Mafia Romance
Page 131
“You like your men bad.”
“I like you bad.”
“No one is ever going to take you from me again,” he says into my ear, nibbling along the outer rim. “If anyone tries, they’ll end up just like Vasili. You’re mine, and once I knock you up and put a ring on that finger, everyone will know.”
I gasp at those words, and the way he fucks me harder as he says them. All that hard, coiled muscle that so easily ended men’s lives put to use hammering me, making my ass quake, making me struggle to keep steady under his assault. Those hands of his hold my hair taut, and he squeezes my tit as he takes possession of me.
“I am never letting you go now,” he growls into my ear loudly as his thrusts drown out softer words. “Any offer to let you go is rescinded, kotika, you’re mine. Now and forever,” he declares, slapping my ass again, harder this time, making me cry out. His powerful hands make their every touch and squeeze felt upon my flesh.
He’s like fire, marking me wherever he touches, wherever his flesh presses into mine, burning himself into me, and I love it.
His words, dark as they are, excite me, and my pussy tightens around his cock, begging him to do just that. To come in me, to mark me inside and out once more. Every thrust brings me closer to oblivion, but when his hand frees my breast and instead moves to my throbbing clit, I cry out. My knees are quaking, and the way he’s rubbing me… I’m bound to lose control.
But his firm hand is on my hip, holding me up, protecting me from falling and giving me a silent permission to come all over his dick.
“That’s it,” he growls, and though he’s still hammering me hard, I can feel myself tightening up around his dick, his manhood swelling within me in return, the sheer tightness of our mutual grasp slowing his pace. “You’re going to come on my cock, and I’m going to plant a seed in your belly that’ll mark you as mine for all to see,” he says, his voice rising into a louder and louder roar with each new thrust.
“Come for me!” he bellows, and I feel him swell again, that shaft straining to such an impossible size within me.
It’s too much. Even if I wanted to, I can’t hold back a second longer, and as he thrusts into me a final time, I’m crashing over the edge into eternity. It’s bliss. It’s stupid, passionate, over-the-top bliss in a way I never knew a woman could feel. I had no idea sex could be like this, but he’s opened me up to something new and different, and there’s no going back.
Not now, not ever. Not from his body, not from his deadly hands, not from the way he makes me feel.
He’s made me into someone I never knew I could be, someone I’m actually happy to be. So maybe he just found the real me and teased it to the surface.
Whatever he did, I’m left panting and squealing as he pounds into me, making me take every inch of his cock as he shoots his seed into me.
He holds nothing back, thrusting against me even as his cock remains lodged deep within me, pounding me against the wall as he groans and moans. That big, hard column of velvety steel blowing thick, creamy ropes of come deep into my waiting depths.
We both lose all grasp of words and language, lost to our pleasured moans as the lust boiling within our veins explodes into such passion, until at last, his dick spurts its remainder within me, and he’s pressing me flatly between the shower wall and his hard chest.
“Good girl,” he husks into my ear before kissing me softly, the water still flowing hotly around us even as his thick girth remains lodged deep within me.
His tenderness is so welcome after our rough sex, and I nuzzle into him, enjoying his praise. It’s strange to have seen so many different sides of this man, sides I’m sure he’s never shown anyone else. And I know he’s seen parts of me that I’ve kept hidden.
“Mikhail,” I whisper, but my word is lost to the pitter patter of the shower, the warm water washing us clean of what we’ve just done.
The roughness of our lovemaking flows so seamlessly into the tender embrace we share now, like the water that runs over our flesh. His thick arms wrapping around me, his mouth finding mine, only the coarseness of his stubble adding any roughness to the moment as his tongue delves deep into my mouth.
We stand like that for so long in the shower, until finally, he softens enough to tug easily from my folds, and he reaches over, grasping some soap and bringing it to my shoulder blades. This killer’s tender, loving hands carefully work away the sweat, blood, and dirt of the hardest day in my life so far.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and he smiles at me, as if he weren’t wiping away the stains of my torture. He acts so pure, so innocent, even though I know he’s not. He’s a cold-blooded killer, after all. But he’s more than that too, isn’t he?
