Chapter 1: Introduction
I felt the gush of air along my sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps all along my skin. Sure, being naked and tied to the Saint Andrew’s Cross and that too blindfolded, was doing something to my brain I couldn't explain. It was like he moved even an inch around me and I found myself feeling it ten times more intensely. Not being able to see him just amplified every sense of mine, and it was not looking good for me.
But hold on… let’s rewind a bit. Because do you even know how hard it was to not let him chicken out of this room as soon as he found out this was a BDSM honeymoon suite? The second the door clicked shut behind us, I swear, the air in that room thickened like whipped cream.
The man literally looked at the room, then at me and then back at the room. Finally at the door. I could actually see his brain calculating the shortest path back to the reception desk.
"Hubby..."
He slowly turned toward me. "I think..."
"No."
"I didn't even finish."
"I know what you're going to say."
"...Do you?"
"You're going to say, 'Maybe they've given us the wrong room.'"
He blinked. "...How did you..."
"Because I married you."
He sighed. "Okay, yes. Maybe they did."
I folded my arms. "They didn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because the room number matches the keycard."
"...That's annoyingly logical."
"I know."
He scratched the back of his neck, looking around again. "I still think we should ask."
"For what?"
"A... normal room."
I followed his gaze. There were soft ambient lights, fancy furniture that had nothing to do with being furniture but everything to do with SEX.
A ridiculously oversized bed. A weird cross with handcuffs at all four corners. A corner where there was a weird shaped sofa kind of thing. In front of it was a wooden panel with three holes lined up.
And then...
Well... The rest of the decor definitely explained why it was called a themed honeymoon suite.
I had to admit... It wasn't exactly what I'd imagined when I'd confidently asked for a honeymoon suite downstairs. Apparently, hotels had become a lot more... creative.
I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh.
See, I was actually kind of okay with the room. I don't mind a little adventure here and there. Life gets boring if every plan goes exactly as expected.
So honestly? The room itself didn't bother me that much.
What was infinitely more entertaining was watching my husband's face as his brain desperately searched for a believable excuse to change rooms.
I could practically hear the gears turning.
"Maybe they made a mistake.""Maybe this isn't the room we booked.""Maybe there's a plumbing issue.""Maybe... maybe... maybe..."
Poor man was conducting a full emergency board meeting inside his head.
I stayed quiet. Mostly because I wanted to see how far he'd take this.
He glanced at me, then at the room and then at the door. And just like that… a decision was made.
"I'll just..." He pointed behind him. "...go ask them if they have another room."
There it was, him trying to take the most extreme step.
He turned around, reached for the handle...
...and pulled.
Nothing.
He frowned and pulled again.
Still nothing.
He looked at the lock, then at me, then back at the lock.
"...Why isn't it opening?"
I couldn't hold it anymore. A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
"I think..." Another laugh. "I think it locked automatically."
"What?"
"I've read about this!"
He gave me the kind of look that only husbands can give. "The fact that you're excited worries me."
"No, listen!" I walked over, still giggling. "I think it's because this hotel's owned by Japanese migrants or inspired by Japanese hotels or something."
"And?"
"I've definitely read that some love hotels in Japan have automatic locking doors for privacy."
He blinked. "...You've read about this?"
"I read a lot of random things."
He just stared at me. "So..."
I spread my hands dramatically.
"...the country on which we dropped bombs..."
He already knew where this was going. "...don't."
"...has officially dropped one on my spicy little life."
He closed his eyes for a second. "I can't believe that's the sentence you chose."
"I thought it was clever."
"It was certainly... a sentence."
I laughed so hard I had to hold onto his arm. He shook his head with the kind of helpless smile that only appeared when I'd said something completely unhinged.
"You know," he muttered, "I married someone who can turn international history into a terrible joke in under five seconds."
"I prefer the term 'creatively educational.'"
Anyways. I took a final deep breath and wrapped my arms around his neck and with all the confidence I had in my I stood there trying to say something so cute and adorable that my stomach went on a wild ride.
"So, Mr. Mafia..." I said, looking around the room before turning back to him with my hands behind my back. "This is your final spicy exam."
He blinked. "I'm sorry... my what?"
I nodded very seriously.
"Your final spicy exam. Get passing marks..." I said, gently patting my stomach, "...and one day you might just get to score the biggest goal of your life."
He stared at me for a solid three seconds.
I continued before he could interrupt.
"But if you fail..."
I raised one finger.
