Page 83 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Bastard.” Her back arches as she clutches the sheet so hard her knuckles go white. Another shudder rips through her, sweat sheening her body.

“Your bastard,” I say, because those words fit a truth that’s dug deep into my bones.

I’ll show her just how true that is, no matter how long it takes.

Despite the storm raging between us, I pull back from her trembling body. Rising to my knees, I pull my shirt over my head and shove my jeans down. My cock springs free. I grip my shaft, stroking the throbbing, aching length.

She parts her legs, wanting me.

I refuse to give her what she wants, keeping the head just out of reach.

Her mouth is as flushed as the rest of her. When her pink tongue darts out and drags along her parted lips, I curse and drag her gently to the edge of the bed. Positioning my cock at her entrance, I push in with a slow thrust, a low groan torn from my throat. The intense heat grips my cock like a fucking vise.

“No, Galina,” I grind out, biting back another curse when her muscles tense around me.

She stills her rocking hips, lifting her head to blink up at me.

My hand lifts, gripping her chin. “Patience. Wait for me.”

The wide jade eyes stare up at me. She seems surprised by the scolding, but the glint in those gorgeous green irises is telling, daring me to take her, to get rougher.

“Hold onto the sheets,” I tell her, settling the comforter more firmly in her grasp. “And don’t let go.”

Galina digs her nails into the fabric, anchoring herself to the mattress. As a reward, I flex my hips and give her a deep, long stroke. She keens, the high sound broken and glorious. I repeat the motion, her fiery glare giving way to a pleasured desperation. Our bodies collide in a rhythm of aching grace, my mind fixed on one single goal—to see how long I can stretch out our lovemaking. This woman brings out my possessive nature, awakening urges I don’t recall feeling before.

This time, though, I plan on being gentle. For her sake. So I can prove we’re worth this.

Then she moans a request, and the struggle begins again.

“Harder.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

I curse. “Ask properly.”

“Fuck me hard, Vasiliy. Please.”

Grunting, I adjust my pace. Now I’m focused, because her last request is a danger to my hard work. This is supposed to be sweet, not an unexpected sex fest in the middle of the afternoon. When her muscles grip me tight and shudder, I hold back, withdrawing almost completely to make her need it all over again.

“Oh, yes,” she whispers, relaxing against me.

I stop moving entirely and exhale, reining myself in. All I want is to forget about her injuries and pounce, take her while she’s unhinged and desperate for me. But that can’t happen, not when she’s still recovering. Not now. Maybe someday soon, she’ll wake up demanding raw and rough play, begging for everything I am and have.

“Vasiliy,” Galina demands, opening her legs as wide as they’ll go. Her words are filled with frustration.

When she wriggles her hips, I pause long enough to pin her wrists in place. She surrenders with a whimper, leaning back and letting me pound away.

I’ll stop if necessary. But I think a change of speed is allowed.

Tension crackles between us. We rock together faster, deeper, each stroke building. Her orgasm comes a moment later. When her inner muscles clench around me, and her head tilts back, eyes rolling in her head, the sight shoves me off the cliff too.

Pleasure blindsides me. Gritting my teeth, I grip her hips tightly and flood her with my seed, marking her forever. And that’s all it takes for my heart to burst. Overwhelmed by the truth of our shared existence, my face sinks into the curve of her neck, lips skimming soft, fragrant skin.

Our bodies speak a language of scars and survival, each touch a confession neither of us could voice. This isn’t some pure, untainted love; it’s forged in blood and gunpowder, in the spaces between bullets and betrayal. Every kiss brands promises into our skin: no more running, no more loneliness, no more fighting our demons alone.

We crash together like storm-dark waves against jagged rocks, two lethal forces finding salvation in destruction. What others see as broken, we recognize as battle-tested—every scar, every shadow in our souls clicking into place like the pieces of a weapon. Our love isn’t clean or safe. It’s razor-sharp edges fitting perfectly against each other’s wounds, a fusion of steel and gunmetal that makes us deadlier together than apart.

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