Poisonous Kiss: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance

“Let me guess…” I grin across the table at Gabriel.

Despite it being a three-star Michelin restaurant, with food being prepared by one of the best chefs in the world, and—if I may be so bold—with him being in terrific company, he looks straight-up glum. Like he’s at a funeral, not a date.

But I know him. That’s exactly why he’s got that grumpy, gruff look on his face.

“You don’t do dates, do you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Does the Pope work Sundays?”

If we want to split hairs, he’s still not really “doing” a date. I mean, yes, we’re at Le Bernardin eating together as husband and wife, but we’re only here because Meredith set it all up as a photo op.

Isn’t it romantic?

Currently, as we smile over-the-top, lovey-dovey smiles across the table at each other, with Gabriel’s campaign manager directing us, media photographers carefully chosen by her are camped outside, snapping away with their telephoto lenses.

Yes, I know it’s staged. Doesn’t mean I can’t allow myself to enjoy being out with Gabriel, right?

I mean, just because he doesn’t “do” dates, it doesn’t mean that I don’t.

So I make a big show of laughing uproariously when he mutters something about needing to finish something at work. When our next course arrives, I make a hugely dramatic “yum” face before reaching across and extending my fork with a delectable bite to him, as if I need him to join me in this culinary ecstasy.

“You’re terrifyingly good at this.” Gabriel says it with a wider-than-wide smile on his face for the benefit of the photographers outside.

“Good at what?” I shrug.

“Faking it.”

“Oh, believe me, you have no idea.”

“Hmm. I’d be interested in seeing how much you faked it if I bent you over this table right here and right now and fucked you hard while you gagged on your panties.”

Outwardly, I’m still smiling benignly.

Inside, my core explodes with heat as my thighs clench together under the table.

“Is that a promise?”

“You know it.” He lifts his eyes to mine, his lips curling dangerously as he stabs a bite of food with his fork. “Kitten.”

Heat teases up my spine as I try to compose myself.

This is the back-and-forth banter we’ve fallen into. To the world, obviously, we’re husband and wife. But in private, things are…changing.

Twisting. Getting more complicated.

Most of the time, we’re still basically roommates who happen to work at the same office. We don’t “do” dates unless it’s a publicity thing. We sleep in separate bedrooms.

At other times, though, we’re explosive.

Like the times when he chases me through the house, catches me, and fucks me brutally. The times when he calls me into his office at work, draws the blinds, and then fucks my mouth until cum and spit drip down into my cleavage and I have to change my blouse before going back to work.

Or the times I’m making breakfast and he walks up behind me, pins me to the counter, and devours my pussy from behind while spanking my ass until my legs don’t work.

If those were the only two sides to this coin, I would get it: outwardly, we’re playing a role, and privately, we use each other to explore the dark, vicious kinks we both have.

But recently, slowly, a third facet of this has emerged. Take for example an evening like this: even though there are cameras present, we’re moving past “just for show” and into something that feels a whole lot like flirting for real.

Growing closer. Blurring the line between contractual marriage and real couple.

Genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

It’s an evolution that scares me a little; honestly, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy it before that happens.

The waitstaff clears our plates and brings out the next course. Gabriel makes a big show of drawing out a loud “mmmm,” with his eyes closed ecstatically as he takes a bite.

“Your turn,” he growls through a million-watt smile. He forks a huge bite of his filet mignon with red wine shallot reduction and grins as he reaches across the table with it. I smile—genuinely and for the cameras—as I take a bite. As I do, some of the phenomenal sauce drips off my chin and splatters down the front of the light blue and white dress I’m wearing.

I hiss under my breath and reach for a napkin, but Gabriel’s already up and out of his seat. He dips his own napkin in his water glass and starts to dab at the stain on my dress. It takes us both a second to realize that he’s basically pawing my breasts right in front of the cameras.

He doesn’t stop. He just turns and grins, shrugging with the expertly practiced “sheepish but charming” look I’ve seen him use on judges and juries. Outside, the paparazzi eat it up, because paparazzi. Only Gabriel could turn helping me into basically feeling me up, and then make it look cutely and cheekily chivalrous to the cameras.

“Why don’t you come to the ladies’ room with me, Fumi?”

I blink, turning rapidly to see Meredith standing there.

“I’ll help you get cleaned up.”

I glance at Gabriel, who nods and sits back in his seat.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

I frown as I follow Meredith through the restaurant toward the ladies’ room. It’s not that I don’t like her at this point. It’s just that literally every encounter we’ve had since I’ve met her indicates that she sure as shit doesn’t like me.

Whatever.

So I’m curious and maybe a little suspicious when we step into the bathroom and she starts tapping away on her phone.