"...or hesitate..."
A second finger.
"...there will be no retest."
I paused dramatically. "No goal."
Then I smiled sweetly and rested a hand on my stomach again. "And definitely no tiny Mafias running around the house."
He stared at me for a solid three seconds, his brow furrowed in that way he did when trying to decipher a particularly complex underworld deal. His eyes flicked from my face to my hands resting lightly on my stomach.
“Tiny Mafias…” he finally breathed out. It wasn’t a question, more an incredulous murmur. He looked down at my stomach again, then up at me. Then back to my stomach. The whole thing was starting to get comical.
Yeah.
I said it.
Don't judge me, okay? He was the one hesitating so much. I had to bring out my strongest weapon.
Looking back, the second those words left my mouth, I wanted the earth to crack open and politely swallow me until he forgot I'd ever said them.
Sadly, the earth chose not to cooperate. So there I stood... Watching my husband continue buffering.
I'm not exaggerating when I say I genuinely wondered if his system had frozen. If he had a loading icon above his head, it would've been spinning.
Finally, he blinked.
Yeah, that’s how I ended up here. Tied to the cross, naked and blindfolded. Turns out, my mafia husband just needs some motivation or threat and he's back in action. As soon as his brain processed my threat, his hands were around my face, and my lips on his. It was a desperate hungry kiss that there was literally a vacuum between our mouths.
It was more than just hunger though, it had that edge of urgency to it – like he’d been holding back for days and suddenly every ounce of it had flooded forward at once. I tasted him – the vanilla and spice of his cologne mingled with something deeper, musky and warm, definitely all man. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss, tugging me closer until my backside was pressed against that ridiculous wooden panel with the mysterious three holes.
And then in one swift movement, my graduation gown was off me. The button broke and fell on the floor followed by the gown.. and there I was standing naked in front of him after an entire day of teasing.
You know I should have been worried about how I'd go back home. The broken buttons were not going to save me now... but hell, I was going to think of that later. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he swiftly carried me to the cross, all while kissing me. His tongue finally found its way past my lips with renewed fervor, a rough hand gripping my backside as he maneuvered me.
Should I be worried being tied to a cross? Yes.Was I? Hell no.
If anything, my brain was running simulations of all sorts of things he could do to me while I stood there defenseless, taking it. My hands roamed over his broad back, pulling him closer, tugging at the loose hairs that escaped from under his collar.
He set me down gently on the padded surface of the cross, the wood cool against my skin where it pressed against my stomach.
"I need a good score," he murmured against my neck as his hands worked their way up to tie my hands on the cross. His thumbs brushed lightly across the soft curves of my breasts as if testing them, sending shivers down my spine.
I arched into him instinctively, a moan escaping my lips before I could quite stop it. His calloused fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me back to his mouth for a quick, possessive kiss.
He was warm and hard against me, that solid weight that never failed to make me feel both safe and deliciously vulnerable all at once.
Literally.
The blindfold was a stark contrast to the soft glow of the room, plunging me into a sensory deprivation chamber of my own making. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, a steady drumbeat that echoed through my body. The cool air of the room kissed my skin, raising goosebumps, making me acutely aware of every inch of my body.
And then, like he got the hint, he stepped back. Leaving me alone, with my hands tied and eyes blindfolded to fight with my overthinker brain.
And let me tell you, my brain didn't disappoint. Every second I would feel him move around me and my brain would go on a wild run, planning and plotting what could happen, where he’d touch me next, if he’d touch me properly or just tease me. Would he start with my lips again? My neck was tingling like crazy. Or maybe he'd slip his hands between my legs and wander up my thighs, a shiver ran through me at the thought.
My stomach fluttered with nerves and anticipation. I tried to focus on my breathing, taking slow, deliberate breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, but it felt like the air itself had thickened, charged with a potent mix of his scent and something else – a primal energy that made me both want to curl up and submit and simultaneously arch my back for him.
One minute I was sure he was right there next to me, pressing close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body radiating into mine. The next moment there'd be this space between us, an echoing silence broken only by the pounding of my own heart. It made every time he moved sound even louder – a soft rustle of fabric, the creak of leather on wood, the scrape of his boots against the floor. Each little sound was amplified in this darkness, a soundtrack to the silent movie playing out in my mind.
The suspense was killing me. I had to say something. Anything.
But like anticipated, before I could say anything, I felt his touch behind my ear... and let me tell you something... it was like a current ran down my entire body. It started from where he touched and within nanoseconds even my legs knew he touched me behind my ear.
