Page 98 of Impenitent Claim

I jackknifed as far as the restraints would allow.

The blast of pleasure was so intense that it was painful. I groaned and tried to twist away. The damn silicone egg was on the highest setting! Ilya was relentless. His hard grip pinned both thighs open as he continued to brush the toy against my clit.

Isquirmedunder the delicious torment. When I took care of myself, I kept it on the low setting, kept my touch featherlight, and barely flicked my clit for more than a second.

Ilya pressed the toy into my slit, rubbing it up and down without mercy. Every muscle in my frame tightened under the onslaught.

And then he reached up to tweak my nipple. I whimpered. It was too much, his attention on me was too much. I was so close to exploding.Fuck—it wouldn’t take much. Panting hard, I rolled my hips slightly, unsure if it was to escape or embrace the torment.

Embrace—definitely embrace.

It was a lot, but now that the initial shock was gone, my body managed to take everything offered. I bit down on the edges of the cloth in my mouth, not even caring what he’d shoved in there, as I began to move in a rhythm to the pressure. I expected Ilya to see me surrendering, to understand that I was accepting his game, and that he would loosen his hold enough for me to rock in a more natural motion.

Without warning, the toy was gone.

Ilya broke the cord holding me to the bed. His hot breath fanned against my ear. “Next time, siren, push the hugger away.”

The bed shifted, the spectre moving again.

I lay still for a minute, desperate to know what he would do next. I strained my ears. Was that the whisper of clothing falling to the ground? He would no sooner slide inside me than I would explode.

The sound of the windowpane made me bolt upright. By the time I untangled my hands and pushed up the eye mask, the rotten ghost was gone!

He left me thoroughly turned on, with only myself to relieve the tension. Incensed, I chucked the vibrator across the room.

Chapter 37 – Ilya

The strains of music filled the theater. The heads of the Rinaldi Mafia seemed serene as they watched the stage. The music was composed by one of Russia’s greatest talents, but the notes were new to me. The soldiers of the Vlasov Bratva did not spend their free time in cultured events such as theater, opera, or ballet. Dimitri and Kazimir had developed a recent taste for the arts due to the women in their lives—and Luka never missed an opportunity to tag along. But that was just because the little shit liked to pick the pockets of the wealthy. It was a game to him.

This was where the Italian mobs differed. They wore their wealth. They polished their appearance. They moved amongst the upper echelons of society.

Even when their captains were falling like dominos.

If I hadn’t been summoned to guard a paranoid underboss, the last of the five original capos would be dead already. Well, no matter. He wouldn’t survive the night, no matter how many goons he’d ordered to act as guards.

Neither would the underboss.

It was as if Tullio sensed his time was coming to an end. He shifted in his seat.

That’s right, old man. Do you feel death? He’s waiting in the shadows, he’s nodding to me, he’s impatient for me to strike you down.

While it would be difficult, given the increased security measures the underboss had taken, it wouldn’t be impossible.

Don Aldo raised two fingers, wiggling them in the universal signal to come. A soldier moved to his boss, but then a finger pointed at me.

Sighing at the outright rudeness of conducting business while the beautiful swan struggled against the evil witch on stage, I moved to the don’s side and knelt.

“Signor Bruno?” I whispered.

“I would like you to come with me to the house tonight,” the don said, not quietly enough for my liking.

I nodded slowly. This was a new twist. The pair of beady eyes boring an uneasy glance in my direction confused me more. Did Tullio not know what his boss wanted me for? The pair were as thick as thieves so the fact that there were any secrets between them was surprising.

“Of course, sir,” I clipped.

“It’s time we discuss the steps to your initiation into the family,” the don continued, his words an insult to the dancers who’d no doubt worked hard their whole lives to glide on their tippy toes across the stage.

“I look forward to it,” I lied.

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