“You can go ahead and take the dress off. The replacement will be here⁠—”

There’s a knock at the door. When Meredith opens it, another woman from her team smiles as she passes her a garment bag. Meredith turns back to me and unzips the bag to reveal an identical dress to the one I just spilled the sauce on.

“Really? I’m impressed.”

She shrugs as I take the bag and slip into one of the stalls to change. “It’s dinner. Things happen.”

“Thank you,” I call through the door as I slip out of the stained dress. “I mean, I know it’s your job, working for Gabriel. But I know you don’t really…I mean, you know⁠—”

“I actually really like you, Fumi.”

I pause, my brows lifting.

“What?”

“Like, a lot.”

I slip on the new dress and open the stall door. Meredith lifts her shoulders dismissively as I look at her curiously.

“I know I’m cold and harsh sometimes, but I have to be. You don’t survive in this job unless you are, especially as a woman.” Her lips curl a little at the corners into what I realize with shock might be Meredith’s version of a smile.

“I know you probably don’t think so, but I really like you, Fumi. And I like you with Gabriel.”

“Because the focus groups approve?” I grin.

She smirks. “Well, yes. But so do I. You complement him. You’re smart and think on your feet. And you keep him on his toes, which keeps him sharp, which in turn will get him elected.”

“Well…thanks,” I smile, my face burning a little. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies crisply. “Quite honestly, you’re one of the best things that could have happened to his campaign, and to him.”

I grin.

“Shall we?”

I nod as she gestures for the door, walking over to open it.

“Just don’t go falling in love with him.”

I flinch, swallowing as her words roll over my back like ice water.

“Oh, yeah, no⁠—”

“Although, if you did…”

Meredith steps into of my peripheral vision, moving in front of me and meeting my eye. She winks.

“I’d be your biggest cheerleader.”

A big grin spreads over my face.

Gabriel frowns, both of us stopped at the steps up to his townhouse’s front door. Half the lights in the building are on, with Taylor Swift blaring from inside, loudly.

“Expecting company?”

“No,” he growls, his jaw set. “I’m not.”

Inside, the music only grows louder. We follow the sound of it and girls’ voices laughing and yelling and wander into the kitchen. Four teenaged girls with their backs to us hoot and holler as they flail their hair to the music and sprinkle toppings on the pizzas they appear to be making.

“Please, make yourself at home, Maeve.”

I’ve only met Maeve, Gabriel’s eighteen-year-old aunt by way of Gabriel’s, Alistair’s, and Tempest’s asshole grandfather and his much, much younger trophy wife—yes, I know, it’s a mind fuck—a few times. But I instantly recognize the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl who whirls at his voice.

“Oh—hi!” she chirps, reaching over to turn down the music coming through the Bluetooth speaker. She blushes as she turns to smile at me. “Hey, Fumi.”

“So…” Gabriel lifts a brow at the pizza party.

Maeve winces as she grins. “Sorry, I totally should have called ahead. But we were in the neighborhood, and I still have a key⁠—”

“It’s fine,” Gabriel smiles. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

A few months ago, Gabriel and Alistair removed Maeve from a bad situation where she was living with their grandfather Charles and his awful wife, Caroline. Never mind Charles’ criminal connections and his meddling in the firm, it had also come to light that he and Caroline were being pretty abusive to Maeve.

After they got her out of that mess, she lived here at Gabriel’s for a few months while she finished high school. Now, she’s got her own apartment with some friends and is starting college in the fall.

“I mean, you do have a pizza oven,” she giggles.

“Mi pizza, su pizza.”

“Hi, Mr. Black!” one of Maeve’s friends chirps with a friendly wave.

“Guys, for the last time,” he sighs. “It’s just Gabriel.”

I grin as I turn to him. “I’m going to go change out of this dress.”

He nods. Maeve’s face goes a little pale before she rushes over.

“Um…” she follows Gabriel and me out of the kitchen, her lip twisting in her teeth. “The girls want to stay over…” She gives Gabriel a sheepish look. “I mean, they love this house. But the problem is…”

“Sleeping arrangements?” Gabriel growls.

She makes a face. “Yeah. I mean, Dominique called dibs so she’s in my old room with me. But then Amber and Natasha decided to take the guest room…”

Shit.

Gabriel’s house has been heavily remodeled since he and his siblings were growing up in it. Of the original five bedrooms, only three are still used for that: his master suite, Tempest’s old room which became Maeve’s room, and a guest room, which is where I’ve been sleeping.

“I mean, I couldn’t tell them that you sleep there,” she winces at me. “You know, cause⁠—”

“It’s fine, Maeve,” Gabriel smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

Maeve is, obviously, privy to the real nature of our relationship. But her friends aren’t. Of course they wouldn’t see any problem wanting to use the guest room. They’d obviously assume I sleep in Gabriel’s room.

