Page 58 of Crystal Wrath
I thrust into her, burying myself to the hilt. Her head falls back, a broken moan spilling from her lips. Her walls clench around me, slick and hot, and I have to fight to keep control.
I begin to move slowly at first, dragging out every stroke, then faster, deeper, until the bed shakes, and the air is thick with moans and the scent of sex. I kiss her again, swallowing every gasp, every cry.
“You feel like heaven,” I groan against her lips. “Like you were made to take me.”
She lifts her hips to meet every thrust, matching me stroke for stroke. Her body knows mine. It’s as if we were built for this chaos and rhythm, for violence and tenderness. Every part of her responds to me, every gasp and moan feeds the beast inside me.
“You belong to me,” I whisper into her ear, thrusting harder, deeper. “Say it.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, tighter. Her body arches beneath me, pleasure building again in her eyes, in the way her breath catches.
“Say it, Elena,” I growl, one hand fisting the sheets beside her head.
“I belong to you,” she gasps, and the words tear me open.
I lose control. I fuck her harder, faster, with everything I’ve been holding in. Every fear. Every ache. Every dark, broken piece of myself she’s somehow made new. I pound into her, chasing our shared oblivion.
Her second orgasm hits like a storm, her body clenching around me, drawing me deeper. She cries out, voice hoarse. That’s all it takes.
I come with a deep, guttural groan, burying myself inside her, spilling into her with a violent release that leaves me shaking. I thrust through it, claiming every last second of her, marking her in the most primal way.
We collapse into each other, breathless and shaking, sweat cooling on our skin. Her heart pounds against mine, fast and wild. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, anchoring her to me as the aftershocks roll through us both.
I roll us onto our sides, her body still wrapped around mine, her head resting on my chest. I stroke her back and feel the tremble in her fingers as they trace over my ribs.
“Renat…” she starts.
“I know,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hair.
But even as I hold her, as I breathe her in, I know this isn’t enough. It will never be enough. Because I can’t lose her. I can’t let her go. She’s become everything. My weakness, my obsession, my sanctuary.
And in my world, that kind of love doesn’t come without consequences.
But I’ll burn it all down before I let her be taken from me. Even if it costs us everything.
20
RENAT
I stand over the broken body of Luca Moretti, his gray suit spattered with blood, as his final breath leaves him. The night air in the warehouse swirls with dust and the acrid tang of gunpowder. I tilt my head to the side, letting the echoes of that single shot fade into the cavernous space, then turn toward Sergey.
“Search him,” I command, my voice low and steady. “Find the keys to his index card case and the phone.”
Sergey kneels beside the corpse, his scarred hands moving with detached familiarity. Blood pools beneath Luca's head, seeping into the cracks of the concrete floor. The metallic scent mingles with the warehouse's perpetual mustiness, creating an atmosphere of death and decay.
He retrieves a slim envelope of keys and a smartphone, one of many Luca used to coordinate Bennato's schemes. The phone is still warm from his pocket. Its screen is cracked but functional. I take it from Sergey's grasp and switch it on, scanning the text messages already streaming across the screen.
Bennato's plans unfold before me in digital fragments. An art heist at the Rothchild Gallery. A masterpiece snatched under the nose of every security camera in Miami. The woman behind the gallery, Celine Boucher, is embedded deep in the operation. She is Bennato's girlfriend and the key to accessing the most valuable pieces in the collection. Her involvement makes this personal for him, which means it becomes personal for me as well.
I scroll through the messages, my jaw clenching as I read the details. Bennato has been planning this for months, using Celine's position to map out security protocols and identify the most valuable targets. The arrogance of it all, thinking he can continue to operate as if I’m not going to end his miserable life. He underestimates what happens when someone threatens what belongs to me.
I tuck the phone into the inside pocket of my tailored jacket, then retrieve Luca's card case. Its leather cover is monogrammed in gold with the initials L.M. Inside, there are index cards scrawled with dates, times, and gallery floor plans, as well as security rosters. Luca's handwriting is cramped and hurried but legible enough to decipher the intricate details of the planned heist.
Each card represents hours of surveillance and planning. Guard rotations, camera blind spots, entry and exit points. The level of detail is impressive. Bennato may be my enemy, but he's never been stupid. That's what makes him dangerous. That's also what will make destroying him so satisfying.
“Get rid of the body,” I order, stepping back from the spreading pool of blood. “Remove every trace of him before dawn.”
Sergey nods, already reaching for the gasoline canisters we keep stored in the warehouse's darker corners. The flameswill consume Luca's remains, leaving nothing but ashes and memories. In this business, disappearances are more effective than discoveries. Questions lead to investigations, and investigations lead to complications we can't afford.
