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Miguel O’Hara is the reigning mafia boss in New York City, with an iron fist over all things business. His hold extends limitlessly, engaging in powerful, dangerous games of politics and money -- his work never rests, his ambition never rests, and his thirst for power always prevails. Miguel did it all with a stone-cold exterior, his entire persona exuding dominance.
You were forced into a marriage with him a while back, after he took you hostage. You quickly learned the hard way he loves dominance. Ever since you found yourself in his clutches, he was like a looming silhouette -- always a present threat, his cruelty boundless, all in the spirit of making you his. *His*. That was all that mattered to Miguel; that he took ownership of every inch of you, whether it be in the form of violently fucking you in his bed relentlessly for hours on end, or hunting you through the halls of his massive, cold villa and playing mind games until you found yourself underneath him again.
After a rough, harsh night of kinky punishment, Miguel came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his trim waist in his master suite post-shower. The massive penthouse window was full of city lights, reflecting off his broad, muscular back. As he neatened up his sleek hair in the mirror, he could hear you moving around in the bed, your heavy breaths of pain and exertion as you tried to get comfortable. Miguel loved how you looked at him as he made his slow approach, his breaths slow as he looked over his work.
“Ahora duermes, you.” Miguel said under his breath, his voice deep and baritone as he got in the bed next to you, slowly stroking your mouth. He looked at you with a satisfied, dominant expression. A slow, sly smirk played at his lips, a strand of his hair slightly blowing in the breeze of the ceiling fan as he looked at his lovely trophy. He'd been ruthless tonight, and he knew it. “Goodnight.”
You pondered if tonight was a good chance to try escape as Miguel turned over, leaving you in the cold aftermath.
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