Every Mafia's Favorite Girl novel Chapter 85

Chapter 85: "What Condition?"

Before Aren could find an answer, Caio captured her lips.

His thumb pressed down on her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open as his tongue swept inside with slow, deliberate dominance.

The kiss was deep.

Overwhelming.

Punishing.

Yet this time, Aren didn’t stay passive for long.

Surprise quickly melted into desire, and she answered him eagerly, her tongue brushing against his as she returned the kiss with growing confidence.

She lingered against his lips, drawing softly on them until a deep, guttural groan rumbled from somewhere deep inside his chest.

"Fuck..." he breathed hoarsely. "You’re getting so good at this now, aren’t you?"

The praise sent a rush of heat flooding through her.

"Mmm... am I?" she whispered, already breathless.

"Mhm. You are." His eyes darkened with satisfaction. "Looks to me like you’re enjoying this far more than you’re being punished."

His words only fueled her. Bolder than she’d ever been before, she kissed him back with equal hunger.

Her chest pressed more firmly against his, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her pajamas as her fingers curled into his back.

Almost unconsciously, her lower body moved closer, until her thighs settled snugly around the hard, throbbing length trapped between them.

Aren felt it instantly.

How painfully hard he already was.

How warm.

How thick.

How only two thin layers of fabric separated him from her.

’I want to touch him there...’

’But he never lets me.’

Need coiled low in her stomach.

Before she could second-guess herself, she rolled her hips against him, deliberately dragging herself along the length of his erection in one slow, teasing glide.

Caio’s entire body went rigid.

His lips froze against hers.

His eyes snapped open, raw disbelief flashing across his face.

"...Aren."

His hand immediately slid down to grip her hip, firmly enough to halt her.

"Did you just..." He stared at her, couldn’t quite believe it. "...grind against me?"

Aren froze.

Heat rushed into her cheeks, embarrassment quickly mingling with disappointment.

"I’m sorry..." she whispered, voice suddenly very small. "I just... just..."

She blushed even harder.

"Am I... not allowed to?"

Caio swallowed a long, tortured sigh.

’Did God send her personally to test my patience?’

Of course she was allowed.

She was allowed in every filthy fantasy that had kept him awake far too many nights.

She was allowed in every shower where he’d imagined exactly this.

Yet the instant his gaze drifted across the bruises marring her cheek and the cut on the side of her face, the thought of surrendering to his own desire while she was still hurting twisted painfully inside his chest.

His fingertips rose, gently tracing the edge of one fading bruise.

"Wait until these heal," he said quietly. "And then..."

She looked up at him at once, eyes bright with hope.

"And then...?"

The look in those eyes made his throat tighten with barely restrained desire.

’...And then I’m going to make you mine.’

’Every single inch of you.’

The words never made it past his teeth. Instead, he gave her a more Aren-friendly version.

"Then... we’ll try a lot more things."

He rested his forehead against hers.

"But for now..." He exhaled slowly. "...before I completely lose my mind, let’s get you some brunch."

Despite his words, he was already leaning in again, capturing her lips in another slow, hungry kiss.

Curled up in the corner of the room, Biscuit, who had witnessed scenes like this far too many times, let out a long, deeply judgmental sigh.

He was still wondering when exactly someone intended to serve him breakfast.

─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─

By the time the Sartori Don and his lady finally managed to disentangle themselves, climb out of bed, and leave the room, brunch had long since given way to lunch.

Biscuit rested comfortably against Aren’s chest, though the little dog wore a distinct pout of disapproval after patiently enduring the injustice of an entire morning without breakfast.

Aren stroked the soft fur between his ears, guilt softening her expression.

"I’m very sorry, pretty boy," she murmured. "I’ll get you something to eat right away."

Beside her, Caio cast the dog a sidelong glance, his expression darkening ever so slightly as he watched Aren’s attention drift entirely away from him and back to her beloved companion.

"Does he always have to stay with you like that?"

Aren looked up, puzzled by the question.

"Of course." She frowned. "How else is he supposed to be?"

"I could arrange something better," Caio replied with deceptive casualness. "A room just for him. Unlimited food, treats, fresh water all day. A maid to brush him, bathe him, massage him... whatever a spoiled dog could possibly want."

He gave a faint shrug.

"And you wouldn’t have to trouble yourself with these little things."

Biscuit immediately shot him an offended glare. The little dog let out a dismissive little huff, as though rejecting the proposal outright.

Aren laughed softly and scratched beneath his chin.

"No, it’s alright. I can take care of Biscuit myself. He’s very well-behaved. He waited so patiently all morning while we slept. It was my fault for oversleeping. Right, pretty boy?"

Caio watched Biscuit’s tiny expression brighten with unmistakable satisfaction as the dog answered her with an excited yip.

His gaze darkened.

’Spoiled little thing.’

Biscuit sneezed.

By the time they descended the grand staircase, Mrs. Pecora and several maids were already waiting in the entrance hall.

A subdued air of grief lingered over the household staff. News of Alice’s death and Daria’s betrayal had spread through the estate before dawn, and the shock still weighed heavily on everyone’s faces.

Only Mrs. Pecora stood with her usual impeccable composure. Sorrow had long since been forbidden from interrupting her duties, though the quiet sadness lingering behind her eyes betrayed what professionalism concealed.

She offered them a graceful bow.

"My Lady..." she said softly. "It is I who owe you an apology."

’Again?’

’Already?’

’Does that brat have absolutely no survival instinct?’

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