He takes hold of my arms, so thin and slender compared to his thick forearms and bulging biceps. With such tender care, he cleans my rope-burnt wrists, peppering my lips and face with kisses as he moves from one appendage to the other, slowly taking care to clean me from top to bottom. Cupping my breasts one at a time, soaping them up and rinsing away the foam.
Then at last, when he’s done and he seeks to bring the soap to his own body, I interrupt him. Reaching out to wriggle my slender fingers into his grasp and take the bar of soap to do for him what he did for me.
It’s not purely selfless. I love the way his ribbed muscles press into my soapy fingers, and I feel out the deep crevices and beautiful hills of his body. He’s masculine perfection, his body honed in that gym where we first made love, and on the job where he’s saved my life repeatedly, and I’m fascinated by him.
Even as the water grows cooler and goosebumps arise on both our bodies, we don’t want to part. We don’t want anything to disturb this perfect, tranquil moment that’s stretched out between us. He takes the brunt of the cold on his back as my fingers trail down, finding his masculinity, letting the soap cleanse him of my feminine scent.
Despite our recent lovemaking and the chill water spraying his backside, he stiffens in my grasp. That hefty cock in my palm throbbing bigger, thicker, its veiny surface expanding until at last, he’s more than clean and he shuts off the shower.
“Here,” he says, reaching out of the shower to pluck up a towel and wrapping it around me. He’s still dripping, but he picks me up in his arms, carrying me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom nearby. He doesn’t give a damn about the trail of water we leave behind, but he lays me down on the edge of the bed and slowly towels me off before using it on himself. And I get the added joy of watching him stand before me, half-erect, wiping away glistening moisture from his ripped physique.
It feels like the calm after a storm, everything feeling so electric and fresh, and when he tosses the towel aside, I reach for him. I want to feel his weight on mine, to become one again.
“You’re gorgeous,” I say as I look him up and down, drinking in his scars, his beautiful tattoos, his rugged masculinity. I want to lick him all over, to taste his clean flesh, to make him feel good.
He places one knee upon the bed then lifts me up, laying me down in the middle of the mattress before lowering himself over me. Despite all that thick, hard muscle weighing him down, he holds himself up with ease, kissing my lips, my face, my neck, letting his free hand roam over my breasts and torso.
This time, unlike our rough and hard fuck in the shower, he’s gentle and slow, even though I feel his dick so hard and pulsating, pressing along my smooth inner thighs. Mikhail’s rock-hard and throbbing with need for me again already, but he takes his time, exploring my newly cleansed body as if discovering it for the first time all over again.
I feel naked, but not in the physical way, even though I am. It’s like he’s reached into my core and sees me as I really am, all the flaws I try to hide, and simply accepts them. Usually, being naked comes with a sense of vulnerability, but he makes it feel something so much deeper than that.
I watch as his tongue trails along my hip bone, leaving a little roadway of saliva that quickly dries away, and then he kisses closer to my sex
and I shiver. I’m already so sensitive from my earlier orgasm, and now, he’s so near to the source of that torturous delight.
Mikhail fucked me. Came in me. Then cleaned me again. And now here he is, his lips kissing my labia as his tongue lashes out against my sensitive clit. Lifting and guiding me through the whole process.
To be his is to feel the epitome of vulnerability and security all at once. This big, broad-shouldered brute hunches down, licking at my freshly cleaned slit, his muscles rippling as he pushes my thighs apart. The swirl of his tongue around my tiny clit so torturously skillful.
My back arches and for a second I think I’m going to twitch and hurt him, but then I remember it’s Mikhail. I can’t hurt him. It’s like he reads my thoughts, because he grips my thighs harder, making sure I know that he’s the one in control, even as he pampers me with his mouth.
“Oh god,” I gasp, clutching the blankets as my entire body grows warmer. I lose all my thoughts, all my hesitations, all my insecurities as he lavishes me with attention.
