Devil’s Lily: A Dark Mafia Romance (Nightshades Book 1)

Heart pounding a hard staccato, I clutch my dress, fingers twisting in the expensive fabric while Maximo slowly lifts me off his lap, carefully arranging me on the wide SUV seat. I bite my lip as I glance nervously at the closed partition.

What if they can hear us?

A rustling behind me has me glancing back and—holy hell—the worry promptly fades when I see Maximo’s eyes go heavy-lidded as he frees his cock and strokes the hard length. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

Yes.

The answer springs into my mind without hesitation, and my lips part in shock at my own certainty. Damn it, I do trust him—at least with this, with my body. I nod mutely, and his face fills with raw satisfaction as he kneels behind me.

His palm caresses my bare ass, his touch slow, teasing. Then he tugs at the plug, pulling it halfway out before thrusting it back in. A strangled moan escapes my throat, my core clenching as waves of sharp, electric pleasure dance up my spine.

“Always so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with pride as his fingers dip lower, spreading my slick folds. “What a good wife you are.”

Before I can comment, he notches himself at my entrance and drives into me with one brutal thrust. I gasp and let the hem of my dress fall, scrambling to grab the door handle for balance as my whole body jolts forward.

“Fuck.” Maximo’s deep, guttural groan rumbles through me, making every nerve light up. He doesn’t rush. Oh no, he moves with maddening control, each deliberate stroke slow enough to drive me insane, his pace more a promise than a release.

Then his hand finds the plug again, and oh lord—he times it perfectly, withdrawing it and thrusting it back in rhythm with his cock until I’m seeing stars.

“Ugghh.” My eyes flutter shut as sensations rack through me. Pleasure like nothing I’ve ever felt before and a sensation of weightlessness fills my body. My senses become overwhelmed, my world narrowing down to just this: the stretch, the fullness, the building pressure that threatens to tear me apart.

Moans bubbling up in my throat are too loud, shameless, so I bite down hard on my lip, tasting blood as I fight to keep them in. But it’s useless—he’s relentless, maintaining his assault on both holes until I clench so tightly around him he spits out a curse.

And then I lose myself entirely. I’m floating, untethered, consumed by pleasure so intense it borders on spiritual. My entire body burns like I’m on fire, and everything is so dark, for a moment, I worry I might have lost my vision from the sheer force of the ecstasy ripping through me.

But then, as the wave of pleasure subsides just enough, my sight returns in a blur, and everything sharpens again. My heart thunders heavily, ringing in my ears as I struggle to catch my breath. I barely register him removing the plug, only aware of the cool liquid he squirts over my gaping hole. Twisting back, I whimper when he pulls his cock out of my pussy, leaving both my holes fluttering emptily.

The emptiness doesn’t last long, though.

His cock glistens with my arousal, and I lick my lips hungrily as he spreads my ass cheeks and notches himself at my back hole. His thick head is big—way bigger than the butt plug—and I take a deep breath, willing my muscles to relax as he pushes inside me.

At first, the penetration goes smoothly thanks to the preparation, but once the thick head pops through my rim, my ass sphincter clenches around him instinctively as tiny pinpricks of pain start to bloom outward.

“Relax, dolcezza. You can take me.” His voice is strained, but he lifts one hand from my hip, tracing upwards to caress my face gently, his touch a whisper of comfort amidst the ache.

I swallow, leaning my cheek into his warm palm in an attempt to center myself. Another determined deep breath, and I force my muscles to yield, to open, to submit. He advances slowly, inch by inch, pushing past the tight ring, filling and stretching me out to the point of unbearable pain.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I start clawing at the door handle in desperation. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, when I’m about to beg him to stop and take it out, he seems to bottom out, his pelvis kissing my ass.

“Good girl.” His praise washes over me like warm honey, fingers briefly grazing my cheek, before sliding the hand on my hip lower to my starved cunt. He remains perfectly still inside me, my ass clenched around him and fluttering, letting me adjust to him while he works my sensitive clit.

A low purring sound vibrates in my throat, and suddenly I’m nuzzling my face against his hand like the cat who got the canary, licking and kissing his palm while he murmurs filthy Italian endearments. It’s ridiculous, shameless even, but I don’t care—he’s turned me into this needy, desperate thing.

His first experimental movement sends me spiraling. I drop my head to the seat, pushing my ass up to him as sparks of electricity jolt through my skin, making my head spin.

I feel every inch, every ridge of his cock inside my ass, stretching me wide with just a tiny bite of pain accompanying the insane pleasure. I’m overwhelmed, so full, and when he presses down on my clit while slowly fucking my ass, coherent thought becomes impossible.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” The words burst from him. “You’re so fucking tight. Determined to strangle my cock, dolcezza? Want my cum before I’m ready to give it to you?”

Incoherent sounds spill from my lips as he thrusts back into me. Stars explode behind my eyes, pleasure hitting me so hard it feels like I’m being torn apart. His cock moving in and out is all-consuming, too intense.

He groans, his hand slipping from my face to sink into my hair, tugging me back as he starts to fuck me even harder. My brain fizzles, nearly blacking out by the intensity. My nerve endings light up like fireworks, and I can’t keep track of where I end and he begins.

Every sensation muddles together—pain and pleasure, reality and fantasy—as the storm inside me builds. Then through the haze, there’s a flick of clarity: I won’t be able to contain my screams when I come.

