Indebted to the Mafia King
'Til Death Do Us Part

Eleni

Dante surges up into my mouth, then grunts in pain. I pull back immediately.

"And what if your husband just got the shit kicked out of him?" He smiles sheepishly and gestures to the sling on his arm.

Even when he was shot, he didn't ask for anything. He really is a different man now.

"Doesn't change a thing." I climb slowly on top of him. My side aches, and my head spins a little. I brace my arms on either side of his head and lean down to kiss him again.

His mouth slots perfectly into mine. I know the taste of his lips, the half-gasp that precedes his cock stiffening underneath me, the flutter of his fingers over my bruise. I've spent so much time thinking about how well Dante knows me that I never even realized how well I know him. My hips begin moving against him of their own accord in a slow, undulating rhythm.

He groans against my lips.

"Fuck these shirts." I try to yank his shirt over his head, but the sleeve gets caught on his sling, and I begin laughing.

"What?" He runs his hands along my sides, rucking up the stupid T-shirt.

"This is...perfect." I shake my head. "For us."

His laughter joins mine. "I guess severely injured sex undercover in a motel is kind of par for the course these last few months." "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Carefully, we remove as much of his shirt as we can, leaving the one sleeve around his bicep. I press my mouth to his chest, avoiding the bruises but not the now-pale scar from when Luca Lombardi shot him. The coils of dark hair on his skin scrape my cheeks deliciously. He winds his good hand into my hair and just holds on, not pushing me any which way. I'm his anchor in a storm of sensation. I circle my tongue against one of his nipples, coaxing another groan from his lips, then drag it down to the hem of his equally NYC-branded sweatpants.

I gasp. Bending like that compresses the skin around my welt with a burst of pain, and not the sort that makes me wetter. Dante grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. "Tonight, we're both going to be gentle with ourselves," he says.

There's only the barest hint of iron command in his voice. He's not taking charge, just telling me my pain matters to him as much as his does to me. The quiet acknowledgment of how far we've come shivers through my body. "I love you." I smile and kiss back up his chest.

"I love you," he groans, "Mrs. Cattaneo."

The name feels like fireworks across my skin. I pull my own T-shirt off and toss it aside. Dante stares at me like I'm a work of art, and I soak it in. Then, he glides his bandaged hand up my ribs because his other is in the sling, and he can't get it high enough-and palms one of my breasts.

I arch, rolling my hips against him. He matches my thrust, setting a rhythm that's slow like a crashing wave, and toys with me at the same pace. The bandage adds a unique friction, damages his dexterity, but he's my Dante. My husband. His every touch is electric.

He tries to switch to my other breast, winces again at some injury I haven't found yet, and the answer is immediately obvious. I cup the flesh he can't reach, twirl my own nipple. His mouth falls slightly slack. We all match the rhythm of our hips, and it feels like I'm surrounded by him even as he lays flat on the bed. I moan his name, soft and pleading.

"Again." His voice is rough.

"Dante," I moan. "Mr. Cattaneo."

He groans and pinches my nipple. The pain sparks, but I don't need it tonight. I hurt in enough places. So, I think, does he.

On the next roll, one of my hips locks a little, and the bruise burns. Of course it spreads all the way down there. I scowl.

Dante stops immediately. "El?"

I shake my head. "I'm all right, it's just "

"You can't stay on top." He glances at his injured arms in turn. "And neither can I."

I smile ruefully. "Maybe we've lost our wedding night after all."

"Never." Real anger crosses Dante's face. "I'm not letting them take another goddamn second from us."

He is a different man, but so much the same. I don't want him to ever lose that protective rage. Nothing else makes me feel so safe.

I look him over, then me, and inspiration strikes. I climb off, my hip aching, and shimmy out of my sweatpants. I barely notice I'm naked until I reach for his pants, and he stops me with a bandaged hand on my wrist. "Let me admire my bride."

I roll my eyes but turn slowly. There's no shame left between us, no part of me he doesn't know as well as I do. And I know what I look like. The soft pouch of my ever-growing stomach, the swell of my hips and my breasts. In not hiding myself from him, I forgot to hide from myself.

Finally satisfied, he nods. I pull his pants off to reveal a brace on one of his knees, but thankfully, it's on the same side as his injured arm, the same side as my welt. My plan will still work.

With gentle hands and kisses, I turn him onto his left side. Then, I climb back on the bed with him, facing the same way, and nestle into the spoon of his body. We fit together like puzzle pieces. His cock is painfully hard against my lower back, and the rest of him burns like a flame.

"So smart," he breathes in my ear. "What would I do without you?"

He wraps his still-slinged arm around my ribcage and cups one of my breasts as I position his cock between my legs.

"Hurt yourself, probably," I reply with a smile.

"I don't even want to imagine." He thrusts into me, slow and sweet.

His bruised fingers dance over my pebbled skin. I reach back and grab his muscled ass, allowing only a few centimeters of movement. Our chests rise and fall in unison, mine filling the space his vacates. We fuck to that same timeless rhythm, and I start to think this might go on forever. That I've reached the absolute apex of my happiness, ascended, and this will be the rest of my days. I wouldn't mind one bit.

Then, Dante grazes his hand over my stomach, and I remember how much more joy we have coming. Not just a beautiful baby, but a life with them, cleaning up and chasing after and making more. I pull him even closer, piston my hips back. I want this to end, now, because tomorrow is even more beautiful. For the first time in a long time.

I come with his name on my lips, and he follows me a second later.

Tinny music starts blaring from somewhere, and I grope the bed wildly for it. Together, we locate a burner phone singing a shitty little alarm labeled "Get to the plane now." Dante falls back onto the bed with a groan.

"Let's miss this one," he says. "We can always catch up."

I slide off of him, sore, wet, and sated. "No way. I'm getting a start on my new our new life." I hold out a hand and smile.

Dante never could refuse me anything.