Page 49 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Beautiful,” he says, his accent thicker than usual.

I reach for him, undoing his tie with trembling fingers. He allows me to unbutton his shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. Scars mark his skin, evidence of the violent life he leads. He’s been reticent about them in the past, but I dare push for more information tonight as I trace one that runs along his ribs. “How did you get this?”

“Knife fight. I was seventeen.” He captures my hand, bringing it to his lips as he says what he usually says. “Not tonight, Elena. Tonight is not for old wounds.”

He lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His kiss starts gentle but quickly deepens, becoming hungry and demanding. I match his intensity, tangling my fingers in his dark hair.

Damir carries me through the penthouse to his bedroom. He lays me on the massive bed, and the sheets are cool against my heated skin. He stands at the edge of the mattress, removing the rest of his clothes with efficient movements.

I love the sight of him fully naked. He’s all hard muscle and controlled power, his body a weapon honed through years of violence. Yet his hands are gentle as they remove my remaining garments.

He joins me on the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress. He explores my body with his mouth, taking his time to savor my neck, my collarbone, and the swell of my breasts.When his lips close around my nipple, I arch against him, a moan escaping me.

“I’ve thought about this all day,” he murmurs against my skin. “About you.”

He slides his hand between my thighs, finding my pussy already wet for him. His touch is expert. He knows exactly how to build my pleasure as he strokes my clit, varying the rhythm while whispering things to me in Russian I don’t understand. Somehow, they sound romantic and perfect despite the overall guttural tones of the language. I writhe beneath him, digging my nails into his shoulders.

“Damir, please. I need your cock.”

He chuckles indulgently and withdraws his fingers, pausing to lick them while I watch before he positions himself between my thighs, pressing his hard cock against my dripping entrance. “Now?”

I nod and wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer. His cock slides into my wet heat in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. I’m used to his size by now, but it still stretches me deliciously. We both groan at the sensation.

He begins to move, setting a rhythm that has me clinging to him. Each thrust drives me higher, building toward something monumental. He grips my hips, angling me to take him deeper.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. There’s something raw and vulnerable in his expression. Something beyond lust or possession.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, and right now, it’s true. Whatever our arrangement, whatever lies between us, right now, I belong to him completely.

His movements become more urgent and more demanding. I match him thrust for thrust, tightening my sheath around him as I squeeze my inner muscles. When he reaches between us to touch my clit, it takes only a couple of strokes before I shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over me.

Damir follows moments later, tensing as he finds his release. He spills inside me, filling me with his cum before he collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest. His heart pounds beneath my ear, and his breathing is as ragged as mine.

We lie together in silence, our bodies cooling in the darkness. His fingers trace patterns on my bare shoulder, and I relax into his embrace.

“What are you thinking?” he asks after a while.

I consider lying but decide on honesty. “That you’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Someone colder. Someone who wouldn’t care about a homeless man or a waiter’s son.”

His hand stills on my skin. “Does it change anything?”

“It complicates things.” I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him. “It’s easier to be married to a monster than...whatever you are.”

A shadow crosses his face. “Don’t mistake moments of decency for redemption, Elena. I am what I am.”

“And what’s that?”

“A man who’s done terrible things. Who will do more.” His fingers brush my cheek. “A man who wants you more than he should.”

I lean into his touch. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

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