Page 92 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Baby steps,” she mutters, disinfecting the wound with careful pressure.

Each sting keeps me tethered to the here and now. Not the carnage of my penthouse. Not the man we almost lost. Just this.Her hands on me. Her quiet strength. The stillness between storms.

And for the first time since everything went to hell, I start to believe we’ll survive it.

“The bath will help with the soreness,” Galina murmurs, trailing her fingers through the water. “You should get in.”

Her tone brooks no argument—soft but firm, the way she handles everything that matters. I arch a brow but don’t protest. My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache, and the promise of heat is too tempting to ignore.

I lower myself slowly into the tub, keeping the wounds outside of the water and biting back a hiss as the heat envelopes my skin. The pain dulls almost instantly, replaced by the kind of heavy relief that makes you forget your limbs exist.

Galina sprinkles something into the water—salts, maybe. Eucalyptus and mint curl in the steam, fresh and clean. Not the kind of scent I’d choose, but it’s hers. Familiar. Comforting. She must’ve asked Jaromir to stock the cabinet with her favorites. Little by little, she’s been leaving fingerprints all over this space, softening the hard edges I’d stopped noticing. Making it feel like something more than just mine.

She steps in and sinks down in front of me, leaning back against my chest without hesitation. Her body fits against mine like she was made for it. The press of her spine, the way her head tips just under my chin—it settles something wild and restless inside me.

For a while, we say nothing. Just let the silence wash over us.

Then she speaks, voice quiet, raw. “Are you okay?”

I don’t answer right away. I don’t want to lie. “Are you?”

She exhales softly, the sound feathering against my throat. “I will be.”

We both know that’s the closest either of us will come to admitting how rattled we still are.

“Tired?” I ask, brushing a hand down her arm.

“A little,” she says. Then after a beat: “Vasiliy?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t want to just survive anymore,” she whispers. “I want to live.”

Those words hit harder than any bullet. I press my hand over her stomach, still flat and soft beneath my palm. She’s not showing yet, but I swear I can feel something there—potential, promise, a flicker of the life we’ve fought so hard to protect.

“We will,” I say, voice rough. “You. Me. The baby. All of us.”

She half turns in the water, facing me. Her hands cradle my jaw, and she kisses me—not with heat or hunger, but with something quieter. Steadier. A vow. It’s not about lust this time. It’s about trust. About choosing each other, even when the world outside keeps trying to tear us apart.

And for the first time in a long damn while, I start to believe that living—truly living—might actually be possible.

Her fingers skim the back of my neck, drawing shivers from my skin. I groan as she deepens the kiss, my cock stirring. Heat pools in my stomach and creeps south, coiling through my loins. She’s got a magic touch, igniting a need in me without ever breaking the kiss. When she fully turns around to straddle my hips, I let out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a moan.

“Really?” I ask, amused. “You want to go again?”

“It’s the pregnancy,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “And how hard you always make me come.”

“Happy to oblige,lisichka.” I chuckle, my hands sliding up her thighs and kneading her ass.

It only takes a second or two to guide my cock to her warm, willing pussy. Her arousal wets the head of my shaft as I push inside. The ring of muscle slides down my length, easing the movement with how turned on she is.

Galina shudders as I bottom out, her walls squeezing me in rhythmic pulses that send a bolt of bliss right up my spine. It’s so good. Tight. Hot. Fucking amazing.

Every inch of her body is illuminated by the fluorescents, her skin glistening with droplets of water. I can’t tear my gaze away. Each perfect little whimper cranks my arousal to an unbearable degree. She feels too good. Her curves and muscles pressing against my skin, drawing sounds from my mouth that never would have come out before.

“Take your fill,” I growl, resisting the urge to take control.

She rocks her hips with slow, steady movements, eyes half lidded as she tries to control her breathing. Wet hair sticks to her forehead, a flush creeping up her cheeks. Tight moans escape her throat, the erotic sounds making my cock pulse.

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