Page 104 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

It’s so much. Too much.

And yet, I want more.

I slide my hand between my legs as Dima moans in my ear, “Get ready to come for me,krasavitsa.”

I’m paralyzed with the next thrust—and then my legs start to shake. Dima doesn’t stop. Neither do I. Even as my stomach clenches and my muscles start to contract, I climb higher and higher.

Then the dam breaks.

“I’m coming,” I cry. I’m squeezing every ounce of me so tight that I’m worried I might snap his length off inside of me.

“I’m close,” he pants. “So fucking close.”

I stroke my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and whisper, “Come with me. Fill me up.”

Dima shakes to an orgasm, kissing my shoulder blades and my spine as he erupts again and again inside me.

When he finishes, he lifts me off of him and lays me down on the bed next to him. We curl against each other, sweaty and utterly wrecked.

So many times over the last few months, we’ve been on different pages. But today, we were a team. In and out of bed, we were in sync.

“You’re mykrasavitsa,” Dima whispers in my ear like something out of a dream. “My queen. Never forget that, Arya.”

37

Arya

After we make love, Dima and I fall asleep. I wake up a few hours later and sneak over to check on Lukas. It’s early in the morning, so he’s sleeping soundly. I sit next to the crib to stare at my precious baby boy—and wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do.

I have our passports, so if we wanted to, we could leave. The only reason I stayed before was to get Lukas back. The only reason I helped Dima try to get his Bratva back from his brother was so I could find and save Lukas.

Well, he’s found. He’s saved. So what now? Why are we still here in Dima’s mansion?

The obvious answer sits in my stomach like a rock.

Because I don’t want to leave Dima.

Fuck. It feels like I’ve thought myself in circles so many times I can see the worn tracks in my mind.

I love Dima, but he’s dangerous, so I have to leave him, but I can’t leave him because I love him. And around and around it goes, irritating and endless. I’m getting pretty damn sick of it.

I feel a presence behind me and turn around to see Dima, huge and shirtless. I press my finger to my lips to signal we shouldn’t talk too loud.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

I shrug. “I slept some.”

“I know. You drooled on me.”

“I absolutely did not!”

Dima chuckles. I feel it as much as I hear it—a warm, pleasant rumble in my bones. Why do the simplest of his mannerisms make me feel like this? He winks and I melt. He smiles and I evaporate. He laughs and every cell in my body laughs along with him.

“So what’s next?” I ask, eager to change the subject.

“I throw you over my shoulder, carry you back to bed, and fuck you until you can’t walk right.”

I smack him on the shoulder, although my cheeks are burning and my thighs are tingling at the thought. “I’m serious. What’s the next trial? We should start preparing for it as soon as possible, right? Is it just whoever completes the trial first or what happens if—”

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