Page 44 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

She doesn’t speak. She just turns, lifts her hands, and lets the jacket slide from her shoulders like water. It hits the floor in a whisper. The red blouse beneath it clings to her like it’s part of her skin. One button, then another comes undone beneath her fingers—slow, intentional, torturous.

She holds my gaze the entire time.

The red lace underneath is delicate, barely there. A trap dressed up in temptation. And when she slides the straps off her shoulders and lets her breasts spill free, my jaw tightens with the effort not to reach for her.

She moves to music only she can hear, hips swaying with devastating precision. Her hands graze her thighs, then her stomach, then up to her chest—teasing, never touching for long. My tie is the next casualty. She hooks her fingers into the silk, tugging it loose with a wicked smile.

Her knees settle on either side of my thighs, heat radiating from her as she straddles me. I don’t touch her. Not yet. I want her tobegfirst.

But then her fingers find my chest, skimming down over my shirt. Her skin is fire under my hands as I finally touch her—one palm curving around her waist, the other sliding up her back until I tangle my fingers in her hair.

She tilts her head back, offering me her throat like a dare.

I accept.

My mouth brushes the delicate skin just beneath her ear, and her shiver is immediate. I nip her there—gentle at first, then harder when she gasps—and her hips grind down against my lap.

“Tonight,” I murmur against her skin, “I’m going to wrap this silky hair around my fist and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath catches—half whimper, half challenge. Her thighs tremble slightly around mine, and I feel the way her body arches toward me, desperate for friction.

I grip her ass in both hands, dragging her forward, grinding her against the ache that’s been building since she walked through the damn door.

“If you don’t get naked,” I growl, voice rough with hunger, “I’ll rip that skirt in two.”

She doesn’t move at first. Just watches me, breathless, flushed, lips parted. Then she leans in, brushing her mouth against mine without kissing me.

“Then tear it,” she whispers.

And just like that, all bets are off.

My dick throbs as her slender fingers dance across my thighs. Palming her ass, I hold her prisoner, grinding her against me while I dip my head to her gorgeous tits and scrape the rough stubble of my cheek across her pale, sensitive skin. The erotic temptation in the contrast of her soft breasts against my hardened jawline makes me crave taking control. Temptation and the desire to own overwhelms me, and not even I recognize my low, guttural growl as my fingers dig into her firm hips.

And Galina fucking relishes it. Her moans become high-pitched, her hands digging into my shoulders as she kisses my lips, then my chin, down the length of my neck. I watch her, my arousal intensifying.

“Last warning,” I growl.

She unzips her skirt and steps out of it, naked except for a pair of thigh-high stockings and the crimson panties.

That image is now forever imprinted in my mind.

Then her hands are everywhere, tugging my tie, prying open the buttons of my shirt. Desperate fingers claw at my pants. Warm skin against cold steel of the zipper. God. Just one strong grasp, the slightest move, and I’d push inside her, taking all I want, all I need...

Her warm thighs contract around mine, her arms around my torso. Though she looks like a luscious kitten, Galina is the kind who wields claws and teeth. A sly glance, a perfect curve, all wrapped in vulnerability. Even now, it’s an exquisite challenge—figuring out the soft, delicate mask hiding a devious and hungry core.

She’s panting now, rocking slowly over my trapped cock, her breasts pressed against my chest. Fuck, I need to get rid of my clothes. I want to feel her skin against mine.

As Galina runs her soft hands up the defined ridges of my abdomen, I press a hungry kiss against her swollen mouth. Igroan again, fighting the urge to release myself and grind my hips against hers.

Hooking one leg between hers, I break free and take advantage. Her gasp sends a thrill through me. The perfect opportunity, an involuntary opening, and I’m ready to pounce. I slam her onto the cushions, her nails scratching across my chest as she clings to my shoulders for stability, a helpless animal in the clutches of a predator. She knows what’s coming.

Pinning her wrists above her head, I loom over her as I taste the exposed curve of her neck. My nose inhales her intoxicating scent. So fucking inebriating. I’m getting drunk. Like wine and cigarettes, burning and euphoric.

She writhes under me, whimpering something unintelligible as her legs wrap around my hips, searching for the relief I’ve been promising. Galina won’t get it. Not yet. For as long as my rules stand, I’m the one delivering her submission.

Pushing off the sofa, I strip, tossing my clothes aside with each item. One by one. My belt. Shirt. Shoes. Pants.

She watches, eyes flaring wide and filling with hungry lust, looking gorgeous and debauched spread out before me on the sofa, her nipples hard and glistening from my tongue, her hands twitching to touch and explore. But I won’t let her. Not until she pleads for her own satisfaction.

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