He rubs my clit harder with his thumb, then thrusts a finger into my cunt, twisting deep, and that’s it—I’m gone. My stomach tightens, and I scream his name over and over as my orgasm boils over. And then I’m babbling, words I don’t even understand. Could be gibberish. Could be prayers. Could even be expressing my love. I have no idea.

The loss of control over my words, my body is so encompassing, so heated, so intense, I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to.

Everything inside me fizzes and overflows like champagne uncorked too quickly, and suddenly I’m floating again somewhere beyond my body; maybe I’ve floated right off the damn earth. Tears stream down my face, my head tight with lack of oxygen—I can’t gulp in air fast enough as the orgasm goes on and on like it will never end.

Distantly, I catch Maximo shouting my name, feel the heat of his release flooding my ass. But it barely registers. I’m too consumed by my own orgasm, my heart thundering, my breaths wheezing out in ragged gasps, and I worry I might lose consciousness right here in his arms.

And maybe I do.

Everything goes dark.

When I come to, I’m cradled in Maximo’s arms, his lips pressing tender kisses to my temple as he murmurs sweet Italian nothings into my ear. The car has stopped—we’re home.

But even though the orgasm is clearly over, I’m still floating in that dreamy, hazy space, unable to fully come back to my senses. My body feels hot, tired, and utterly limp.

I shift in his arms, suddenly needing to be closer to him, and wrap myself around his waist, burying my face in his chest. His steady heartbeat is like a lullaby, and his scent surrounds me in a blanket of bliss.

His Italian endearments continue as he adjusts me in his arms and opens the car door. I clamp my eyes shut, not wanting to see anybody, and cling on tightly as he carries me out.

The warmth of his voice is a gentle anchor, pulling me through the haze as he walks us towards the elevator. “Are you okay?” he asks, and I blink my eyes open. We’re alone. I nod into his chest, too drained to do anything else, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“You did so good, baby.”

His praise seeps into my bones, and I cuddle deeper into his body as he carries me into the apartment, up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his bedroom. He breezes through the room into the ensuite where he carefully deposits me on the double countertop.

I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he draws the bath.

He tests the water temperature with his hand, nods to himself, then returns to me. Slowly, he undresses me like I’m a delicate antique that might break if he touches me wrong. After, he scoops me up again and gently lowers me into the warm water.

A contented sigh escapes me, head lolling back in satisfaction. When I open my eyes, he’s shedding his own clothes, and my heart expands. Words of affection bubble at the back of my throat, but I swallow them down. It’s just the afterglow talking.

There’s something almost spiritual about the sexual act, like you’re connecting on a soul level, and nothing else matters but the two of you and the pleasure you share. I don’t know how people can have sex with one person for so long without catching feelings. They must have a heart of steel.

Maximo slides in behind me, and I scoot forward to make space for him. Once he’s settled, he pulls me back against his chest and picks up a washcloth. With slow, gentle strokes, he glides it over my skin.

The only sounds are the gentle swish of water and my soft breaths as he bathes me. He parts my thighs with care, washing my pussy, then lifts each leg to the edge of the tub to clean my ass too. Every motion feels deliberate, almost intimate. When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth aside, but I snatch it up and move away from him.

“Where are you going?” he protests, grabbing my arm.

“Your turn,” I say, grinning, as I settle on his thighs. Almost immediately, his cock twitches to life and slaps at my leg. I glance down warily. “You’ve wiped me out, Maximo. I don’t think I can go again.”

He chuckles and runs a tender hand down my cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel a flutter deep in my stomach.

Is he… no, surely not? As he starts to lean in, I inhale sharply. He’s going to kiss me.

I want it, I do. I really do. But at the last moment, I turn my cheek, heart racing.

His eyes narrow on me. “Still not going to let me kiss you?”

“Will—” I lick my lips nervously. “Will you let me see my father?”

The change is instant. His eyes flash, and he sits up abruptly, sending water splashing to the floor. My heart sinks as he gets out of the bath. “Are you done?” he asks.

I look down at the washcloth in my hand, my earlier intention to wash him now ruined. I ruined it. But just as I can’t turn off these growing feelings for him, I can’t silence my love for my family. I can’t.

Even though things are relatively calm right now, I know Atë and Roan won’t rest until they see me. Until they know I’m fine and that I’m here willingly.

My heart clenches, and I gasp.

I am here willingly now. I never want to leave Maximo’s side again—not anymore.

“Elira?”

I glance up to see Maximo watching me, his brows knit. I swallow hard and drop the washcloth, standing shakily. He helps me out and takes a towel, rubbing it over my body to gently dry me up. Then he scoops me in his arms bridal style and carries me back to the bedroom. Something fragile blooms in me, a tiny spark of hope that maybe things aren’t broken between us.

But when he sets me down on the bed and pulls the covers up, he doesn’t climb in beside me. Instead, he turns away. Panic spikes through me, and before I can stop myself, I grab his wrist—his tattooed wrist—and I feel more of that mysterious scarred bump. He goes rigid but doesn’t try to snatch his hand from me.

“Where are you going?”

“I have some work to attend to,” he answers coolly, his gaze averted.

“But–but—” My voice fizzles out, too embarrassed to tell him I wanted to cuddle.

When he finally looks at me, the coldness in his eyes makes my blood run cold. He’s never looked at me like this before. “I’m not cuddling with you, Elira. You keep your kisses to yourself, and I’ll keep my cuddles.”

He gently disengages my hand and disappears into the walk-in closet. Moments later, he reappears dressed casually in sweats and a tank top, then whizzes out of the bedroom. The soft click of the door closing hits me like a gunshot to the heart.