Page 3 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

My hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back, exposing her neck. My lips skim over the column of her throat, a silent promise and a warning all in one. “You’re wrong,” I roar. “I hate you more than you’ll ever understand.”

“Stop talking and fuck me already,” she hisses between breaths. “Or get out of here if you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

Arousal and rage boil beneath my skin, mixing into something as volatile as nitroglycerin. Her bluntness only stokes the desperate need to possess her. One flick of my wrist, and I could snap her neck. I know exactly how my muscles would shift—how they would twist to take her life.

Yet I don’t move.

I imagine her pale, slender neck blooming with bruises, and my mouth goes dry. When she presses herself harder against my dick, instinct slams through my body, a primal call I feel down to my goddamn bones.

Her eyes snap to mine, full of challenge.

My lips crash against her collarbone, biting a trail up the delicate line of her throat. Her soft gasp hits my ears like a drug, sparking something animalistic in my chest. It’s been a year since I’ve felt a woman—since I’ve been allowed to want. The sensation is almost too much, a full-body shock that threatens to snap the last thread of restraint I’m clinging to. Every nerve screams, every muscle tightens with need, and for a breathless second, I’m not a man—I’m the thing I became in that cage. Starved. Unleashed.

Heart racing, I slam my mouth to hers in a fiery rush, our breaths growing loud and sharp with pent-up hunger. Each taste, each touch ignites more emotions I refuse to acknowledge.What I’m doing isn’t about her or even desire. It’s about marking her.

Ripping my lips off hers, I grab her wrist and march us toward the counter. Barely sparing her a glance, I lift her ass onto the cold marble and tear her panties down her legs.

Fuck.

I’m going to come any moment now.

Her body’s calling, drawing me in like a siren. Gripping her hips, I drag her to the edge until she’s pressed against my aching length. She cries out, needy and desperate.

“Don’t make another sound,” I threaten, pressing a palm against her pussy.

Eyes shut, she doesn’t respond.

Good. Now, to finally have my fill.

Gripping her chin, I run my nose along hers, breathing her in. Anger still simmers under the surface, a never-ending burn.

I want to mark her the way she marked me.

I want her to bear the consequences of her actions.

But I change my mind at the last second, pulling the tip of my cock away from her glistening entrance.

Galina makes a small noise in complaint, but I shush her with a hand over her mouth. She catches my index finger between her teeth and gives it a nip. I can practically feel the smart-ass retort forming in her mouth. Thankfully, she doesn’t give it a voice, but her tongue sneaks out to lick my finger instead.

Fucking hell.

One thrust, and I will be inside her.

Using my free hand, I take out a foil packet from my pocket and hand it to her.

“Get. That. On.”

Every word sounds like a slap in the face, brutal and unfeeling, and yet Galina’s gaze only darkens with lust. With a need that mirrors my own.

I barely stop myself from cursing.

Even now, she’s pushing me beyond the edge, demanding I give her more and more when it should already be too much. She’s an open wound I can’t possibly heal.

I draw in a deep breath, focusing on the smooth marble beneath my fingertips. On the scent of wine and lemon cleaning product. I rein in my thoughts until the hurricane in my head quiets to a mild winter breeze.

Patience. Control.

It all shatters when Galina’s fingers touch my cock, slipping the condom on before pushing the tip inside her.

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