Page 82 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Come on,” I say, rougher than I mean to. “Bed.”

She lets out a soft, surprised giggle—light, real—and buries her face in my neck. “Only if you promise not to make me rest.”

I huff a laugh. “Wasn’t planning on sleeping,lisichka.”

The word slips out before I can stop it. I freeze.

I told her I wouldn’t call her that anymore.

But she doesn’t flinch.

Instead, she lifts her head, eyes warm and steady. “I like when you say it,” she says softly, catching the moment in my face. “You don’t have to stop.”

Something shifts in my chest. Sharp. Light. A little dangerous.

I carry her down the hall, and for the first time in a long time, the pounding in my heart doesn’t feel like a warning.

It feels like joy.

I lay her down like something precious and powerful all at once. She watches me, unflinching. There’s no fear there. No hesitation. Just trust. Trust in me.

And fuck if that doesn’t unravel me completely.

I reach for the hem of her shirt, pausing to meet her gaze.

She nods.

That’s all I need.

I pull the shirt over her head, baring her body to me. She’s wearing nothing but lace panties so sheer they might as well be air. And the sight of her—bruised but unbroken—nearly drops me to my knees.

I drink her in. The curve of her hips. The soft slope of her stomach. Her breasts, full and perfect, the nipples already tight. She’s a map of strength and scars and softness, and every inch is fucking exquisite.

My hands drift across her skin, slow and careful. I trace each bruise, each fading mark, committing them to memory. Each one a sin I’ll make Matvei pay for tenfold.

She reaches up, placing her palm on my chest. “Come here.”

I raise a brow. “We have to be careful. You’re hurt.”

“I want you,” she says, voice breathy. Her fingers trail down my arm, then skim my jaw. “Right now.”

I move above her, claiming her mouth. Every gentle kiss, every tender lick, the way her body responds to my touch—a quiet cry, a press of her hips, her mouth opening on a moan. No room for mistakes, no misunderstandings. For the first time, I feel truly in the moment. No calculations, no schemes. Nothing but a bright, burning heat that sinks into my blood.

A loud groan escapes me when she reaches down and palms the bulge in my pants. The feeling of her slender hands unzipping my fly and freeing my cock sends me closer to the edge. Instead of fucking her, I nuzzle her neck and nip at her jawline. Her soft breath caresses my cheek, and her lovely face is a mix of need and awe. My fingers slip beneath the waistband of her panties, pushing them down to her ankles. I pause to knead the soft skin of her inner thighs.

Spreading her legs further, I find her wet cunt and run the pad of my thumb over her clit. She arches against the mattress, body begging for me. Teasing her slowly, circling her sensitive flesh, I capture her cries and protests in a deep kiss. A sweet agony builds inside me, surging toward release.

When her breathing turns ragged, I kiss my way down her body, claiming every beautiful inch, relishing every quiet gasp and pleading moan.

“Vasiliy, please!” Her hands tighten in my hair, pulling me closer.

I obey, lowering my mouth to her pussy and devouring her. She trembles against my tongue, jerking her hips up to meet my touch. It’s not long until her hands fist in the sheets, her entire body arching, desperate for release. Slipping two fingers inside her hot, slick cunt, I tongue her swollen clit. Heat floods through me at the realization that I’m the one drawing out this rapture, the one wrenching her control and twisting it into need. Fierce possessiveness fills me, echoed by each shuddering gasp and murmured Russian swear.

Then she tenses, her voice breaking around a high-pitched plea.

“Fuck,” she swears, a wild smile lighting her face.

“Fucking sounds good to me.” I chuckle, but I don’t let up.

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