The Proposition

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Chapter Seven


Alejandra’s POV.


The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it before I can think this through or convince myself otherwise. Domenico needs no further encouragement. He captures my lips with his and my heart stops momentarily. His warm hands wrap around the back of head and my neck.

I should be alarmed, worried, even. I have the hands of a Mafia Don around my throat. One twist and I’m dead, a long squeeze and I’m asphyxiated. But I’m not scared. The opposite, really. Every sense is heightened, I’m highly aroused.

His lips are softer than I expected. He kisses me with all the confidence of a man who knows what he is doing. He coaxes my lips apart and pushes his tongue into my mouth. He gently squeezes my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my thong soaked with excitement.

My hands go to his arms, holding onto the corded muscle for support. I feel my knees weakening as he kisses me with such passion and expertise. Breathless, I break the kiss to take a moment to collect myself.

My lips are swollen from kissing, my nipples hard and my panties wet. This man has only kissed me and I’m a mess. He releases his hold on me, only to drop his hands to my waist. His dark eyes hungrily take in my face, a small smile on his lips. He spins me around and it takes a second for my mind to catch up and process that I’m now facing the window again.

He kisses along my shoulder to the column of my neck. “You are so incredible, gattina,” he hums along my skin. “So responsive to me, just as I knew you would be.”

From behind, he grabs my breasts over the material of my dress and squeezes them. They feel heavy, aching with the need to be touched. He massages them, feeling their weight in his large hands.

His fingers circle my nipples, knowing exactly where they are under the fabric. His left hand pinches my left nipple, and a gasp leaves my mouth. The pain is marginally lessened by the two layers of fabric between his fingers and my nipple, but I still feel it.

His right hand slides across my belly and down my thigh. He pulls up the skirt of my dress, exposing my legs. I let him touch me like this. I make no move or noise to stop him.

The callouses on his hand graze against my inner thigh and then, he touches me exactly where I want him to. His fingers brush over my thong, directly over my lower lips. He lifts the material up and to the side. My breath catches in my throat as he parts my lower lips with one finger and dips it into my wetness.

“So wet for me, Alejandra,” he rasps in my ear. “So perfect.”

My head drops back to rest against his shoulder. I lean my weight against him, and he supports me, holding me up. He slowly circles my clit with his pointer finger. My breathing is coming in shallow pants, I’m so wound up and ready for this, for him.

All of sudden, he removes his hands and steps back from me. He catches my shoulders and holds me steady as I nearly fall. I turn around and look at him in surprise, wondering why he stopped.

His dark brown, almost black, eyes look at me with burning desire. A sexy smile plays on his lips. “Do you want me to touch you, Alejandra?”

My cheeks flush at the question. The answer is obvious. I choose to nod, in response.

Domenico narrows his eyes. “Words.”

“Yes,” I whisper, feeling embarrassed.

He smirks. “Yes, what?”

I close my eyes and sigh. The controlling bastard is really going to make me do this. “Yes, I want you to touch me.”

I’m rewarded with a breath-taking smile. “Good. Now, I want you to take off your dress.”

My lips part in surprise. I open and close my mouth, ready to protest, but nothing comes out.

“Lift up your dress, take it off and give it to me,” he orders.

He places his hands in his pockets and sits on the back of the sofa, watching me with patience and mild amusement. This is a pivotal moment in our evening. I could tell him to fuck off and march back up to my bedroom, alone and frustrated. Or, I could do as he asks and hopefully get a mind-blowing orgasm out of it.

My horny side wins. My fingers shake a little as I grasp the hem of my dress and pull it up. It’s stretchy fabric, so I slide my arms out of the sleeves first and then lift the dress over my head. I’m left in my sexy but smart, black underwear.

I hand Domenico the dress as he eyes my body with hunger. “Perfect,” he murmurs and then smiles at me. “Well done, gattina.”

He places my dress over the back of the chair. I feel a little self-conscious, stood between him and a wall of glass, wearing nothing but my underwear.

“Now, I want you to remove your bra and put it with your dress.”


The dress was one thing. Getting fully nude is a whole different experience. I swallow the lump in my throat, my hands remaining at my side. I decide to be honest. Honesty works best sometimes.

“I’m nervous,” I tell him quietly. I can feel how hot my cheeks are. “No one has seen me naked in...a long time.”

