The Mafia Ghost and His Obsession

TAMARA

“You’re mine,” Isaiah growled into my ear, voice rough and primal, sending a shiver straight down my spine. “You’re fucking mine.”

His fingers plunged into me harder, faster and merciless. Wet slaps echoed in the bathroom, mixing with our moans until my knees nearly gave. His breath scorched my neck, lips brushing my skin as his dark, hungry eyes held mine, pinning me in place. Every thrust felt like he was carving his name into me, reminding me who I belonged to.

“Isaiah,” I moaned, seeking his lips, but he denied me. Instead his mouth closed around my nipple, biting, sucking, until goosebumps rose across my skin. His thumb flicked over my clit, a ruthless jolt that sent me tumbling into release. “Isaiah—oh God.” My body convulsed around his fingers, hips jerking, orgasm tearing through me.

He didn’t wait. He spun me onto all fours and slammed into me in one deep, shocking stroke. “Fuck, Tee.”

“Oh God…”

He teased me cruelly, pulling almost all the way out, circling my entrance, dipping in just enough to drive me insane. I wiggled back, shameless, begging for him. When my fingers found my clit, his control snapped. He yanked me around, gray eyes burning.

“Did I ask you to touch yourself?” he snarled.

“I’m not sorry,” I smirked. “Not unless you fu—”

He silenced me with a brutal thrust that made me cry out loud enough for the whole East Coast to hear. His smug grin told me he liked the idea of everyone knowing I was his, hours before our wedding.

“Focus on the only cock you’ll ever have,” he growled, pounding deep. “Stop worrying about what your family thinks of their perfect little church girl.”

He filled me, thick and relentless, stretching me past comfort until all I could do was marvel at the feel of him, the shape of every vein. He hooked my thighs, tilting my pelvis to strike that perfect spot with every stroke, his stare locked unblinking on mine.

“Are you okay?” I gasped between thrusts.

He shook his head, lips pressed tight. Then he kissed me hard, a clash of teeth and tongues, his control unraveling.

The orgasm ripped through me like fire, clutching and burning as I convulsed around him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I cried. He groaned, spilling inside me, grinding deep as if to brand me from the inside. Slowly, lazily, he withdrew, smug in how thoroughly he filled me.

. My soon-to-be husband stepped aside, hoisting me over the counter, flattening my gown against my stomach so we both had a good look at my pussy. He parted my thighs with his fingers, staring.

”Look at that pretty defiance now,” he cooed, pushing his cum back inside with two fingers until I squirmed. “You’ll walk down the aisle like this, Tee. Let them wonder why you look so fucked on your wedding day.”

He trailed his index finger along my inner thigh.

I watched in fascination as he tucked his cloudy, thick cum back between my folds. Not only did he put his stringy seed inside, but he pushed two fingers, filling me to the hilt. I gasped uncomfortably when I thought he reached my actual uterus, squirming away from him.

A knock rattled the door. “Tamara! Guests are arriving!” It was Magret, judging from her high-pitched voice.

“We need to leave now, Isaiah. They can’t catch us fucking before we walk down the aisle.” I groaned, still trying to come down, but Isaiah only stared intently at me. His deep green eyes watched my face like it was something fascinating.

“I can’t believe I’ll get to call you my wife after today,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach. “Best believe it, baby,” I breathed, kissing him softly.

Another impatient knock broke the spell. He lowered me from the counter, smoothing my satin gown back into place. My A-line dress hugged my waist and flared into a graceful skirt, veil falling light over my ponytail. Isaiah, in a slightly loose black suit borrowed from his father, still looked devastatingly handsome.

“Go ahead, baby. See you at the altar.” He kissed me once more before slipping out the window with surprising ease despite his height.

I hurried to the door, only to meet Magret’s frantic glare. “Look at you! You look hideous. What were you doing in there?” she hissed, dragging me to my vanity. She fussed over my hair, muttering about how I needed to grow up and start acting like a wife. My sister, two years older and my best friend, meant every word but loved me fiercely. She was with Shawn, Isaiah’s best friend, and the four of us had been inseparable for years.

Soon our parents arrived, my mother gushing, my father wiping at suspiciously teary eyes. We weren’t wealthy, but we were close-knit, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. When Shawn poked his head in to say everyone was seated, my father straightened, offering me his arm.

“Papa… are you crying?” I teased, holding back my own tears.

He sniffed, ignoring me, and I rubbed his back to comfort us both.

The church doors opened. My favorite song played as we began the slow walk down the aisle. My heart swelled, eyes glistening with tears ready to see Isaiah waiting for me. This was a dream come true for me. Ever since I was 9, and I saw Isaiah’s mass of dark curls walking lazily behind his father, I have envisioned this day, the day I would get to call him mine.

Halfway down the aisle, I noticed my family members and friends standing, their faces twisted in panic and confusion.

I turned toward the altar and saw only Shawn standing there. His face was contorted in a frown as he tugged at his hair. A phone was pressed to his ear, his jaw clenched, his whole posture screaming anger and desperation.

My father and I exchanged curious glances, my heart already hammering for a different reason entirely.

Where was Isaiah?

I stopped walking, forcing my father to a stop. Magret rushed toward me, tears in her eyes, followed closely by my mother, whose expression was more furious than sad.

“What is happening, Belle?” my father asked my mother, pulling the words right out of my mouth.

My mother shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. I turned to Magret, desperate for her to pull me out of my misery and tell me what was going on.

Her tears kept falling no matter how hard she tried to wipe them away. Her lips trembled as she opened her mouth, and the words that spilled out were soaked in calamity, heavy enough to crush me. Her voice cracked like glass shattering, each syllable tearing through my chest.

“Isaiah,” she whispered. “He’s gone.”