middle. I grab two separate plates and silverware for Angelo and I.

Before I take a bite of mine I carefully watch Angelo for his reaction. He takes a decent sized bite off his fork and chews thoroughly. His poker face is good, stoic, I’m sitting at the edge of my seat. His eyes glance over at me as he swallows.

“This is one of the most delicious things I have ever had.”

“You mean it?” I perk up.

“I want you to make this for me everyday for the rest of my life,” he takes another bite full and closes his eyes. I can only guess he is moaning.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

My stomach rumbles and I can no longer deny myself, I take my first bite. Everything about the recipe is precisely replicated. The smell of fried dough and cabbage reminds me of my grandmother’s house. The taste brings me back to memories of my mother. Good memories.

Whenever my father went on a mission, my mother would always cook pirozhki. We’d have the house to ourselves, my father not there to yell at us or hit us. We’d dance in the living room as we waited for it to be baked. I remember laughing. I remember my mother’s radiant smile. I’d give anything to see her again. Sometimes I miss her so much that I forget how to breathe. Like the pain of grief inside me is too strong.

My eyes begin to sting, tears threaten to spill down my cheek. I shake the memory from my head before I start to cry and upset myself. Her life ended too soon. Too violently.

When I look over at Angelo I notice he’s already had a quarter of the pirozhki I made. He’s not even paying attention to anything as he practically inhaled his food. I giggle wanting to tell him to slow down, but he’s too focused on his plate and fork.

“Full yet?” I ask when he finally sets his silverware down and pats his mouth with a napkin.

“Not yet,” the smug look on his face makes my stomach flutter. He licks his lips before crawling under the table. Before I can lean over and lift up the tablecloth to see what he’s doing, his hands are on my thighs.

He hooks his fingers into my pants and underwear and tugs down. I lift my hips slightly helping him get them off. They stay around my ankles as Angelo parts my legs. I tremble still feeling bashful even after all we did just hours ago.

I don’t have time to be shy much longer when his tongue runs up and down me. My hands grip the edge of the table. I’m pretty sure the moan I let escape from my lips could be heard by everyone in the building. I take a fistful of the table cloth and shut my eyes as Angelo continuously laps his tongue on my most sensitive areas. I’m throbbing for him. The sensations feel all too much and I feel as though I’m going to combust at any second.

His mouth sucks on all the right places making me squirm. His tongue probing and stroking and taking me higher and higher until…

I cry out my orgasm hitting me like a force to be reckoned with. I shudder with relief as my release starts at my core and goes through my entire body. I can’t stop shaking even after my tremors have passed. Angelo slides out from under the table and holds me. I’m overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion and the second he takes me into his arms I start to cry.

He holds me close against his chest as he carries me upstairs. Lying me on the bed, he crawls behind me wrapping his strong arms around me. I’ve never felt more protected than in his arms. My worries once again dissipate and exhaustion takes over. Before I fall into a deep sleep I can feel his fingertips skim up and down my arm in a comforting motion. I can feel his breath tickling my neck and I can feel his body fitting perfectly behind me. Two fitting puzzle pieces who have been looking for each other for what feels like an eternity.