Page 55 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

"Wil, fuck…" I fight the urge to thrust, to take control, allowing her to set the pace. "That feels incredible."

She hums around me, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. Her hands aren't idle, one fondling my balls with gentle pressure while the other works the base of my shaft in rhythm with her mouth. The dual stimulation builds pressure at the base of my spine with alarming speed.

I tug gently at her hair, a warning. "I'm close."

She releases me with a final, lingering lick, looking up with eyes darkened by desire. "I want you inside me."

I lift her easily, laying her on the bed among half-packed clothes that scatter across the sheets, forgotten in our need. I take a moment to remove her remaining clothes, revealing the body that's become more precious to me than any possession or territory. She spreads her thighs in invitation, and I catch my breath at the sight of her pussy, glistening with arousal that speaks of her need.

"Let me taste you too." I lower myself between her legs. The first broad stroke of my tongue through her folds draws a sharp cry from her lips, and she bucks her hips involuntarily. I hold her thighs open with gentle but firm hands, focusing my attention on the sensitive bud above her entrance.

"Mak, please…" She tangles her fingers in my hair, alternately pulling me closer and pushing me away as sensation threatens to overwhelm her. "Oh, right there…"

I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue, knowing from her previous reactions the perfect pressure and pace. When I slide a finger inside her, her channel tightens around me, inner walls fluttering with approaching release. I stroke her insides, working it in rhythm with my tongue until she shatters, tearing a scream from her throat as her body arches off the bed.

Before she can fully recover, I move up her body, positioning myself at her entrance. We love gazes, and her pupils are blown wide with pleasure and something deeper—a connection transcending the physical that I never expected to find in this life. I push forward slowly, giving her time to adjust to my cock, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.

The feeling of being inside her is unequalled. Her tight, wet pussy envelopes my cock inch by inch until I'm fully seated within her. I remain still for a moment, forearms braced on either side of her head, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

"I love you." The words escape before I can stop them, raw and honest in a way I've never allowed myself to be. "I never thought I would say that to anyone."

Tears fill her eyes anew, but she pulls me down for a kiss that speaks volumes. "Show me."

I begin to move, establishing a rhythm that starts slowly and deliberately. Each thrust communicates what words can’t—my desperation, my devotion, and my silent plea for her to reconsider. Her hips rise to meet mine, taking me deeper, her inner muscles clenching around me in a way that threatens my control, but I never get the sense my unspoken plea is swaying her.

"Harder," she demands, digging her nails into my shoulders. "I need to feel you."

The last threads of my restraint snap at her command. I drive into her with increasing force, still mindful of her condition but unable to deny the primal need to claim her completely. The headboard knocks against the wall with our movements, the sound punctuating our shared breaths and moans.

"You're mine." I practically growl the words against her neck, biting down gently on the sensitive junction of shoulder and throat. "No matter where you go, no matter what happens next. These children are ours. This connection is ours."

She doesn't contradict me. Her only response is a keening cry as I change the angle, hitting the spot inside her that makes her walls clench around me. I reach between us, finding her clit and circling in time with my increasingly erratic thrusts.

"Come for me again, Wil." My voice is unrecognizable, rough with emotion and arousal. "Let me feel you one more time."

Her orgasm hits with stunning intensity, her entire body tensing beneath me as she cries out my name. The feeling of her pussy pulsing around my cock, and the sight of her coming undone because of me, triggers my own release. I drive into her one final time, emptying myself deeply inside her with a guttural groan, shuddering with the force of it.

For several moments afterward, we remain joined, our breathing gradually slowing in the aftermath. I rest my forehead against hers, unwilling to separate just yet, to acknowledge what must come next. When I finally withdraw and move to lie beside her, she surprises me by turning into my embrace rather than away.

I hold her close, spreading my hand protectively over her belly, where our children grow. The silence between us feels both peaceful and ominous, the calm before an inevitable storm. Eventually, I break it, unable to contain the emotions threatening to choke me.

I slide down the bed until my face is level with her slightly rounded belly. Pressing my lips gently against the taut skin, I whisper apologies to our unborn babies and promises to fix everything, to burn it all down if I have to in order to be the father they deserve rather than the monster I was raised to be. The words flow from some place inside me I didn't know existed, a wellspring of emotion that both terrifies and exhilarates me.

Wil doesn't respond verbally, but she strokes my hair in a gesture that might be comfort or farewell. Exhaustion and emotional turmoil finally claim her, and her breathing evens out in sleep while tears still dampen her cheeks. I brush them away with gentle fingers, allowing myself one tender gesture she won't remember.

I remain awake through the night, watching over her sleeping form. My mind races with possibilities, discarding and reformulating plans that might save my newfound family. The path forward remains unclear, obscured by years of violence and power that can't simply be abandoned overnight. My enemies would interpret any sign of withdrawal as weakness, attacking with renewed vigor at the first opportunity. The Vorobev empire wasn't built to allow resignation. The only way out has always been death.

Unless I create another option. A third path that neither my father nor any Bratva leader before me ever considered. As dawn approaches, I carefully extricate myself from Wil's sleeping form, moving silently to avoid waking her. I dress quickly in the half-light, my decision crystallizing with each passing moment. What happens next will either save my newfound family or destroy everything I've ever built. Either way, nothing will remain the same.

22

Wil

Morning light bleeds through the curtains as I wake in an empty bed, the space beside me still warm from Mak's presence. The memory of last night floods back in painful clarity—the attack in the city, my declaration that I need to leave, and then the desperate intimacy that followed. My body aches pleasantly from our lovemaking, a complete contrast to the emptiness in my chest.

I sit up slowly, running my fingers through tangled hair. My scattered clothing still litters the floor where it fell in our frantic need to connect one last time. The half-packed suitcase lies overturned beside the bed, its contents spilled across the carpet. It’s a fitting visual representation of my chaotic life.

I get out of bed and gather the suitcase, setting it back on the bed and beginning the packing process again. This time, I work quickly, my mind made up despite the emotional turmoil of the previous night. I select only essential items and practical clothing, leaving behind most of the designer maternity wear and jewelry Mak lavished upon me during my stay. Each item I place in the suitcase feels like another step toward a future I can't clearly envision but know I must pursue for my children's sake.

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