Because guess what? Just one touch and my legs gave up immediately. I was literally hanging there because my hands were tied.
I never knew one single touch could be that powerful.
And then... because my brain hated me... I thought if this can happen by just one touch... what will happen when he actually fucks me?
The thought sent a heat wave through me, making the air around me seem to shimmer even though it was probably just me sweating. He traced a fingertip down from behind my ear, stopping at the curve of my jaw before circling back up to press against my temple, his touch light but sending ripples of electricity through me.
“Good,” he murmured, his voice close enough to feel the vibration against my skin. The faint scent of leather and something musky, him, filled my senses, making it hard to think straight. "Very good."
The word lingered in the air between us like a promise. It felt loaded with meaning in this darkness, a simple affirmation that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth he was bringing to me.
His hand moved away, and I heard the rustle of fabric as he shifted his weight. He was closer now, maybe just an arm’s length away based on how much cooler the air felt around me.
"Just relax," he whispered, the words warm against my cheek as though he'd brushed them across my skin with his lips. "Let go a little."
I tried to obey. Tried to let everything else fade away, the tangled threads of anticipation in my mind, the nervous fluttering of my stomach, even the annoying tightness in my chest from being bound up on this damn cross.
But it was hard when all I could feel were those tiny pinpricks of awareness that heightened into something wild and primal with every little shift in his weight or change in the scent he was sending towards me.
What exactly was he planning? I wanted to ask, but my voice seemed trapped somewhere in the thick fog of this heightened sensory experience.
He leaned down again, placing a warm hand on one of my bare thighs. It lingered there for a moment, then slid slowly up to rest just beneath my hipbone. His thumb stroked softly over the curve of my bone. My breath hitched.
"Good girl," he murmured again, his voice rough with something that sounded suspiciously like… pleasure?
And then I knew this was only the beginning. The blindfold had already taken away most of what little control I usually had in these situations. Now... now he seemed intent on taking away the rest.
A few minutes passed in anticipation of what he was going to do but that never happened. So naturally, my brain relaxed.
Big mistake, because as I did that, I felt a strange sensation on my chest... Like he was pouring something. Not water... something thick... and warm.
Fuck, not being able to see felt like a curse now. And worse, my hands were tied so I couldn't even touch it and smell it to hint at something. But my most probable guess was it was oil. Some sort of warm oil he was pouring on me.
It started just above my left breast, trickling down slowly in slow, deliberate flow. My skin prickled with goosebumps under the unfamiliar sensation. The scent reached me then, floral and spicy, something vaguely herbal too. Definitely not your average massage oil.
I shifted slightly, trying to get a better sense of what was happening. He chuckled low in his chest at my movement, a rumble that vibrated against the curve of my back where he pressed against me now.
“Relax," he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my ear. “Let it sink in.”
His hand moved again, this time tracing a slow path down my left side.
He continued to pour more of the fragrant liquid over me in smooth, deliberate movements, coating my chest and stomach, trailing down to the curve of my hipbone where it pooled softly. I could feel his warmth against my back now – a solid weight that seemed to anchor me even though he was moving all around me. The scent grew stronger, more intoxicating with every stroke of his hand on my skin, filling my senses with something both luxurious and strangely primal.
The oil felt incredibly smooth – almost silk-like – as it spread across the expanse of my chest, warming where it pooled in the dips of my body. It was so light that I hardly even noticed its presence beyond the tingling sensation that followed every touch. But beneath it all, there was definitely a...presence. A weight to it that felt more than just the liquid itself. A richness, a depth that hinted at something more potent than simple oil.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a frantic bird trying to escape its cage.
And then started the best and the worst experience of my life. His hands joined in the sensation, spreading the oil on my body and pouring even more.
The warmth of his touch was like liquid fire, seeping into my skin and making me ache with a need I didn’t even know I had. The oil glided over my chest, tracing the sensitive contours of my breasts, then down my ribs, lingering at the dip of my waist. His fingers were warm, calloused, and precise, each stroke deliberate, as if he were painting me with something far more valuable than paint.
I could feel the oil pooling in the hollows of my body, the way it clung to the curves of my hips, the way it slid down the inside of my thighs. My breath hitched as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin there, just barely grazing the edge of my sex.
It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity coursing through me, making my legs tremble and my core clench. I felt the heat building between my thighs, a slow burn that threatened to consume me whole if he kept this up.