There he is, this older man, made of muscle and determination, carrying the scars of a harsh life, using all his power to hold me down and please me. To keep me in place as he takes his time, taking a taste of me. And the way he does it never made it seem for one moment like it’s anything but his desire to drink me in and have every bit of me that pushed him to do this.
Mikhail has to have me. All of me. All to himself. But not like some rich man hoards his gold, no. It isn’t just enough to have me, he has to experience every facet of me. Savor me. And that’s what it looks like as I watch him eat me out, his head moving, a low, guttural growl rumbling from out of his broad chest to hum through his lips and he tongues against my slit.
Even though I can’t help but squirm, I’m overcome by the sensuality and the soft pleasure he’s bestowing on me. I lick my lips, but I’m panting so fast that they’re immediately dry again.
“Oh Mikhail,” I moan, my fingers going to his head, entwining in his thick hair as my other hand grips the comforter. “Just like that!”
But he does it as his own pace, torturing me, teasing me along the brink a while until I’m a panting, squirming mess. Only when he’s satisfied with having his fill does he help push me over that ledge I’ve been teetering on, his tongue masterfully swirling around my clit until I’m crying out and gushing with pleasure.
My world goes dark as I feel blind a moment, slumping back onto the bed breathlessly. When I slowly come back to reality, it’s with my dark, rugged lover over me. My ankles are in his hands as he keeps me splayed wide, his dick teasing along my glistening pussy.
“I meant every word I said,” he growls, nudging the thick, purple crown of his manhood against my womanhood. He speaks as he sinks down into me, spearing me on his manhood as his dark voice rumbles with pleasure, “I am going to knock you up and make you my woman for life, kotika.”
“I know,” I manage, but my head is still spinning, and I’d say anything to get him back inside of me. I want his warmth, his touch, inside and out. But it’s not for me to say. He has all the power, all the control, and no matter how much I nudge my hips towards him, I know he won’t take me until he can’t stand the temptation any more.
I watch his manhood pulse as I tease, smearing my glistening honey along his cock as he stares at me with such intensity. Is it love? Lust? Both, I know instinctually. The smolder in his dark gaze is communicating with me on a sub-human level, even though he’s never said the words.
He sweeps down slowly and presses his lips to mine, taking my mouth with a deep, passionate kiss. Only then does he push in, spearing me once more, stretching me around his manhood and making me moan all over again, as if it were the very first time. From there, it’s the slow, steady pump of his hips as he claims me anew.
I’m fresh and clean, but he’s making me feel filthy in all the right ways. He’s torturing me with pleasure, and it’s only when I’m screaming and the bed is torn apart by my frantic grasping that he seems to be letting up at all. I feel like I can’t take it anymore, my throbbing clit pressed against his loins, my ankles wrapped around his neck, but he doesn’t relent.
My paler skin meets his hard flesh, his short tangle of dark hair above his shaft tickling my sensitive nub as he pumps into me. It’s torturous! And with how big he is, the strain he puts on my narrow little slit is almost too much to bear, but he draws the moment out, taking his time with me. Slow and sweet.
I’ve been flailing and bunching up blankets around me for some time when I first start screaming out, “I can’t take it!” But he’s still not done with me, even as I feel his dick swell. He’s ravenous, like a mighty warrior savoring his gladiatorial rewards, and he won’t stop until he’s done.
As I feel him near, he reaches out, taking hold of my face, pointing me right towards him as he stares into my eyes so intensely.
“I am going to breed you, my pet,” he husks, his gaze not letting mine wander. “I am going to keep you with me and make you swell with my child. And when you give birth, I’ll plant another seed in your belly…and another…” His gaze grows darker, more intense and I feel him throbbing inside me painfully wide, my poor pink little labia stretched raw and reddish from his long use of me.
Some part of me screams that I shouldn’t let a killer come in me—again—but I shove that voice down, because what he’s saying…
I want that. I want exactly that.
