Page 89 of Brutal Vows

“Bratva bravado? Hmm, I like that.”

He trails kisses down my neck, lifting my inner arm to his lips, kissing me in little places I never knew ignited lust. He urges me onto my stomach and brushes my hair away to have access to my neck, my back, making his way down my spine. Every part of me is alight with sensual sparks, and the lower he goes, the more intense they become.

When he leans back and pulls me onto my hands and knees, I’m ready, and this time, he enters me just as gently, but it’s different. Coming from behind, his piercings rub my g-spot and it’s so intense, I feel myself falling in with his rhythm, chasing the deepening sensation. His hand is in my hair, gripping me close at the base of my skull. He doesn’t pull, but it’s as if the carnal command is there: his body, dominating mine, demanding my pleasure, unhooking me from the paradigms that keep me leashed in my mind. I pant helplessly, arching my back so he can ride me harder, feel the friction deeper, cresting. He lets go of my hair, his fingers curving around my neck as his lips ghost over my temple, breath spilling over me. “Come for me, Milana. I feel you’re right there.”

The command is soft but said with such authority that I crash into release, my body flooding with a high I’ve never experienced before. In this moment, I’ve somehow given myself completely to him, no longer attuned to my thoughts, only to my body and to his, the explosive pleasure he’s guided me to.

I didn’t know I was capable of this. Again, he freezes, cursing softly as if in a trance, but the strain in his arm which is circling my waist, the slight pressure from his other hand on my throat, tells me he’s on the edge. He grips me just tight enough to intensify my release, but not to choke me.

He breathes, and it’s as if with every inhale and exhale, he counts himself backwards from the ledge. When he slowly pulls out, our bodies are sticky with sweat, his mouth is back on my skin, his hands are hauling me up and turning my head to meet his desperate, erotic kisses.

“Fuck, Milana…princess.”

My prince. My Mafia madman who has been everything I never expected in a man. How did he stumble into my life?

All I want is to reciprocate, to have him at my mercy and make him come. I twist around in his arms and we’re kneeling, facing each other. I lean into him, and he is so gentle as he holds me close, kissing me with reverence now. I reach for his cock where it is straining against my body, long, hard, studded with piercings that amplified the desire kindled by my own.

“I didn’t— It’s never— I have never come twice like this before,” I murmur against him as he cups my cheeks, kissing me now as if there’s no tomorrow.

“Let me make you come once more,” he whispers.

“Let me make you come,” I whisper back, caressing the silken skin on his cock and then fisting it tight.

“Ah, fuck, it won’t take much. I’m living on the edge,” he says, that smile back in this voice.

And as I stroke him, I kiss him too, down his neck to his pecs, splaying wider as I sink down on my knees. His fingers drive into my hair, but I’m now licking and sucking at his nipple, replicating what he did to me. My mouth finds a path of its own, and I’m kissing the lone tattoo on his inner forearm.

This. This is what’s in his blood. To love. To provide. To care. Luca doesn’t judge; he wants to straighten my skewed world and complete it. My throat constricts, and I kiss him with more reverence, this man who is putting everything on the line for his arranged-marriage wife who comes complete with another man’s child. I still don’t understand why he’s doing it, if not for the fabric of his soul, the bricks of his bones, the fibers of his heart.

His heart. His beautiful, honest, lonely heart. It beats so fervently where I’ve rested my palm against it, calming me, giving me the peace I haven’t found for months. Tonight, I’ll sleep. Finally in his arms. Safe. And tomorrow, we will conquer the world.

He stills as I kiss him, and something between us shifts. When his hands slip away from my body and he leans back, eyes closed, he’s gifting himself to me to do as I please. His amazing body has been, from the first moment we met, and touched, and kissed, the constant visual siphoning into my veins like an aphrodisiac. I could kiss him for days. He is pure perfection, Michelangelo’s David, and I’m the one to taste him in the flesh.

I make him drop to the bed and let my lips and tongue slide over and tease his cock, playing with his piercings, dipping my mouth deep and then gently coming back up.

He whimpers, groans, sighs, lets me toy with him. Then he arches into my mouth, takes hold of my head, fucking me, guiding me, but not going too far or too deep. I’m pulsing again with need, and as if he senses it, he brings my head up, pulls me to his mouth and kisses me.

“On your back, princess. Open for me, wide as you can.”

I do as I’m told, being everything I can for this man who is unlocking every layer in me, going deeper, finding more with each door that opens. This time, when he drives into me, I feel almost raw with need, so sensitive, but also already climbing to the point where I want to jump and soar.

“One last time. Look how perfect you are,” he murmurs as he gazes down to where we’re connected, me swollen and wet, his cock thick and hard as he thrusts into me. The visual is so sensual in the soft light. “Can you take a bit more? A bit harder?”

I moan as he demonstrates just what he means, and I reach for his jaw, his chin, his lips. “Yes. More. Give me everything.”

He sucks my fingers into his mouth and it’s wet and sloppy but such a fucking turn-on as he grinds into me, sweat gathering at his temples, concentration etched in lines on his face.

“Fuck, Luca,” I choke, cresting again, and this time, he doesn’t hold back, not letting me tip alone into bliss.

He thrusts hard into me, his raw masculine power seized by every ripple of my orgasm. His face is strained, every tendon in his neck taut as he finally gives in but pulls out at the last second to pulse his release onto my stomach.

“Fuck,” he mutters, still straining.

As he comes down and slumps his head forward, I reach up for him, over the galloping beats of his heart, curving my fingers around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Almost got a bit carried away there,” he murmurs. His voice grows even softer as he leans into me to kiss me, spreading the mess between us. I only catch a few words between hot kisses. Bewitched. Making me lose my mind…Jesus. “I didn’t bother with a condom.”

I didn’t even think about it, too caught up in the moment. I haven’t even had a period since giving birth. Not sure if it was the stress of my situation, and my anxiety-riddled attempt at breastfeeding that failed, but I’m not myself yet. “It’s okay.”