I don’t, though. Never have.

“I could dig out some old sleeping bags⁠—”

“Not necessary,” Gabriel grunts. “We’ll take care of it, Maeve.”

She glances at me nervously. I paste an easy smile that I really don’t feel onto my face as I wave her off. “Yeah, no big deal. Put them in the guest room.”

“Okay, great,” she beams. “Thanks! Oh, and pizza’s going in soon, if you’re hungry.”

Upstairs in the “guest” room, I change into sweatpants and a hoodie, pull my hair back into a loose ponytail, and head back downstairs. Right before I get to the kitchen, the sound of voices in the library makes me pause by the door.

“I don’t think so, Amber,” Gabriel’s voice growls.

“Aww, c’mon!” Maeve’s friend Amber coos in a voice that is way too flirtatious for my liking.

My teeth grind.

“Please, Mr. Black?”

She purrs his name in a way that makes my blood boil.

“Amber. It’s a flat no.”

“C’mon, Gabriel, you know I can go out to any bar I want and get a guy to buy me a drink.”

“Maybe so,” he grunts. “But you’re eighteen, and you’re in my house. You’re not helping yourself to any alcohol while you’re here.”

I roll my eyes. I’m about to head back into the kitchen to get in on the pizza action, which smells amazing, when I hear it:

“What if I showed you these.”

“AMBER—”

Maeve’s little friend almost jumps out of her skin, yanking her shirt back down as I stroll into the room.

“Uh, hi!” she blurts, her face white.

“Hi, Amber.” I smile warmly at her while my eyes rip her in two. Then I completely ignore her and walk over to an amused-looking Gabriel, grab him by the back of the neck, and yank his mouth down to mine. I kiss him deeply, letting my tongue explore his mouth as I coil against his body. I even reach around and squeeze his firm ass before I slowly pull away, nipping his lip as I do so.

I turn back to smile mildly at Amber.

“I think the pizza’s ready, kiddo.”

She turns scarlet, her eyes dropping to the floor as she nods and scurries out of the room. The second she’s gone, I whirl to glare at Gabriel.

“What the fuck was that?!” I snap.

He snorts, his brows arching.

“I believe that’s what they call ‘my wife marking her territory out of extreme and misplaced jealousy’, but I’m not certain of the exact term.”

I purse my lips. “Believe me, that was not jealousy.”

“Of course not.”

The prick actually looks amused.

“She’s eighteen,” I snap.

“I’m aware. Which is why⁠—”

“You’re married.”

I gasp as he suddenly grabs my ass, pulling me against his hard body. His hand slides up to grab my ponytail in his fist, and I whimper at the ferocity with which he yanks my head back, exposing my throat, before he lowers his mouth, his breath teasing over my neck.

“I’m very aware,” he growls darkly. Then suddenly he crushes his lips to mine in a punishing kiss.

Maeve insists on us joining them for pizza and more Taylor Swift. Amber avoids looking me in the eye the rest of the night. But she also stays the fuck away from Gabriel.

I am not jealous.

Not one bit.

Come bedtime, the girls take Maeve’s room and mine. We explain my stuff still being in the guest room and adjoining bathroom as being just “force of habit” and say with a laugh that we’re still working out how to find room for my wardrobe in Gabriel’s walk-in closet.

It’s not until I’m standing in my pajamas at one of the two sinks in Gabriel’s master bathroom brushing my teeth that it hits me just how weird this is. Not bad weird, just new weird.

I’ve been in here before, of course. He’s fucked me in his bed, on his floor, and against this very sink.

But I’ve never spent the night in his bed, just like he’s never spent the night in mine.

Neither of us says a word as we finish getting ready. It doesn’t even come up until I start pulling back the covers.

“Actually, that’s my side.”

I smirk. “You have a side?”

“I do.”

“You don’t sleep in the middle of the bed?”

He shrugs. “No.”

“You’re a very strange man, Mr. Black.”

I grin as I walk around to the other side and climb in. He kills the lights and slides in next to me. Silence drapes the bedroom. It’s a very weird and very foreign feeling, being in a bed with this man and not having his hand on my throat as he savagely fucks the hell out of me.

But that’s not happening tonight. Not when Maeve and three of her friends are⁠—

I gasp when Gabriel suddenly slides right against my back, his chiseled body hard and warm. Then I jolt when his hand slides into the waist of my sleep shorts, grabbing them and my panties and yanking them both down my legs.

I whimper softly when I feel how hard he is.

“We…I mean, Maeve and her friends⁠—”

I moan, my eyes bulging when he stuffs my lacy panties into my mouth. Behind me, his cock slips from his boxers, throbbing hot and hard against my ass.

“Don’t think that just because we have house guests, I’m not going to fuck you until you break, Kitten.”