Claimed By The Mafia Rogue King (Snow and Cupid) novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Snowflakes

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I place my shaking palm in his. The moment our skin meets, wildfire races up my arm and explodes behind my ribs.

He tugs, slow and deliberate, until I’m standing between his spread thighs, the heat rolling off his bare, inked chest licking at my skin like flames. His green eyes burn into mine. Time stretches, thick and breathless.

His long fingers find the zipper of my jeans and drag it down tooth by tooth, the metallic rasp deafening in the silent room.

I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I simply let him peel the denim away from my hips. The thick, jagged scar across my lower stomach is suddenly naked under the low light. Raised, ugly, a brutal reminder of steel and hatred. I almost died there. Ares found me bleeding out in the

snow.

Cupid’s gaze lingers on the mark. I brace for disgust, for pity, for the spell to shatter. Instead he slides the jeans back up an inch, voice gravel–rough.

“Sit.”

My knees fold instantly. I sink onto the of the bed before him, thighs clamped together, heart battering my ribs so hard my clit already pulsing in time with every frantic beat. Silence swells until it’s unbearable. I know he is waiting and I swallow hard.

“Uhm… my name is Snowflakes Frost. I’m twenty–two. I’m a wolfless wolf…” The confession spills out of me like venom I’ve carried too long. I began the story of how I was switched at birth, discovered, dragged into an alley, gang–raped, stabbed many times, left to freeze. Ares carrying my broken body home. Marrying me. Never touching me again.

“The night we met in the rain,” I whisper, voice cracking, “when you kissed me… it was exactly four years to the day since they ruined me.”

I leave out who ordered it. That truth is still buried too deep.

He never interrupts. His stare is unreadable, absolute.

When the last word leaves my lips, his gaze drops back to the scar peeking above the half–open waistband.

“After the rape,” I confess, cheeks burning, “Ares never touched me again. Barely kissed me.

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Chapter 57

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Made excuses. I thought he was waiting for my sake.”

A broken laugh tears free.

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“I didn’t know my body could still feel anything until your mouth found mine. Until your tongue slid between my lips and every frozen nerve woke up screaming. I didn’t know I could feel this… delirious. I love the way you make me feel. I love it.”

The words hang between us, raw and trembling.

Silence fell, and I’d swear it took thousands of years before he finally speaks.

“Take the jeans off,” he says, low, commanding, laced with dark promise and I pause. Perhaps he have read my me like an open book.

Maybe he have seen through me, knows how much I wanted to lay naked before him. It’s still confusing that I with trauma can be this submitting.

My hands shake so violently I fumble the button twice, but I shove the denim down my legs and kick it away.

Now I’m in nothing but soaked black lace panties, nipples bare, thighs already slick with how embarrassingly drenched I am.

His eyes rake over me. My heavy breasts, narrow waist, ugly scar, and the obscene wet patch spreading across the lace between my legs until I feel stripped to the bone.

“Sit back. Open your thighs for me.”

The order slides over my skin like heated silk. I scoot back until my heels dig into the mattress edge, and then, cheeks flaming with shame and molten need, I spread my legs wide for him.

Cool air kisses my soaked crotch; the lace clings transparently to my swollen folds, outlining every ridge, every throb. I’m dripping so heavily the fabric is dark and shiny, a visible betrayal of how desperately my pussy aches for him.

He stays seated across from me, elbows on the armrest, watching like a predator who owns the night.

Then he rises. Two slow strides and he’s kneeling between my open thighs. Without a word he hooks one finger under the lace directly over my clit and presses.

Pleasure detonates. I cry out, hips jerking, spine bowing off the bed.

He circles slowly circles, lazy and merciless, watching my face while my pussy flutters and

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Chapter 57

leaks under that single point of pressure. My clit is so swollen it peeks above the lace, throbbing visibly.

“My goodness,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You’re so wet.”

แค

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His finger trails lower, tracing my seam through the drenched fabric, then gently prods my entrance. I clench hard around nothing, thighs trembling violently to stay spread.

Carefully, He drags the lace tighter, wedging it between my puffy lips so my slick, naked folds spill out on either side. Cool air hits bare, sensitive skin; I whimper, dripping even more.

One rough fingertip glides up and down the exposed wetness, spreading it, painting my inner thighs until they glisten.

He shifts the lace aside completely at last and My cunt is fully bared now. Pink, swollen, glistening, clit straining, entrance fluttering open and closed with every ragged breath. A low, reverent groan leaves his chest.

He rubs slow, filthy circles over my naked clit, watching my back arch, my thighs quake, my mouth fall open on broken moans. Tears of overwhelming pleasure blur my vision but I couldn’t cry. Now when his voice came as though he is right after all.

“You are beautiful.”

Goosebumps prickle my skin at his words, and I bite my lower lip but then he straighten up, free hand cups my cheek, forcing my eyes to his.

“Look at me.” I do, drowning. “You are beautiful. Every single part of you.”

His thumb brushes the raised scar with impossible tenderness, then slides lower and circles my soaked entrance once, twice, before pushing just the tip of his finger inside. My pussy clamps greedily, trying to suck him deeper, fresh slick coating his finger instantly.

His voice is rough velvet, smoke and sin, as he says it again, slower this time, letting every word sink into my bones.

“Your breasts…”

His big, scarred hands slide up my ribs and cup them fully, thumbs brushing over my stiff nipples until they ache and throb in time with my clit.

He squeezes, gentle but not hard; just enough to remind me how heavy and sensitive they are, how they spill over his palms like they were made for his grip alone.

“Your pussy…

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One hand drifts lower, fingers spreading my soaked folds wide so the cool air kisses my swollen clit. He stares down at the glistening mess he’s made of me, eyes dark with reverence and raw hunger.

“Your body…”

His palm smooths over the jagged scar on my stomach, tracing every raised ridge like it’s a roadmap he intends to memorize.

Then lower still, over the curve of my hip, the trembling inside of my thigh. He touches every inch as though he’s claiming it, erasing every memory of hands that ever hurt me and replacing them with worship.

“Every part is beautiful. Do you understand?”

Tears blur my vision. I nod frantically.

“Say it.”

“I’m beautiful,” I choke. “Every part of me is.”

His smile is dark, possessive. He lifts the finger that was teasing my clit to his mouth and licks it clean, eyes locked on mine.

“Good girl.”

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