Addicted to Captive Love The Mafia Godfather’s Substitute Heiress Chapter 10

Addicted to Captive Love The Mafia Godfather’s Substitute Heiress Chapter 10

Celandine’s POV

I had always thought Thierry was a man of almost terrifying restraint.

It was the kind of restraint carved into his bones, the same way he handled family business: calm, precise, and without a single unnecessary emotion.

So when he told me he had a sex addiction, I said I understood, but the truth was that I had not prepared myself for it at all.

Naively, I thought it was just another condition that needed my comfort.

That was until one late night, a month after we got together.

I stayed in Thierry’s room and refused to leave.

He had no idea what to do with me, so he let me have my way.

When I saw him reach for that white pill bottle again, I reacted almost on instinct. I rushed over, snatched the bottle from his hand, and clutched it in my palm.

His eyes darkened, but before he could lose his temper, I leaned in and kissed him.

“Don’t take the pills, Thierry. Let me be your fix.”

His throat bobbed.

He drew back half an inch, those dark eyes locking onto mine.

“Celandine, are you sure?”

I nodded hard. “I’m sure.”

In the next second, a pair of strong, well-defined hands gripped my waist.

His hold was so strong that my sides went numb.

I let out a startled cry.

The world spun, and then he dragged me onto the bed.

My back slammed against his chest.

His lips pressed to the nape of my neck, his scorching breath spilling over my skin.

His hands roamed over me, and every place he touched sent a shiver straight through me.

Thierry held me tighter. He kissed my ear and murmured against it.

“Good. Then let me taste how well my new medicine works.”

We kept going until the early hours of the morning, and Thierry seemed tireless.

Only then did I realize how completely wrong I had been.

Thierry had spent three years in the Marines and kept himself in brutal physical training year-round. His body was nearly twice the size of mine.

This was no longer the Thierry who could keep his composure even while chained up.

This was a starving beast I had released with my own hands.

I cried until my breath hitched, my vision blurring.

All I could see was his broad shoulders and the deep, consuming love in his eyes.

His hands left bruises on my body, not because he was violent, but because he had lost control.

Then he suddenly stopped.

When he looked at the marks on me, his entire body went rigid.

His voice was hoarse and faintly trembling.

“I’m sorry. I still couldn’t control myself. I still hurt you.”

Seeing the guilt filling his eyes, I immediately wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in the crook of his neck.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. If you stop now, that would really hurt me.”

When I woke up, it was already the next afternoon.

Sunlight filled the room.

My throat was hoarse, and my whole body ached as if I had been taken apart and put back together again.

A large hand calloused from years of handling guns pressed to my cheek, stroking it gently.

“Awake?”

I stiffly turned my head.

Thierry was bare from the waist up.

His tan muscles were smooth and defined, his abs sharply cut, the lines at his hips deep and clean.

He pulled me fully into his arms, his warm hand settling over my lower back and kneading it with just the right amount of pressure, looking thoroughly satisfied.

“Does anything hurt?”

My cheeks burned red, and I took a deep breath.

“Thierry, maybe you should take your medication after all!”

He lowered his head and let out a soft laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“No.”

“You said it yourself.”

“You’re my medicine.”

Then, before I could argue, he sealed my lips with his again.

[The End]