Page 137 of Vendetta Crown

I'm sobbing now, overwhelmed by the intensity. By the rightness of it all.

Ruslan sits up suddenly, wrapping me fully in his embrace, crushing me against his chest. His movements become frantic, desperate. I feel his cock swell impossibly larger inside me.

He breaks our kiss, and I gasp, panting, as I desperately suck in air that my lungs have been burning for.

"I'm going to fill you up," he growls against my ear, his voice breaking with strain. "I'm going to mark you from the inside."

The words send electricity through my already overstimulated body. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under my fingertips.

"Do it," I beg, biting his earlobe. "Flood me with your cum. I want to feel it pouring inside me."

His other fingers clench around my ass. His body goes rigid beneath me. Face contorting. Breaths ragged and uneven.

"Don't stop," I plead, rocking against him. "Give me all of it, Daddy. Every last fucking drop."

I feel the first violent pulse of his cock as his cum erupts inside me. It's scalding hot, filling me in thick, powerful jets. I grind down hard, trying to take him even deeper.

His entire body trembles as he continues to cum. Each spurt seems stronger than the last, his cock jerking and twitching wildly inside me.

"I can feel it," I whisper, awestruck. "I can feel you pumping me full."

He shudders beneath me, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues to cum. It feels endless. Rope after rope of his hot seed flooding my insides. I can feel it starting to leak out around his shaft, dripping and pooling in the space between us.

"It's so much," I marvel, feeling utterly claimed.

When he finally stops pulsing inside me, he keeps me tight against him, his cock still buried deep. I can feel our combined fluids seeping out, making a mess of us both. The filthy evidence of our passion.

"Stay inside me," I whisper, not wanting to break our connection. "I want to keep your cum where it belongs."

His eyes, dark with satisfaction, lock onto mine. He brushes a strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness.

"I love you, Aurora," he growls, and I feel his cock twitch one last time inside me. "My life. My light. My queen."

"I love you, too, Ruslan," I pant, pussy fluttering as I milk the final drops of our pleasure.

35

RUSLAN

I waitat the entrance of the mansion, watching the black sedans arrive one after another. My coronation as pakhan of pakhans is hours away, yet I'm already tired of the pageant.

Bratva politics have always been a game of bloodied chess pieces.

A necessary evil, but still evil.

Korsakov's car pulls up first, his driver hurrying to open the door. He emerges with his harsh face set in determination, straightening his cufflinks as if preparing for battle rather than ceremony.

"Ruslan Vitalyevich," he calls, climbing the steps with surprising agility for a man his age. "First to arrive, as promised."

"Pavel Yanovich." I clasp his outstretched hand. "Your loyalty won't be forgotten."

His laugh is like gravel. "I'm a man smart enough to recognize power when I see it."

At least he's honest. I'd rather have men who admit their self-interest than pretend at brotherhood.

My eyes drift back to the driveway as Svarikov's Bentley rolls in, followed closely by Voronin's Mercedes. Those two have synchronized their appearances. It's a subtle reminder that while they support me, they remain their own unified force.

Balakirev appears minutes later, and his trademark frown softens slightly when he sees me. And why wouldn't he? His banking empire needs my guns to remain secure.

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