Page 55 of Mafia Crown

I don’t even have time to react. One second, I’m standing there, heart hammering, breath shallow. The next, I’m pinned against the wall, his body pressing into mine, his hands gripping my waist with enough force to bruise.

This isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet.

It’s fire and fury. Heat and possession.

I don’t stop him. I should—I should push him away, should fight back. But I don’t.

I kiss him back just as hard.

A growl rumbles low in his throat as he drags me from the wall, moving us toward the bed. His hands are rough, claiming, sliding up my sides, fingers slipping beneath my sweater. He yanks it over my head and tosses it aside.

I barely get a breath before his hands are back on me, his mouth pressing against my throat, his teeth grazing my skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost dangerous.

I don’t.

I grip his shirt, yanking it over his head. My hands trail across his chest, over all the ink and his breath grows still before a whoosh comes out. I’ve never felt more powerful. His control is unraveling.

I want it to unravel.

The bed is behind me before I realize we’ve moved. Kieran shoves me back onto the mattress, his body covering mine in an instant, a force of possession and power. His weight crushes me into the sheets, his hands trapping mine above my head like iron shackles. There’s no escape—not that I want one.

“You’re mine right now,” he growls, voice like gravel, thick with something dangerous.

A shiver rolls through me, sharp and electric.

I should fight. Push back. Challenge him. But the moment his mouth crashes onto mine, all reason vanishes. He devours me, tongue tangling with mine, demanding submission. Heat ignites low in my stomach, a deep, aching pull. I’ve been with men before, but right now they seem like little boys, I’ve never felt anything like the strength of Kieran. His hands roam my body with a punishing grip—bruising, claiming, leaving invisible marks that I’ll feel for days. He’s not asking for permission. He’s not waiting for surrender. He’s taking.

And I let him.

Charlie’s sudden bark shatters the moment, making both of us snap our heads toward him. Kieran reacts instantly, pushing off me in a single, fluid motion. His sharp command has Charlie trotting toward the bathroom, tail low but obedient, and with a swift movement, Kieran shuts the door behind him, locking the dog inside.

As he turns back to me, his bare chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, he drags both hands through his thick, dark hair. The muscles in his arms flex, tension coiling through his frame, his tattoos shifting like living shadows over his skin. I take the chance to drink him in—the sharp cut of his jaw, the ink that snakes across his biceps and disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, the way his eyes darken as they flick to me.

I should stop this. I know I should.

But tomorrow is tomorrow, and I have no idea what it will bring.

Right now, with Kieran standing there, fire burning between us, stopping feels impossible.

Kieran leans over me, his weight braced on his forearms, his body a wall of heat and tension. Ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, unblinking, unreadable, and I swear my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. The air between us is thick, charged, every breath stretched tight like a drawn wire.

I reach up, my fingers tracing along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath my touch. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lean into it, just watches me with that same unwavering intensity, like he’s memorizing every move I make.

Seconds pass, the silence filled with nothing but our breathing, the faint thud of my pulse in my ears. Then, without warning, he claims my mouth again. His lips crash into mine with a force that steals the air from my lungs, his body pressing against me as if he can’t stand even an inch of distance.

There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing careful. His hands slide over my skin, firm, possessive, as his mouth takes and takes, like he’s starving for something only I can give. A deep sound rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me, and I don’t know if it’s frustration or need—maybe both.

I should stop this.

I don’t.

Instead, I pull him closer, my fingers digging into his shoulders, into the solid muscle beneath inked skin. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but right now, I don’t care.

Kieran’s fingers slide along the band of my trousers and before I can think clearly, he’s pulling them down my thighs. I shimmy helping him get them off. He’s hands are back on my skin, gripping, claiming. My fingers fumble with his belt, tugging it free as he shoves his jeans down his legs, urgency fueling every motion.

The second I’m bare beneath him, he’s there, pressing me back into the mattress, his weight sinking into me like he belongs there. His mouth crashes back to mine, stealing my breath, swallowing the soft sounds escaping me as he shifts, knee pressing between my thighs, opening me up for him.

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