“Yes!” I cry out, “Please, I need it.”
I’m on the cusp of another orgasm, but I do my best to keep it down and watch. Watch the glorious sight of this ripped god pump his dick into me a few final times. See the way his veiny trunk of a cock splits me open, glistening with my honey, until at last, he buries it inside me one final time.
I watch as he tenses, and sinewy muscle bulges across his broad shoulders, over his biceps and down his rocky stomach. Then I witness the glorious sight of this massive brute pump, short little coital pumps, and I’m able to feel him piercing too deep inside, unleashing all that virile seed as far inside me as it’ll go.
And I do it all knowing that each new spurt of his cream was another enhanced guarantee I’d bear this murderer’s child.
That’s the thought that does it, and I can’t hold back anymore. I let loose a scream of pleasure that surpasses all the others and I sink my nails into his bulging forearms, quaking so intensely as I climax upon his dick again, a flood of my slick honey coating his manhood, flooding down around his heavy balls.
When finally we come down from our mutual high, panting for breath and glistening with perspiration, I can’t help but giggle a bit.
“I’m going to need another shower now that you dirtied me all up again,” I tease.
He gives a wry smile and kisses me sweetly, grabbing up the towel from the floor and using it to cup our loins as he pulls from me, keeping our blissful mess from spilling out. That tender little act is just one among many, but it touches me deeply as he pulls me into him with his arm, holding me to his chest as he tugs the blankets up around us.
“Worry about showers later, kotika,” he says gruffly, turning off the bedside light. “For now, you and me need to rest,” he says.
I know he’s right, and after… how many orgasms? I’m exhausted. All the pain of earlier, the aches in my wrists and leg return, though they’re duller now, numbed by our mutual pleasure.
“That was amazing,” I purr as I curl into his chest, my fingers lazily stroking the bed of hair there.
“You were amazing, little kotika,” he says in a deep gruff.
“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice faltering as hoarseness takes over. “Kotika?”
“Kitty cat,” he explains patiently. “You are my little kotika,” he says, and though it’s dark now, I can feel his smile.
My heart’s still pumping even as he idly strokes my hair, and I wonder if I’ll ever calm down enough to get to sleep. But it doesn’t take us long before we’re both out, the exhaustin
g day claiming us both in a deep sleep.
When I wake up, it has to be a whole new day, because I feel like I’ve slept for an eternity, but the orange glow of evening sunset spills into the room. We must’ve slept for nearly a full twenty four hours!
But that’s not the truly alarming thing—what strikes me is the sight of Mikhail sat on the edge of the bed, phone to his ear.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but he holds up a hand to silence me.
“Get dressed,” he says tersely, and I see the seriousness in his eyes. “Now.”
Mikhail
Nikki’s voice still rings in my ears.
“Gregor knows everything. He knows you hid the girl, that you killed Vasili…I’ve never seen him so angry, Mikhail. And the way he looked at me? He’s gonna be gunning for everyone you’ve ever cared for, if that’s what it takes to get to you,” she’d said.
I’d told her to go into hiding, given her the address for my old safehouse in New York, the one I’d taken Alicia to originally, in case she can’t get any further in time. But nobody is safe anymore. Not with me around.
“What’s wrong?” Alicia asks me, pulling me out of my own head as we get ready, and I head to the closet, pulling out a shirt, pants, and jacket. She’s listening to me now, getting dressed, and I know she must realize how serious this is. She’s fought me on everything else so far, but now she’s being obedient. It somehow hurts to see that, and know it’s my fault.
“Somehow, Gregorovich knows I spared you, kept you safe, and killed Vasili,” I say as evenly as I can, but we have to go.
“Who’s Gregorovich?”
“One of the biggest bosses in New York.”
“Wait… was that the other Russian guy Vasili was talking to on the phone while he was torturing me?” she asks, fear quaking her voice.
Shit. So that was it.
“I guess that’s how he overheard it all when you came to rescue me,” she says, and she’s right.