Page 49 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

The force of his fucking is enough to make my back curl, to make me arch my hips even more in an effort to give him better, deeper access.

“Right there,” I moan. “Please.”

His finger finds my center again. My orgasm is instantaneous. My body clenches around him hard as Dima moans through my convulsing. “You’re so tight. Fuck.”

I push my hips back against him to meet each savage thrust. “Come inside me,” I beg.

Dima’s fingers dig into my flesh as he starts to roar. “Arya…”

Before he can finish, I slide off of him and collapse on my belly. Dima slides his aching length between my ass again and it only takes two thrusts before I feel him empty himself on my lower back.

I like being marked by him.

I like smelling like Dima, tasting him, feeling him inside and outside of me.

A desperate thought crosses my mind: can I live without this for the rest of my life?

And the answer is just as instantaneous. Just as troubling.

I don’t fucking know.

17

Dima

Arya is still asleep when I crawl out of bed.

It’s late. Just before three in the morning, judging by the old grandfather clock in the hall. I pad silently out into the main living space.

Somehow, I’m not surprised when I see Ilyasov.

He’s sitting in the reading nook by the window, smoking a cigarette. Shirtless, so the faint moonlight trickling in catches the gold chain around his neck and illuminates his endless tattoos.

He exhales a cloud of smoke into the night and then speaks without looking at me. “I had a feeling you’d be joining me.”

“Cut the spooky shit, Ilya,” I snap. I walk over to him and lean against the wall.

He fixes me with a lazy glance, then goes back to smoking his cigarette. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I should be asking you the same question.”

“I never sleep anymore, brother. If I do, it’s with one eye open. You never know when the people you love will betray you. You know that better than anyone, don’t you?”

I grit my teeth. “Are you talking about our ancient past or my recent past?”

He chuckles. “You tell me.”

I crack my knuckles and lapse into silence. Ilyasov was all smiles when Arya and I arrived. The consummate, brotherly host.

Now, he’s returned to the way he was when I first saw in him in Chicago, what feels like a lifetime ago.

Jagged. Haunted. Grim.

It doesn’t bode well for me.

He leans back against the wall as he stubs out his cigarette. “So,sobrat,have you considered your next move?”

“That depends. Are you reneging on our deal again?”

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