My confession hangs between us, and Domenico’s eyes soften. He stands up and approaches me. “Gattina...” He makes me meet his eyes by gently grasping my chin. “You are so beautiful. You have nothing to be nervous or shy about. Your body is perfection.”

I want so badly to believe him. This might be different if we were in a bedroom, but we’re in his lounge with extraordinarily big windows.

What if he has a late-night gardener working?

“Would it make you feel better if I took some clothes off?” He offers.

I nod and find my voice. “Yes, please.”

He takes a step back and takes off his blazer. He places it on the sofa and then bends to take off his shoes. He places the polished brogues near the sofa. Then, he straightens up, put his hands back into his pockets and looks at me.

“Bra,” he demands.

My mouth drops open. “You only took off your blazer and shoes!” I protest.

Domenico’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you want to come?” He asks smartly.

I glare at him.

Damn him.I do want to come. Fuck this shit.

Still glaring, I unhook my bra and put it on the clothes pile with a little huff. I stand in front of him and mirror his position, crossing my arms over my chest, covering my breasts as much as possible.

Domenico smirks. “Good. Now, I want your thong. Take it off and hand it to me.”


Slowly, I drop my arms and his eyes go straight to my breasts. I pull down my thong, exposing my shaved pussy for him to see. It’s been good weather recently and I’ve been tanning on the roof of my apartment building. My tan-lines show two small triangles on my breasts and another over my pussy, where my bikini was.

Domenico unfolds his arms and lets them rest at his sides. He looks me up and down, taking me in. I straighten my shoulders and try not to die inside.

This is the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done.

Is he going to take a picture and post it online?

Restaurant-owner, desperate for sex, goes to Mafia’s mansion and strips naked.

Instead, he steps towards me and cups my face in his hands.

“You are simply magnifica, Alejandra,” he murmurs, awe in his voice.

He seals his lips over mine and takes my breath once more. His arm snakes around my waist and crushes me to his chest. The fabric of his shirt rubs against my nipples, stimulating them. His other hand releases my cheek and slides down my back.

He grabs one of my buttocks and squeezes. He needs and massages the flesh until I moan into the kiss. Just as our tongues touch, he slides his hand closer to the valley between my buttocks. He runs his finger along the crack, sliding down until he reaches my asshole. He presses very gently against it and my hips buck into his of their own accord. Domenico breaks the kiss with a chuckle. He grabs my waist and spins me around again.

I wish he’d stop doing that. I’m getting whiplash.

One hand grabs my left breast, squeezing and groping it. The other dives between my legs. He pushes two fingers between my folds and coats them in my juices. Once wet, he shoves them inside me with a force I’m not expecting.

I gasp at the sudden intrusion and my hand automatically moves to grab his arm. He pumps the fingers in and out of me, filling the room with squelching noises that have my cheeks burning. He grinds the palm of his hand against my clit and stars burst in my vision.

Holy shit, that feels good.

His left hand focusses on my nipple, rolling and pinching the tight bud. I hump his hand unashamedly, seeking an orgasm that he keeps just out of reach. He lessens the pressure or changes position each time I start to get close. It’s unbelievably frustrating. I’m on my tiptoes, trying to get his hand to position exactly where I need it.

He chuckles in my ear and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Are you getting frustrated, gattina?” I can hear the laughter in his voice, and I want to throw my head back and head-butt him.

“Yes,” I spit the word and then try to be nicer. “Please, let me come.”

He hums in approval. “Good girl.”

His hands leave me, and I let out a soft, involuntary cry of disappointment. Domenico goes over to an armchair, positioned right next to the window, facing out, and sits down. He pats his lap.

“Come sit here, gattina.”

A little confused, I do as he asks. I cross the room and approach him. As gracefully as possible, I sit down on his right leg. Domenico grabs my waist and lifts me up. He places me completely on his lap, on both thighs. He brushes my hair out of the way and pulls me to lean back against him, so that my back is resting on his chest. He moves my head, so that it is resting on his right shoulder, out of the way of his face.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

Hesitantly, I do as he asks. It’s a tight fit, the two of us so close to the window, it takes me a moment to realise why.

“Place your feet on the window,” he commands me.

It is only now that I realise why we’re so close to it.


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